My Inner-Most Allies

I am Sanders Sides loving trash.

GO Gay!

(Queer Questioning at best)

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"Why are we doing this again?" Logic asked primly.

"For them," Happy replied, bouncing as she was opt to doing.

"MMmggghhhh!!"

"Sweetie, everything will be just fine," soothed a lilting, heavy Southern Belle voice. "Whose the mos' beauti-rrefic?"

"You," Gloom bemoaned, no bite.

"Now I was goin' say you but..." Love giggled, "when you're right you're right."

"I do not see anyone! There is not-- she is at a screen hardly thinking as she scrolls!" Logic burst out.

"Right. You can't see them. Only I can," Happy whispered, a secretive wink as her tongue flashed out for just a moment.

Logic merely stood back.

Refusing to ask...

Where was their Prima Donna: Want.

Youngest to oldest everyone. Single file! No getting separated! And have fun!

Gloom: Always there to some extent. In different circumstances, if people weren't such dicks and the teachers a bit more inclined to corral the class, she would have embodied something else entirely. Could she have shared Logic's role? Apathy? Disdain? Both could fit her quite well as is. Even Hap and Love-- Happy and well, Love-- could accept that a bit of an intellectually bullying edge, was better than to turn what two DECADES of loathing all on herself! Gloom was always the one asking what if? Looking upon clusters of girls very wary, had TV programs memorized, categorized, since they were the learning material and only material that didn't make the head spin or near everything and everyone back then fry out. Just BZZZZZ. Gloom became quite important those moments, seemingly immune to when they'd burn. She'd cried a whole lot then too. So... so our girl wouldn't cry. Not in public. Crying in public was weakness, it was dangerous. Over the years she got sharper, more demanding, explosive. It hurt. What had once protected, content at the shadows with her black hoodie spilling around her, now hurt them all so bad. Yelling and scratching, clawing and slapping away from the controls. She and Love would fight so, so much. And it all got so, so loud all the time. And they couldn't drown in music. Not unless their girl out there did.

She liked her black things quite a bit now. A baggy black shirt and a green mist of ghost. Regular, grey and normal sweatpants but black converses. And that hoodie. Still too big. She was so small. Too small and still too bony.

Want: All the shine and glamour the world had to offer. There was... a je ne sais quoi toward having it all. The prettiest clothes, a glitzy, bead manicure. Establishing the aesthetic, confirming and branding your identity at the skin of your soul. That was when she was born. Vibrant, near virulent in her blazing haughtiness. Fake royalty, friendship scorched. For she was not the type to make friends. She was the type to want and want, and want some more. Preen and beautify herself, care for only her own pleasure.

And maybe, that wasn't so bad. We wanted pretty white dresses, black ones, light blue ones, long and short. Prep school plaid skirts, dragon hand necklaces, goth sweaters and haircuts, Asian food and Japanese candy. Somewhere to watch our anime, a room full of otaku merch. And understanding quite well those things cost money, it turned to Want's prerogative to get it. However it may come, of which was currently a reputable, fine education at a high end college. $15,000 per year seems a nice little price tag.

Our girl is driven by Want when it comes down to it. Not just for the shiny, pretty things, not just candy and other sweet flavors, but also the other, deeper desires. The ones that matter and make waking up and studying and all of us worthwhile.

The Want to be taken seriously.

The Want to make an impact on others.

Making life better for others. When all the adults in power seem to do is harrangue and harass what doesn't fit in a perfect little mold of their own design.

Which is so dumb, she would snort.

Because the neurodivergent, the LGBTQ, the asocial, or depressed, anxious, BPD, they don't hurt anyone. Okay, they don't start that way.

The ones with all the power are the ones doing that.

In some ways it is too bad that Heart rules so prominently. No matter what little lies they may all tell through Girl's lips. Even if Logic took complete, overwhelming control she could not hurt. She could not hurt and not spear herself in the process.

So that left Love writing the words and Want to walk the walk.

And at least to Logic, that is what made one beautiful.

She chose a somewhat neutral gendered business attire. Professional and powerful. A simple long sleeved and high collar blouse, soft and light as it was surely expensive were it real. Perhaps silk or cashmere. A nice vest. Lollipops of all things stenciled in a whimsical cross. And slacks black, with diamonds.

White diamonds to be precise. Then again, who was more powerful and more spoiled than a genocidal, perfect, unbreakable gem.

Her eyes, unlike ours, also possessed an odd, unique shape. The one of three dazzling diamonds beaming in a dark night sky.

Love: Naive. Stupid. Useless. Dangerous. Love could only be happy, or so they had all thought. And so, were unpleasantly surprised when she turned lethargic. Hardly ado about anything, staring ahead. Nothing she had once loved, they'd never known she held domain over those things too. All the books Logic loved to read and think on, the allure of a strong, inhospitable tsundere amidst the hostilities of middle school, the family that Happy thrived within. Rather, grey crept in. Shrouding memories of exuberant, loud, and warm parties alone and unacknowledged for all to see. Often ignored, unwanted, simply the odd middle one among the screaming toddlers and already adults.

Love, was never reciprocated it would seem. Not in the time she wished to have with others, the smiles and pleased looks to see her rather than patronizing platitudes. Rather than the groans and pricked irritation of Girl's peers. Logic took over along that job at the controls. Dealing with others handily, "and in the ways they deserve."

And though for a moment her supple, perfectly pink lined lips pursed, looking despondent as the grey slates of rain every Texas spring, she nonetheless accepted... What was best. Besides, her heart was already quite broken.

So she retreated to her makeup and her beauty. She had always been quite the beauty. Love loved herself and her reflection, she loved our girl the most when her hair was so perfectly styled by their dear Mother. A woman they'd never reach in all the feminine skills they'd somehow missed out on. Who let them do that? Oh well, Love could coordinate her outfits beautifully and had the most beautifully petite girl figure to wear them. A tight little skirt-- sometimes floral, or perhaps plaid and sometimes other soft shades, solid sans additions-- to show off a nice curvature, and a sleek, airy little blouse. And her hair wild and voracious on her head, curled more than the wavy original. And to finish off, from fine, feminine legs was a pair of strapped heels.

Such a hassle to put together can you tell? The others hardly understood. Happy an exception, who found everything resplendent long as she and everyone themselves could smile. Bespoke confidence and felt worth the goodness gotten. At least one, felt beautiful.

No matter how many times Logic may drag along her stare; so droll and so unflinchingly superior. The way Gloom would grimace. An internal betrayal. Somehow threatening in what they were, this strength cultivated, the spikes blooming at the big bosom. From frazzled hair in the mirror or a stumpy, slovenly figure with too big waist and no breath to keep pace with the boys who did play with her. Who only bullied her.

Books were what they appreciated. Books was where Love poured her adoration towards as people had let her down.

But then again, for every rule there are exceptions, the rule there to cascade upon the socially disdained. Surely, smart people exist. Happy people.

"Hi Emma!"

Not even Happy had known how to laugh. So, Love had to do that.

Logic: She hadn't recalled too much of the first few years. Of course she hadn't, the girl may say, their Goddess that granted them life and wisdom hardly understood, that she was living. Did not comprehend that she was a thinking, functional miracle. Not just by the few units of male contribution make it in, not the age of "Mother," not even that she was the third of three. And with two elder boys no less. Then again, the boys, though bothersome and more than a bit low-brow, have proven beneficial. Happy or Want need only look, with large, starry eyes and so it is that their sister will have it. All the candy, clothes, most of all, books she desired. Logic herself is fond mostly of books. She is not like other children. She knows this. At some point, when schooling began, it had to be, did it occur to her children did not employ her so much. Hers did. Happy and Love would lay bored. Want would whine and mope. Throwing a fit, fit for the screeching 'things' out in that luridly colorful room. "Don't you want to play with the other kids?" Hadn't that woman... "Teacher" seen they were already drawing? And kids did drawing, she knew so. She was reading a book, a good, educational book. Ergo, she should not be in trouble. And though no one had said the word, many of their questions would only continue to feel like trouble. If only they spoke like the 'Speech Pathologist' did. Whatever that is.

Autism? Autism. She has autism? A... learning dis-ability? It honestly didn't make... sense. Social. Social learning. Anger issues. Happy talking until she was blue in the face. Gloom curled in a ball at all the noise and too big feelings that were bad and made you ugly and should not SHOULD NOT be felt by a girl. Girl was suffocating. Girl was weak and awful! AND HElplESs! Love wanting so much, giving too much and retracting. They, without blood requiring, couldn't love her the way she searched for.

Sometimes, does she maybe get jealous of Want? Vapid as she may be about her *adorable* clothes. The clothes that fit the 'cute' girls. The 'innocent' girls. At parties and drawn with cherry blossoms in manga. Spring dress billowing out in the wind. She'd kept her hair long and flowing. Even as her... sisters? sought to keep up with each trend of their girl. Even Gloom!

She had always been the adult. More an adult than any peer by far, smarter than at least some, was merely certainty. They'd never listened though. No matter her research or how she used words right she would be dismissed. The promises broken. Not important, not meant to keep. *Because she was a child.*

At least, she had the billowing skirt. Just a much darker color than she'd've ever ima-- decided on-- modest and stern. Exactly the sophisticated, wealthy scholar. With a curtain of black hair, reading her favorites, among redwood shelves and dusty leather embossed with old ink shimmering gold at it's covers.

Happy: Was the very first. Which makes sense. What is happier than life itself? The first light to hit your eyes, the sound of a Mother's weak, bubbling laugh to see that squirmy, fat little thing. Happy remembered it all. Down to the day and down to the second. Which was impressive, no matter how many other dumb, inane things she talked about without pause. What was there to say? That hasn't already been said from her other friends? Colleagues? Family? No, they didn't say family. A cute idea for certain, they liked her much better when she smiled. It had been awhile, so she was a little out of practice.

Spreading joy and nurturing their Girl on wonder and laughter. Some days she was too tired to smile herself. Her eyes would sparkle with grim, small tears but still tears. Couldn't smile when she danced within the star dust.

A magical ensemble cross the plain of their Girl. Each and every blade of grass a memory, a touch, and a treasure.

She liked her floofy polka-dot light blue and pink dress with white cuffs and bows adorned in wavy hair. A ribbon that could glow with each turn and twist of her wrist. Had she watched Sailor Moon, it would probably remind one of something like that. And like us all her emblem, a prim, magical scepter was stitched at her chest just above a lily stitched lace bodice.