Saturday, February 24, 2018

I will never be anyone else but me. I don't know how I feel about that.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Carefully and Painfully

December 27th, 2017
1:59 AM

It's so hard to be a witness sometimes. It's difficult to tell people about Christ and encourage them to believe. Not because I don't want to. I mean, there are times when God tells me to go talk to someone about Him and I'm just like, “Really, God? Right now?” But of course I want to testify and be an example of who a Christian is actually supposed to be, but it's such a delicate process at times.

Believers don't have the greatest reputation. We're made out to obsessive freaks, lunatics who jump up and down and cry and speak gibberish to someone who doesn't even exist (to them). And part of our reputation comes from people who claim to be Christians and do everything a Christian shouldn't. You know, the “Christians”. And then there are the ones who preach and they lecture and they condemn, and they don't show the love they're supposed to. They aren't representing God's love.

We have a terrible reputation, and for the ones who do show love and are gentle and patient, well, we're still grouped up with the others. We're crazy, delusional pricks without an ounce of independence. That's why it's so hard to share faith, because we have to be careful. If we don't, we either offend someone or we scare them away.

So there's a process to it. Some people take an approach like Jehovah Witnesses. Maybe it's a bit scary at first, but it's simple and easy. You go from door to door and you talk to people. They may slam the door in your face or laugh or maybe even argue with you, but the few people who do listen and they start their journey of Christianity are the ones they keep in their lives. They continue to talk to them and teach them things, help and encourage them, and they likely form a friendship. That sounds so easy, and maybe I'm saying that because my method of witnessing can be very painful.

To me this is the most effective way and it's forming a relationship. I don't become friends with people for the sake of converting them. I don't go “Oh! That person's an Atheist, let's be friends with them and show them how to live their life the right way!” No, I become friends with people and form bonds because I love making new friends and sharing life with them. It's because they're cool people and I care about them. Does leading people to Christ encourage me to meet others? Absolutely.

Anyway, I form a relationship with them. I get to know them and they get to know me, we hang out and joke and talk, becoming better friends with them as time goes by. Everyone I know is aware of my beliefs and they normally don't say a lot about it nor do I say a lot about their belief – because you have to be careful – and the closer I am with them, the more I care about them and the more I want them to know Christ. Christianity is not a label or an extra curricular activity, it's a lifestyle. It's hope. It's the certainty of life after death, which is pretty freaking cool.

And because I love people, I want them to know all of this. I want them to know how amazing it is to have a relationship with Jesus, because I know and I wouldn't give Him up for anything. He's given me so much, he gave me a father when I was just a baby. He gave me this wonderful ability and passion to write. He made me look like my dad when we aren't even biologically related. When I'm lonely and I'm crying and I need somebody, he tells me he's there and he loves me. Then he puts people in my life and I constantly think, “God, what did I do to deserve these people? What did I do to deserve your blessings?”

Good grief, I've been through some crap, but he was with me every step of the way. And I want that for my friends. I want them to know that even when everybody disappoints and hurts them, they always have God and he will never fail them. I want them to know that inexplicable feeling of completeness. I want them to have hope and peace. And it hurts because I can't tell them this. I have to be careful or I'll seem pushy and judgmental and rude, but it kills me to watch my friends not know Him. It kills me that they're going on in life without an idea of what they're missing, of who they're missing. I've had friends tell me how terrible they feel. How they feel lost and hopeless and unwanted, and though I tell them I love them and they are wanted, I want to grab their shoulders and say, “Go to Him! Go to God. If you understood. If you knew you would never feel lost again. You would have hope. If you just understood!”

But I have to be careful. I have to ease them into it. I can't be rash or force them into believing. I have to be gentle and patient, and it hurts to see these wonderful people unaware and apathetic. And it hurts even more when I see one of my closest friends try to take his life because he has no joy left. When I see those cuts and the blood and the stitches, I want to go to him and wrap him in a hug. I want to clean his carpet so he can rest without worrying about the stain. I want to tell him that it's okay, that he doesn't have to be lonely. That he has someone who will fill his heart and restore his joy.

I want to tell him all this, but he's sleeping and I don't want to unintentionally push him away. And I just think, what if he succeeded? What if he successfully took his life? He doesn't know Christ. He would only have a certainty of eternal suffering. Eternal sorrow. Eternal hopelessness. I don't want want that for him. He's too precious, too sweet, too great. Much too loved by Christ. He could have it all, but he's sitting in a hospital bed with a limp arm feeling too lonely for words. It's right in front of him, but he doesn't see it. I want to tell him, “Look! It's right here. Your freedom is here, your joy is here, if you would just take it. It's yours and it's free.”

But I have to be careful. I can't push. I can't force.

I can only pray and show him just what it means to be a follower of Christ. I can only slowly introduce it to him as my heart breaks for him.

Wednesday, December 6, 2017


December 7th, 2017
1:28 AM

You know, things change. A lot and so easily. I look back at myself a year ago, a girl learning how to start again and become a better daughter of Christ. A little thing getting all excited because she finally did something good in her life.

Then I look back at my relationships. A year ago I was only just starting to live without someone I spent so much time with. I was learning to not get excited when I saw my best friend, because she wasn't my best friend anymore. Though it stung, I was just beginning to walk away from things I knew I didn't need in my life. And there was that one relationship, the one that I held so very close to my heart and said, "We'll never drift a part." That one relationship that made my heart skip a beat and a smile immediately bloom on my face. I look back and I realize how different things are.

Things change. A lot and so easily. Best friends you thought you couldn't live without, well, look at you. You're living without them and you feel better, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders and it's okay to move on. People you said you'd never stop being close to are suddenly. . . not so close. But it's not a bad thing either. Maybe they weren't what you needed. Maybe you were so blinded by the newness and the excitement that you failed to realize it would never work.

There are new people in your life. People you never expected to be so important. People you're so glad you gave them a chance and opened your heart to them.

You look back and you're hit with the fact that everything is different. You think about it and it hurts, it hurts and yet it makes you smile. You smile and life is perhaps just a bit better. Then you look at where you are now and you wonder how much things will continue to change. People come and go, some may stay with you. You change. You change in ways you never thought possible.

Things change. A lot and so easily. And to be perfectly honest? It's not such a bad thing.
December 7th, 2017
1:19 AM

What the crap in this freaking universe compelled me to watch Ratter?

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Almost Empty

November 24th, 2017
12:48 AM

Sometimes I just feel wrong. Like I'm emotionally, mentally sick. I can be fine for days or weeks, but then I'll just suddenly feel all weird and uncomfortable, like I'm supposed to be doing something, but I don't know what it is and I'm running out of time. It feels like my body is getting all wound up in knots and I'll just lay in bed thinking, "How do I fix this?"

Sometimes I'll watch YouTube videos or attempt to read something, but that only makes it worse. I'm always too uninterested and a bit tired. I'll try to eat, too, but it just makes my stomach hurt worse. I started wondering if maybe it was my (mild) gastritis making my stomach hurt, but the feeling, though on my abdomen, is nowhere near my stomach and I know it has something to do with my emotions.

It feels like I'm almost empty. Like something inside of me that I need is slowly draining and I'm helpless to stop it.

It's at times like these when I really miss my counselor. I freaking sucked at talking to the lady, but she was comforting. I really liked her voice and the way she'd talk to me. I wonder if she still prays for me.

I just want this to stop and go back to normal. I hate this feeling. It's been a while since I got it. Maybe some sleep will help.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017


September 14th, 2017
7:34 PM

I've talked a little bit about my relationship with my dad and how it's gotten a bit bumpy here and there. With many failed attempts at learning how to do this properly, I've finally learned a way to communicate with him where I can express myself properly without being interrupted. It's actually really simple. I write a letter to him. I wrote him something a while ago and finally built up the courage to show it to him. After he read it, we had a good talk and figured some things out. Though I'd normally be too embarrassed to show this to anybody, I thought that since little to no one reads this personal blog of mine, it'd be fine to share it, and maybe this will be encouraging to someone else who is having difficulties talking to a parent.


The date is July 20th, 2017.

Two days before I go to Elizabeth's house. The day after Brooke and Jean broke the news that they're having a baby.

The day you told us, me and Michelle, that you are fed up.

I'm sure you remember very clearly. You came home to a dirty house and lazy children, as always. You very likely held your anger back and asked us to do it before bed, and you hoped we would. You probably doubted it though, because from the way you talked tonight, those were words were ones you thought about saying for a while.

You get to say what you need, what you've been wanting to say, so now it's my turn. Allow me to explain why I'm crying and feeling angry and hurt at 11:33 pm.

I am lazy. I am lazy and I rarely do anything productive.

You're always saying, “I bet you don't even remember what you did today.”

I do, actually.

Today I went to sleep at 6:05 am because I was up all night reading What Light by Jay Asher. I will admit that I lost track of time and when I thought to check, it was around 4:30 am. It was late. I knew I needed sleep, but the book just kept getting better, so I continued reading until I was too exhausted to. So because I went to sleep at such an unreasonable time, I woke up at 1:56 pm this afternoon. Then I spent the next two hours finishing the book. I also ate chips and dip and popcorn as I read.

It's awful, I know.

Then I browsed Instagram for a little while until I came across an ad for a game. It's called Don't Touch the Black Tiles 2 (or rather, Piano Tiles). I had the first one a long time ago and I was really good at it. It's fun, I like games with music, so I downloaded it and as it turns out, I'm still really good at it. I spent several hours just playing that.

Again, it's awful.

I later went into the living room to show Michelle the game and then said, “Wait, we should do our chores before Daddy gets home.”

She replied, “Daddy's coming home around eight.”

So, I didn't do it. I thought I had time to finish it and before I knew it, I heard your truck in the driveway.

My initial reaction was “Oh, crap. Go and look like you were doing something productive.”
My next thought was, “I can't believe I did it again.”

I do this nearly every single day. I browse, I scroll, I read, I lay in bed and eat, I play games, and I read some more. I think about doing my chores, but I always end up doing something else. I spend so much time doing such useless things, and then I get upset when you fuss.

So I am lazy, I have little self-discipline, I am ridiculous, I'm filthy, I don't care about anything important, and I hate it.

I hate how I live my life. I hate how I get ticked off and snap at Momma anytime she mentions school. I hate how when you were fussing tonight, I wasn't intimidated or ashamed. I was angry. Oh, I was so angry. I was saying so many awful things in my head about you and everything you were saying. When you called me into the living room, I thought, “Oh, dear. It's this again.”

I thought about how ridiculous you were being and how you don't understand anything. I had my arms behind my back for two reasons. It makes me seem submissive and I knew that's what you were looking for. You didn't want to see any defiance because you were fed up and upset, and quite frankly, I didn't want to show it because I knew it would rile you up further. The second reason was to keep my hands out of sight. They give everything away. I mess with my finger and twiddle and pop them when I'm nervous. I clasp them when I'm upset. I pinch myself when I'm angry. I hide my hands because I'm trying to hide how I feel.

I was pinching myself to keep my expression neutral.

I've heard it all before. You work all day and we do nothing. You're tired of our behavior and you're done. No more of this, and you set these rules and restrictions and consequences. I knew it was all coming. I expected it. Nearly everything you said has been said several times before. I've heard it all, so it didn't have much of an effect on me.

At that point I'm just thinking, “Do you have to repeat everything over and over again? Yes, I heard you. Get to the point. M.C Beth double updated today and I was in the middle of chapter 19. Hurry and let me get back to it.”

Now, of course I was planning on getting everything straightened up as you asked, but nothing major changed while you were giving your speech. That talk, the scolding, its mark in our minds is temporary. It always is. Something would've changed long ago otherwise.

Anyway, it wasn't until you said something new that things changed. You said, or at least something along these lines, “I'm done with encouraging. It's not working.”

When I heard that, I pinched myself harder. My anger flared, but it soon morphed into hurt. You're done? You aren't doing it anymore? But Daddy, when did you start?

I remember for about a week, you would tell me, “I would like to encourage you to get your chores done.”

Every time you said that I would laugh a little. That's not what I meant at all, but it warmed my heart that you were trying. I thought that you would get better at it. You would learn what buttons to push to get me going, but I've come to realize that I don't know where those buttons are. I don't even know If I have them anymore.

I am unmotivated. I don't care about doing anything and even when I want to care, I can't bring myself to. I don't feel like doing anything ever and absolutely nothing motivates me.

I know I'm smart, but I have no motivation to do school and show my intelligence. I know I am capable and I can be hard working, but I don't ever care. It's gotten to the point where I don't know how to do things anymore. How do I get up and do that math I'm falling behind in? How should I go about it? How do I get to the point where I can just go and do what I'm supposed to?

Then I have the audacity to be embarrassed when school and grades are brought up around my friends. Michaela got above average on her ACT. Zack is really good at math, a while ago he gave me a tip about something and I didn't even know the terms he was using.

I'm embarrassed and yet I do nothing to change it. I often ask myself why I'm like this. Why can't I find it in me to just do it?

It has also bled into the things I enjoy. I started writing An Expectant Whirlwind months ago and I'm just now beginning chapter five. I wait until the very last minute to write my part of the Ladyblog. I haven't studied for my psychology test, you know, the thing I specifically asked Momma to get for me. It's been a couple months since I've written for my personal blog. It's not just procrastination, it goes a step further. I've already said it a couple of times, but I think this calls for bold letters.

I am unmotivated.

And I don't know what to do about it. It kills me everyday. Sometimes I think I'm broken.

So after coming to this conclusion, I asked myself, “What am I trying to get Daddy to do then?”
You're right, it's not working. It's not working because nothing works on me. I think what it was is I was hoping that you changing how you disciplined me would change me. I wanted it to work, but I continued to lay around and do nothing. I just read all day with no regard, and then I worried and stressed about the things I was supposed to do while not doing them.

I also think that some part of me knew it wouldn't work and I just wanted someone to pin the blame on. And boy did I blame you. I was bitter and I'd grumble about it in my fantasies. I had somehow convinced myself that it wasn't my fault.

Though I wasn't lying when I said that the way you reinforce things hurt me. Cause it does. It hurts a lot.

So while I was still angry after you left, I do what I always do while blaming you, I Google things for you. I type in questions in the search bar as if I were you looking for answers. This time around my first one was “What does encourage mean” The suggestions added “in the bible” so I clicked on that.

After all, what better way to convince you to do something than to have the bible back it up?

Yes, I'm horrible.

After looking through some articles, I found one that really spoke to me. I was originally looking for an expanded definition of encourage to prove a point to you or something, but this one made me think that maybe I don't know what it means.

This is what it said (yes, the whole thing):

Did you know that the Greek word for “encourage,” parakaleo, appears 105 times in the New Testament? That’s a lot! Encouragement is one of my spiritual gifts, and I’m very passionate about it. Over the years, however, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding about what it really is.
Somehow, encouragement has become confused with complimenting or praising others. While praise can be part of encouragement, it doesn’t cover the full meaning of the word. We often think of encouragement as saying nice things to others to make them feel good about themselves, but this is closer to the definition of a compliment. Encouraging someone can mean you’re giving them support or confidence, but is also means that you’re helping to develop something in them.
When the Bible talks about encouragement, it usually means that one is calling someone to their side in order to teach, comfort, strengthen or push them to act in a certain way. There are a few other words in the Bible that have similar meaning, such as exhort, warn or admonish, but they are mostly used in Paul’s letters. People who encourage others say with love what a person needs to hear, when they need to hear it–even if it isn’t what the person wants to hear.
Consider the book of Ephesians. When Paul founded the Ephesian church, the city of Ephesus was a major occult city. The worship of the Greek goddess Artemis was the city’s main attraction, but many other types of occult practices thrived there as well. It was a very dark place for followers of the Lord. It was extremely important that the Ephesian believers maintained unity among themselves so they wouldn’t struggle alone in their new faith. Paul encouraged them to remain unified in his letters to them.
Therefore, I the prisoner of the Lord, implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace (Ephesians 4:1-3, NASB).
The New American Standard Bible translates the word “parakaleo” as “implore.” When Paul says he “implores them to walk in a manner worthy,” he’s actually saying that he encourages them to walk that way. The Ephesian believers were allowing disunity to creep into their fellowship of believers, and Paul is telling them what they need to hear in order to change their behavior.
I’ve seen lots of comments and questions from PI girls about friends who used to follow God but are now following Him less or making ungodly choices. When you confront a friend about this to urge them to get back in line with God’s will, you are encouraging them. Encouraging means telling people what they need to hear in order to bring about a change in action, feeling or belief, but when we encourage others, we should always do it with love, grace and wisdom. Sometimes encouragement is best to do in private, especially if the issue is a sensitive one. Remember: Your encouragement makes a difference!
Have you ever had to encourage someone to change a harmful behavior?
Therefore encourage one another and build up one another, just as you also are doing (1 Thessalonians 5:11)
- Project Inspired
I knew this, but I was so caught on the idea of encouragement, thinking that it must be the solution to my problem, that I distorted it into being the things I wanted to hear. And I think, though I may be wrong, you also knew this and distorted with your desire to make me start obeying you.

My favorite part of this is “When the Bible talks about encouragement, it usually means that one is calling someone to their side in order to teach, comfort, strengthen or push them to act in a certain way.”
So I was right. Encouragement is what I need, but we both need to fully understand it. It's not telling someone what they want to hear, but showing them what they need. I feel like so many people forget about the teaching part.
I started reading this article in a very bitter state of mind, but it mellowed out as I read.

So I've gotten passed my anger and mostly passed my hurt. And I'm sorry. I haven't been honest with you. Our relationship is not doing okay at all because of how angry I've been. I was angry at you and angry at myself. I was angry that you stopped trying to encourage me and it really hurt me tonight when you confirmed it, but please, don't give up. Let's not give up on this. There is a solution, but we haven't come to it yet.

I am an awful daughter, but please don't give up on me. I think we're misunderstanding things. I think we don't know each other nearly as well as we should.

So let's communicate and help each other.

The date is November 3rd, 2017.

The day before my first competition. The day you talked to your co-worker about them giving me a ride.

The day you yelled at Michelle about the dishes and then apologized with chocolate.

I read this again and cried because every word still applies.


After my dad read it, we talked about how we failed at talking to each other and how we could get better, we talked about what it meant to encourage not just me but both of us, we talked about love languages, we talked about how to better express ourselves, and many things I talked about in the letter. One thing he mentioned was how much it hurt him when I talked bad about myself. He told that I'm not filthy, that I'm wonderful and beautiful and he loves me. 

I  think I worried over nothing about showing him the letter, because the truth is, this helped things between us. There was nothing to be afraid of. He loves me and he wants to know when something is bothering me.


Word count: 3,345
Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug
By: Unlucky Little Lady (Little Autumn) on Blogger/Lady Idazle on Miraculous Amino


Chloe chewed on her fingernail, frustrated and fed up with the onslaught on yawns getting in the way of doing her hair. Her makeup failed to hide the dark circles under her eyes and it was far too early for anybody in their right mind to be awake, but sleeping wasn't option. She gave up long ago and decided to get a head start on getting ready for school, though sleep deprivation wouldn't let anything go her way.

She sighed, letting go of her hair and flinging her pony tail across room, deciding she could go one day without putting it up. She looked at her phone to check the time and scrunched up her nose at how few minutes had passed. It was 5:49 am, still far too early.

Brushing out the ends of her hair, she called her butler, Jean, to bring her breakfast. She knew it wouldn't be anything big and fancy as the staff still had another eleven minutes until they started cooking, but she didn't care. She'd take anything to silence the begging of her stomach.

Jean whipped something up and made it to her door in barely ten minutes, which Chloe appreciated, he was one of the few competent employees. He opened the door after knocking twice and once more, a familiar pattern she came to recognize. She didn't know why he did it, maybe just to let her know who it was.

“You're supposed to wait until I say 'come in', Jean.” she grumbled through the pillow she buried her face in. Makeup was likely to get on it, but she couldn't care less in that moment.

“You knew it was me.” he replied as the door shut softly.

“You lack manners.”

“If your current position is anything to go by, Mademoiselle, as do you.”

Chloe brought her face up to glare at him, not bothering to sit up and fix her sprawled out limbs, “You also lack respect.”

“And you lack breakfast.” he chuckled, bringing down a tray with a simple plate of scrambled eggs and a honey glazed croissant.

Chloe stared into the meal and the memories accompanying it. Only one person ever made such a breakfast for her before, and she wasn't surprised that Jean ended up being the second. With a fleeting glance to the calender filled with her scribbled handwriting on every date except one, she replied, “If you think bringing me a pathetic breakfast will make me feel better, you're wrong.”

“You haven't slept.” he ignored her comment.

“You don't say.” her voiced dripped with sarcasm.

His face remained blank, but she knew him. She knew what he wanted to say and how he was trying to help. He knew she wasn't displeased with the breakfast he made for her, he practically raised her, after all, but she didn't want to think about it.

“It's been years, that's not even what I'm losing sleep over.”

His silence urged her to continue. She wasn't being completely honest, but she wasn't lying either. It wasn't exactly something anyone would tell their butler, but she wasn't just anyone and he wasn't just her butler.

She relented with a huff of breath, taking a bite out of her honey croissant, “It's a boy.”


“I wouldn't lose sleep over him. He's my best friend, you know that.”

Jean was good at hiding his feelings, but not good enough, especially around her. His lips were twitching up into a grin and his eyes twinkled. Not a happy or excited grin. No, he was amused.

“You find this funny?” she crossed her arms.

He choked on a laugh, “You're always so sure of yourself, Mademoiselle, a bit too confident for your own good, but now you're wracked with exhaustion all because a boy is on your mind.”

“It's not just that!” she argued, “I'm not such a love sick puppy that I'm up all night swooning from just the thought of him. He just-” she took a deep breath, “He doesn't like me. Like, at all.”


“Yeah! Can you believe it? Me, Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of the mayor, beautiful and desired by all can't get a boy to notice how amazing I am.”

She expected Jean to laugh once more, but he remained quiet, the churning of his mind permeating his features. She figured he was gathering his words to give her a piece of wisdom, so she waited, knowing better than to tell him she didn't want advice.

“So a normal boy?”

“Not among the rich and powerful if that's what you're asking.”

Jean placed a hand on her shoulder, a cautious look in his eyes, “Maybe you should try something. . . different to make him realize that you aren't as bad as he thinks.”

“What kind of different?” she squinted at him skeptically.

“You could be a bit nicer to him.”

“Is my presence not enough?”

“Sometimes people need more.” he said softly.

Chloe paused before her face hardened and she suddenly lost her appetite. Seeming to realize what he accidentally insinuated, he opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off.

“I'm not feeling very hungry anymore. You can take this away now.” she pushed the tray back towards him, settling with looking out the window with an icy expression.

Jean bit back a sigh and took the nibbled on eggs away. “Have a good day at school, Chloe.” he said before leaving.

Chloe looked back at the calender, the blank spot taunting her. She checked the time.

6:34 am.


Chloe took the long way to school, not being able to handle the bustle of the staff's morning that muffled her thoughts. The long way wasn't really all that long, but it gave her a chance to let Jean's suggestion sink in.

Be a bit nicer? She wasn't the sweetest person to just anyone, she would admit, but she really did consider it.

He was someone special to her, though she couldn't place how or when it happened exactly. She just looked at him one day and oh, okay then. He was suddenly attractive and his shyness wasn't all that annoying anymore, his drawings and comics were less ridiculous and more intriguing.

It was foreign to think of anyone romantically other than Adrien, but he was distancing himself from her. He would always be her Adrikins, but it was clear that there was someone else in his life. As much as she disapproved of Marinette, she would deal with it if she made him happy. Adrien was moving on in life, it was time she did, too. She just didn't expect it to come in the form of jade eyes and a mop of bright red hair.

Could she put her pride aside and be nicer to him? She could certainly try.

Chloe turned the corner and was met with a large crowd, likely people trying to make it to work on time, but someone in the crowd wearing a tacky, red Hawaiian shirt caught her eye. The old man had likely been bumped into and fell over. He struggled to get a grasp on his cane and stand back up, but no progress was being made. People kept on walking, ignoring the poor man.

Chloe was going to walk away, but she remembered something her father told her a long time ago when she asked him why he was reading his speech so much: “You'll never be able to do something well if you never practice.”

When he told her that, she took it to heart. She practiced doing her hair and applying liquid eyeliner, she practiced the art of manipulation and deception, how to get what she wanted when she wanted it. She practiced a lot, and she got good at those things.

If she wanted Nathaniel to realize how great and nice she was, then she'd have to practice.

Chloe lifted her head up high and strode confidently into the street where the man was still struggling. People immediately recognized her and parted like the red sea, which made her ooze with pride. She picked the man's cane up and hefted him to his feet, plastering a smile on her face, “Are you okay?”

The man's face lit up and he thanked her, commenting on how kind she was with something resembling approval. She smiled, genuinely this time, telling him it was no problem and to be careful. She was going to leave after shaking his hand, but then he hummed and looked at his fingers, “You like honey?”

Chloe pressed her fingers together and felt a slight stickiness from her breakfast. Her face flushed and she held back the urge throw an insult at him (it wasn't like he was attacking her by mentioning the honey, her mind added).

“I've always liked honey, I guess I just forgot to wash my hands.”

The old man smiled, nodding and walking away without a word. If Chloe had not been trying to be nice, she would've made sure he knew how weird he was acting and how creepy he was with all his observations and nodding.

She didn't say a word though, she just continued her way to school and silently cursed her sticky hands.

By the time she walked into the classroom, her hair was a frizzy mess. Summer was well on its way and it was doing her no favors. Her hair was her most treasured featured and it pained her that she slacked that morning.

It was still fairly early to be at school, so the the room was empty save for Max and Sabrina. The ginger at her side began talking immediately, and Chloe didn't mind it too much. She didn't really have anything to say that morning, so she was content with listening to Sabrina's rambling, though it was mostly white noise to her.

“Oh. . .” Sabrina trailed off, catching Chloe's attention, “Your hair.”

She sighed, “I know, the humidity is horrible today. Just one little walk and it's messed up.”

“No, I mean, it's down. I've never seen it like that.”

She touched the blonde locks that cascaded down her shoulders, “I thought I'd try something new,”

“It suits you.”

Of course it did, Chloe thought, anything suited her. She didn't say that out loud though, deciding to take Sabrina's compliment and leave it at that. It was still frizzy though.

As time passed, more students steadily trickled in and it wasn't long before Adrien came in, too, though she wasn't expecting him to come hand in hand with Marinette. Everybody's eyes immediately went to their intertwined fingers and they blushed like middle schoolers learning about the reproductive system.

“It's about time.” She heard Kim snicker which was followed by Alya shrieking. Marinette ended up taking Nino's seat to avoid Alya's stream of questions, though it was obviously because she wanted to sit by Adrien. So for the rest of the class, Chloe got a good peripheral view of their constant flirting and sneaked kisses. It was sickening and grating on her nerves.

Sure, she liked Nathaniel, but it still stung a bit. She tried to get a look at the boy, but he was hidden behind his notebook. She brought her focus back to the front, feeling her patience dwindling by the second.


Fuming. She was fuming. If she had known one little hair change would prompt one brave student to talk to her, bumping into her and making her phone shatter on the floor, she would've taken the time to put it up. She managed not to screech at Rose, only forcing out an 'it's okay' and 'don't let it happen again' through gritted teeth. Everybody had been shocked at her response, clearly expecting something much worse. Marinette looked ready to jump in and fight if need be, and that made Chloe want to lash out even more.

Chloe had made a quick exit in order to contain herself.

[I]Be nice. Be nice.

Her mind chanted, but it wasn't working. She wanted to rip someone's head off and then sue them for getting blood on her clothes. She wanted to spit out every hateful word in the French dictionary and make sure they knew how much of a waste of space they were, but she didn't. Not only was she actually trying, but giving in to the temptation would only prove to Nathaniel that everything he thought about her was right.

He better be worth it.

Chloe found an empty classroom to reside in. The moment she stepped in she just stopped and breathed for a good five minutes. She was tired. She got absolutely no sleep, her hair was frizzy and tickling her cheeks, her phone was destroyed, Marinette was an imbecile (nothing new there), Adrien was on his way of joining her in that description, and throughout all this, she was holding back.

There was a tiger on a her tongue, clawing at her lips and begging for them to open so it could release a mighty roar and demolish anything in its path. It was still there, prickling and clawing at her instead. She could hardly stand it.

Chloe took one last breath and looked up, noticing an easel sitting in the back of the room. The painting, though only halfway done, was breathtaking. It wasn't hard to make out what it was supposed to be; the Eiffel Tower in all of its glory, glistening in the night and outshining the moon and all the stars. Chloe couldn't help but think that the actual thing wasn't nearly as gorgeous as the painting. Then there was the focus, a silhouette with twin tails and a suit of spots. Even more breathtaking than the tower.

Chloe went to step forward and get a closer look at it, but the door swung open and someone slammed into her, sending them both flying to the floor as bursts of paint exploded between them. Next thing she knew, she was covered in red, blue, and black. It stuck to her hair, sliding down onto her face and adding more color than necessary to her cheeks. It covered her outfit and made the cloth cling to her skin in the most uncomfortable way. It somehow got between her toes and in her teeth, making her want spit in the face of whoever did this to her.

Screw it! Nice was overrated, it was time to let the tiger loose. So she did. She opened her mouth and everything came flooding out. Her arms flailed ungracefully as she screamed every profanity she could think of, insulting them, their family, their art, anything they would ever live for, tearing apart their self-esteem. She didn't even know who it was, but she knew that after everything she said, they would wish they never crossed paths with Chloe Bourgeois.

It wasn't until she was out of breath that she stopped and finally took a look at the person in front of her, and she paled. Blood drained from her face and she wished that she could cradle every word she said and crush them in her hands. She wanted to take them back, go back in time and tell herself to be nice.

[I]Be nice. Be nice.

Chloe regretted ever opening her mouth when she saw glassy, tear filled jade eyes.


She tried, she really did, to say something and somehow fix the situation, but nothing escaped her throat. She already used all her words, there was nothing more to say, but so much she wanted to.

For the first time in her life, she wished she could say sorry, but before she could, he was gone. He ran down the hall, forgetting about the masterpiece in the corner or caring that he was covered in paint.

Chloe went home early that day. She walked out of the room, the school, into the streets and through the hotel. She didn't care that everyone was looking at her, and not in the good way. She didn't care that the paint was drying and making her hair clumpy and brittle. The only thing she cared about was getting up to her room and sleeping the whole disaster of a day away.

She fell face first onto her bed, but instead of comfort and warmth flooding her exhausted body, something hard jutted into her stomach. She groaned, grumbling about the lousy cleaning service. She rolled over onto her back.

She looked down at the blankets to see a black, hexagonal box with some red designs on it. It looked Chinese. Hoping her father had gotten her something to make her day better, she snatched it up and opened it. She was expecting a necklace, maybe a bracelet and some earrings, certainly not a flash of yellow light that momentarily blinded her.

Chloe threw the box down and covered her eyes, wondering the heck was inside. Her wondering was interrupted by laughter, loud yet ladylike all the same. She opened her eyes and saw a bug. A bug with big eyes and a cute laugh and it was a big freaking bug.

She screamed and fell backwards, inching away from the giant bee and trying to find it in her to run, call for help, lock herself in the bathroom and never come out, because bugs that big should not exist. Bugs that big should not be in her room, laughing and existing.

“Oh, honey. What happened to you?” the bug said.

Bugs shouldn't talk either.


“So what you're saying is. . .” Chloe looked at the bug, Pollen, with wide eyes as she towel dried her hair, “I'm gonna be a superhero?”

“Mhm,” Pollen nodded her head.

“Alongside Ladybug?”

“And the cat, yes.”

“I'm gonna be a superhero?”

Pollen rolled her eyes, “How many times are you going to ask that?”

Chloe ignored the kwami, placing a hand over her mouth in glee, “Me, Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of the mayor, loved and desired by all, and a superhero!” she squealed.

“Yes, but nobody can know. I'm sure you know the drill.”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Chloe waved her hand, “So what does my outfit look like?”

Pollen zoomed up to her face, suddenly delighted to answer, “Do you wanna see? I've been perfecting it for centuries!”

“Centuries? It better be good then.”

The bee kwami scoffed, “It's better than good, what do you take me for?”

“You sure you're up to date with this generation?”

Pollen rolled her eyes, “Oh, you dumb honey bee, you don't know who you're talking to. Just say 'Transform me'.”

Chloe took a step in front of the mirror, taking a deep breath in before she repeated her kwami, “Transform me!” she called out enthusiastically and she was once again met with a brilliant light of yellow, but this time, it engulfed her body.

She wasn't sure how to feel about the strange sensation that washed over her, but she decided to relish in it, take it as it was with open arms.

Chloe opened her eyes and was pleased to see the colors she was adorned in. Black and yellow, just like a bee. It was a lot like Ladybug's with the skintight spandex, but she couldn't help but think she looked better.

She spent a good few minutes admiring her appearance and how well it suit her before her lips curved up with a thought, a nickname her mother used to call her before the woman walked out on them. She may have left a hole in Chloe's heart, but she still loved her mama.

“Honey Comb.” she murmured, “I'll be Honey Comb.”

Chloe decided that she wouldn't detransform, having a feeling Pollen wouldn't let her visit a certain someone.

If Nathaniel didn't like Chloe, maybe he'd like a taste of Honey.