#and before the entire internet comes for me

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 2

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 7k

previous part <- current part -> next part

The announcement dropped that Thursday morning. A simple post, just your stage name, his, and the phrase "Coming Soon”. Two company logos, one sleek teaser photo of you and Chan, edited together. No dramatic tagline. No date. No explanation. Just enough to send the internet into a spiral.

Within minutes, your name was trending again, but this time, not with accusations. This time, with excitement.

@k-entupdates: 🚨Breaking: (Y/N) x Bang Chan collaboration CONFIRMED. Joint music project + more behind-the-scenes content coming soon. The first photo was released by both agencies. Fans: ready yourselves. This is not a drill.

💬 @seoulsweetheart: I don’t care what anyone says, she’s still insanely talented and her voice with Chan’s production? We’re winning.

💬 @chanluvbot: Let’s be real, if Chan’s involved, it’s going to be gold. Literally. I’m crying already.

💬 @notyouflinching:

She flinched ONE TIME and y’all forgot she literally wrote the bridge that carried an entire generation of ballads. Sit down.

💬 @softsoulmates: The way their teaser photo looks like a wedding invitation... 👀

You scrolled through the reactions from your desk in your apartment, phone in hand, heart caught somewhere between dread and disbelief. The public hadn’t forgiven you entirely, but the tone had shifted. People wanted to believe in you again. They wanted this to work.

You were halfway through refreshing the trending tag when your laptop screen brightened. You were waiting for a meeting between Chan and you to start. You were supposed to discuss the contract together for the first time.

The Zoom chime rang out softly, followed by the flicker of your own camera tile. And then, Bang Chan logged in.

He was in a studio, of course. Wires, stacked speakers, and a massive mixing desk behind him. He looked like he belonged there. Black hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

You’ve seen Chan before, through a screen in interviews. But you’ve never actually talked to him before. You should’ve said something first. Instead, you just watched him.

Bang Chan didn’t speak immediately either. He gave the screen a single nod, then reached off-camera and came back with a copy of the contract in hand. His fingers tapped against the edge of the folder, controlled, rhythmic. Not anxious, exactly, but focused. Like someone preparing for a test he didn’t study for but expected to pass anyway.

You cleared your throat. “Should we go through the contract together?”

He looked up. “Might as well. Better to get the awkward parts out of the way before the cameras start rolling.”

There was no need for introductions. You two knew who you were well enough. You nodded and flipped open your own copy. A silence stretched between you as paper rustled.

Chan broke it first. “Section Two, Paragraph Three. Public Behavior Guidelines.”

You skimmed quickly, then read aloud: “The parties agree to maintain the appearance of familiarity and developing intimacy in public and online spaces. This includes, but is not limited to, soft eye contact, subtle physical proximity, and verbal cues suggestive of mutual fondness.” You looked up. “Subtle?”

He raised a brow. “Subtle in K-pop media terms or real-life terms? Because those are not the same.”

You tried not to smile. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He tilted his head toward the screen. “Just… don’t stand behind me in line if we’re at a convenience store or something. Netizens will do a ten-slide PowerPoint about how your elbows are aligned and what it means.”

You laughed. “Noted.”

He grinned, then flipped a page. “Alright. Section Three: Content Production. There’s a line here that says we’re expected to do at least one joint livestream biweekly.”

Your stomach dipped. “Live?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I don’t love it either, but… I guess that’s the point. We’re supposed to look like we’re warming up to each other in real time.”

Your gaze dropped to the sentence underneath it: Mutual participation in social content is required. Hesitation, awkwardness, or refusal to engage will be flagged as non-compliance.

Chan must’ve seen your eyes linger. “No pressure or anything.”

You gave him a look. “We’re literally being paid to flirt in public.”

He shrugged, half amused. “You ever done that before?”

“Flirted or faked it?”

He didn’t answer. 

You turned the page. “Here,” you said. “Section Four.”

“Section 4: Relationship Boundaries,” you read aloud, voice flattening with each word. “The undersigned parties agree not to engage in a personal or romantic relationship beyond the scope of public performance. Any emotional or physical entanglement beyond agreed promotional conduct will be considered a breach of contract and grounds for termination of the contract, financial penalty, and reputational liability.”

Chan looked down at his own and nodded.

You finally looked up at the screen. “I feel like that should be easy. Given we’ve never met before this.”

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low, thoughtful. “Easy.”

You tapped the bottom of the page. “This part here…” You read: All communication outside of scheduled work must remain professional. Casual or personal interactions not approved by management may be considered misconduct under clause 4B.

Chan sighed. “Translation: no texting unless it’s about a tracklist.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “There’s a subsection at the back. Check Appendix C. It has a list of ‘pre-approved messaging topics.’”

You flipped to it. Your jaw dropped slightly. “This is ridiculous.”

“’Please confirm arrival time for photoshoot’... ‘Did you see the updated mix?’... ‘Your hoodie’s inside out, ’ okay, I added that one. But still.” He gave a small shake of his head. “Nothing like telling two adults how to behave like coworkers and strangers at the same time.”

You frowned down at the text. “We’re being micromanaged like toddlers on a playdate.”

Chan’s eyes were on you again. “That’s because the companies know what’s at stake. One of us slips, and the other gets dragged down with them.”

“Right…speaking of that. Section Five: Backstory and Important Stories.”

Chan groaned softly, already flipping ahead in his copy. “The fake history.”

You scanned the section, eyes narrowing at the bullet points. “We’re supposed to memorize how we ‘met,’ what we ‘admire’ about each other, and what song ‘brought us closer.’ This sounds like an idol variety show bingo card.”

He gave a dry laugh. “It gets better. There’s a section about shared memories we’re supposed to reference casually in interviews. Look,” He held his contract up to the camera. “It literally says, ‘preferred shared memory: ordering the same side dish during a late-night recording session and laughing about it for ten minutes.’”

You stared at him. “We’re being paid to pretend we bonded over kimchi fries?”

He smirked. “Iconic origin story.”

You dropped your forehead to your palm. “Okay,” you said, flipping to the final page. “Section Six: Crisis Protocol.”

Chan groaned again. “The part where they tell us what to do if this all explodes.”

You read it aloud. “In the event of scandal, leaked footage, or unforeseen complications, both parties agree to adhere strictly to the provided narrative. Any deviation without approval from company management may result in public correction or contract dissolution.”

“Translation,” he muttered, “lie better.”

Your eyes widened. “This all ends in one month?”

Chan gave a small nod, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the edge of his desk. “That’s what the timeline says. One months of planned content, soft press cycles, and… whatever this is supposed to be.” He gestured vaguely between your two screens.

You exhaled, more from exhaustion than relief. “It feels longer. I mean…we haven’t even started and it already feels like I’ve signed away something.”

Chan didn’t argue. He just tilted his head a little and said, “They’re betting two months is enough time to rehab a reputation.”

“And yours is what they’re using to do it.” Your words came out more blunt than you meant them to.

He didn’t flinch. “Yeah, well. My label probably thinks it’s a good trade. Get my name attached to a high-profile soloist. Increase visibility for the next comeback. Make me look a little more…” He searched for the word. “Romantic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think you already are?”

Chan laughed softly, caught off guard. “Not when I spend more time with compressors than with people.”

You couldn’t help it, your lips twitched.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Let’s be honest. Neither of us would’ve said yes to this if we had a real choice.”

“No,” you admitted. “We’re both here because someone else thought it was good PR.”

He nodded. “Exactly. So maybe it’s better if we don’t fake being close too fast. If it’s supposed to be a slow burn, let’s make it slow. Clean. Predictable.”

“Like a ballad,” you said quietly.

Chan blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “They always build slowly. Verse. Chorus.”

He watched you for a second longer than felt comfortable, something unreadable in his expression. “Okay,” he said finally. “Slow burn it is.”

You nodded and closed your folder. “I guess we’re partners now.”

Chan smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess we are.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It was raining the morning you arrived at the studio, just enough to blur the windows and give the world that washed-out tint. Iseul sat beside you in the backseat, scrolling through her phone like it owed her money, already wearing the kind of structured blazer and polished expression that meant she was in boss mode.

“Don’t forget to keep it light today,” she reminded, not looking up. “Smile when you walk in. Let the cameras catch the natural chemistry.”

“I’ve met him once,” you said.

She finally glanced at you. “Exactly. First impressions are expensive. Make this one count.”

The car rolled to a slow stop outside the company’s private entrance. You could already hear the faint hum of photographers down the street, like flies outside a sealed window. You pushed your hoodie up, adjusted your cuffs, and followed Iseul out.

The building inside smelled like clean speakers and fresh coffee, studio air. Familiar. Comforting.

A staff member guided you down the hall, Iseul trailing a half-step behind, until they paused outside one of the larger mixing rooms. The door cracked open just as you reached for it.

Chan stood inside, glancing over his shoulder like he’d heard your presence before seeing it. His hoodie was a different one, navy today, slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up the same way they had been on Zoom. He gave you a nod and stepped aside.

The moment your shoes crossed the threshold, it happened.

The thread burned.

A gold spark shimmered into existence on your pinky. You felt it in your pulse before you saw it, like the air had thickened, like something inside you clicked.

Your eyes flicked to Chan instinctively, and his were already locked on you.

His hand twitched slightly, just enough for you to see the same glow threading from his finger, taut and radiant. The same one you'd ignored for years. 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react.

Because beside you, Iseul was smiling with professional pride, and just inside the room stood a man with a clipboard, Chan’s PR manager, probably, ready to coach you both. “Welcome,” he said brightly. “Glad we could finally get you two in the same room.”

You didn’t remove your eyesight from the string, which was revealed to have been connected to Chan this whole time.

“-We’ve got about an hour slotted today,” the manager continued, oblivious. “You can record some verses of your new song, and maybe a short Q&A clip if you’re comfortable. We’ll go over tone and narrative after.”

You barely heard him. Because the thread didn’t just glow, it pulled. A soft but magnetic tug at your pinky, as if your body had already made its decision before your brain caught up. You didn’t need to look at Chan to know he felt it too. The way his eyes didn’t leave yours? It was all the confirmation you needed.

Right there, in a room full of people you weren’t allowed to tell.

Iseul stepped forward first, offering a tight nod to the manager and a polite wave to Chan. “Good to see you again, Chan. (Y/N)’s been looking forward to working together.”

“I have,” you echoed, though your voice was quieter than intended. You finally dropped your gaze, balling your hand into a loose fist until the thread dimmed enough to hide. Your chest still hummed with its echo.

Chan’s PR manager handed you a clipboard with the shoot outline and motioned toward the padded chairs in the corner. “We’ll run the camera for some candid-style B-roll while you go through the melody together. No pressure, just smile, nod, maybe steal a glance or two. You know the drill.”

“Casual chemistry,” Chan said dryly, flipping a switch on the console.

“Exactly,” the manager said without a trace of irony.

Iseul gave your arm a gentle nudge as you moved toward the mic setup. “Just be natural,” she said. “Natural sells.”

Right. Natural. Even though nothing about this was natural anymore.

You passed him on your way to the mic, and for a terrifying second, your arms brushed. A zap of warmth licked up your side. You didn’t flinch, but you felt it. So did he. His jaw flexed, like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

You both took your places, you at the vocal mic, Chan at the desk. The room suddenly felt ten degrees too warm.

“Let’s run the first verse?” he offered, gaze flickering briefly to your hand. “Keep it simple.”

You nodded.

He played the chord progression through the monitors, soft and slow. You closed your eyes, breathing in, letting the track guide you.

But the warmth stayed. And with each note, it pulled tighter.

Behind you, you could hear the soft click of Iseul’s phone, capturing snippets of footage for social media. Carefully curated. Perfectly staged. Not a soul in the room knew the performance wasn’t the only thing being orchestrated.

“Great start!” the PR manager said. “Let’s do a take with a little more eye contact this time, maybe a smile, just toward the end?”

You turned away just in time to catch Iseul giving you a thumbs up. You couldn’t smile back. Not right now.

Permanent tag list: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght

Soulmate Series tag list: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite

[seraphicloves]

𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒌𝒂, 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉

⊱✿⊰ summary: you have a dramatic reaction to seeing idia for the first time. other housewardens are not pleased.

⊱✿⊰ warnings: reader is immediately attracted to idia, vil is jealous reader doesn't like him like that, idk chaos?? probably short tbh, light crowley bashing

⊱✿⊰ notes: first fic in like six months lolll, yeah 🤪 im that sigma sauce!! i do have requests open so if you want something written let me know @chiikawagirll ur welcome

you didn't expect anything interesting to happen when you got to the house warden's meeting. having been in the twisted wonderland world, you still didn't feel entirely used to everything but at the very least you had a routine down. was it slightly troubling that you had been stuck in a strange world long enough to establish a routine? yes, but there was no time to worry about that when you had duties to complete.

grim was still sleeping soundly in his bed back at ramshackle, so unfortunately you had no company when tackling the problems faced when dealing with upperclassmen. you took your seat in the room, noticing that riddle was already there - unsurprisingly. you arrived early as well, not wanting to get on the bad side of crowley so early in the morning.

it didn't take long for the room to be filled with the other housewardens as the headmaster of night raven college didn't like to linger for anything in general. he was not a busy man, but he certainly acted as if he was always in a rush. you wondered if he was just trying to creep closer to the vacation, he never seemed truly deserving of.

curiously, you did notice the lack of the tablet in the room. usually, ortho would place the tablet in the room an hour prior to the meeting so his older brother would be able to attend successfully from his room. it was none of your business but you did find it out of the ordinary. and your survival in this world was built on learning what is unusual.

"alright everyone, let's try to keep this quick." crowley said, not even being aware that idia had yet to make an appearance. he probably wasn't even looking at any of the housewardens beneath his mask, he was entirely apathetic to everyone here. he stepped away, lingering in the shadows like a monster waiting for the chance to attack.

almost like clockwork, riddle sprung up - ready to come up with whatever problems he was having with his dorm. or whatever problems he was having with people outside his dorm. riddle was an interesting boy, outspoken and always looking for intense amounts of improvement for everyone. he was the definition of perfectionist.

you attempted to listen to riddle drone on about the various rules in the heartslaybul textbook but your mind was drifting quickly. it was more interesting when leona was arguing with vil but currently they were not too bothered.

attempting to supress a yawn, you turned your attention to the sudden commotion in the room. at the door was a tall pale boy, with sharp features and dark eyes. his most noticeable feature was the long hair flowing behind him in a bright blue shade.

your heart surely stopped beating as you realized you were face to face with idia shroude for the very first time. he was....attractive. like really fucking attractive.

before you would process what was leaving your lips, you kept your eyes glued on him, as you said much louder than needed, "boom shakalaka!"

one issue you had run in with in the twisted wonderland world was the fact they didn't have the same internet culture you did back home. so none of them would understand what you meant in this situation.

everyone turned their attention to you, while idiea stared with a mix of uncertainty and confusion. which was understandable, since you practically shouted at him all while having heart eyes for him.

"and what might that mean, potato?" vil asked, arching his perfectly groomed eyebrow. you felt yourself warm at the spotlight being on you, and even more so the fact you'll need to explain you think idia is fine.

"in my world, it's" you paused and looked away with slight shyness, "well, it's a saying when you see somebody really attractive."

"you chose that emo to be attracted to?" leona butt in, scoffing in almost disbelief. you rolled your eyes, not letting that furry lion judge you for your taste in men.

"for once, i agree with leona." vil said, crossing his arms across his chest somehow in an elegant way, "idia is not the usual choice. after all, you did not say 'boom shakalaka' when you saw me. and i am an actor known for my beauty."

you shrugged and peeked a glance at idia, who was gaping at you with horror written all over his expression. his once blue hair was now a red flame of embarrassment.

"i have a type, i guess." you shrugged, ready to leave the meeting right then, "i think idia is a hot guy. it's not that big of a deal."

vil pouted a little, seeming almost offended you didn't say the same about him. however, thankfully, riddle started shouting about the conversation being derailed. then he scolded idia for showing up late to the meeting.

"my tablet wasn't working," idia mumbled, keeping his gaze to the ground, "i would rather be in my room than here."

you spared one last glance at idia, realizing with a sad weight that he would be so scared of you now. your thoughts were confirmed when idia locked eyes with you for a second and blushed.

instead of being defeated, you just decided it would take a bit longer to befriend idia. sure, he's scared now but eventually he'll warm up to you! at least you hope he will...

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[rosarenn]

I don't want to hear "oh I can't choose my sexuality," "oh I can't choose my gender" anymore.

It's bullshit.

If aces can teach us anything, it's that you do not need to be sexually attracted to someone to have sex with them, let along to date them. Sex workers and sluts (complimentary, admiring) also know this and can teach us.

If you are a cis woman dating cis men and complaining about it, that is a choice you are making. And the beauty of this fact is that it means you could choose differently.

You are not a victim of your birth. Your fate is not predetermined. You were not born this way.

Everyday you make decisions to pursue (or not pursue) cishet relationships, and if you so desire, you could choose differently.

It's a travesty that people can say in the same breath that gender is constructed, and that they were born cis or trans or straight or gay or whatever.

Gender is a performance. That means cis-gender as much as trans-gender. And if we follow this reasoning to its logical conclusion, we can see that heterosexuality is just as much of a performance. How can you be inherently, fundamentally heterosexual if gender doesn't exist in a static, external, fundamental way? It doesn't add up.

You can choose differently; we all can.

The game is fake. The stakes - the stakes are real. It's not an accident or a personal moral failing to be straight or cis. There is an entire society, a network of institutional power coercing you to be this way.

Be suspicious of your own desires! Critically examine your internal thoughts and feelings, to find the difference between what you truly desire and what desires were implanted in you through social conditioning. When your desires seem to align with dominant systems of power and supremacy, be extra suspicious of your own mind!

Let yourself explore, daydream, experiment. If you've never even let yourself imagine a different way of organizing your life, how can you know what you truly desire?

It's 2024. You can choose to be queer. You can choose to push back against hegemonic, supremacist culture. You can reject everything you thought you knew about yourself and build a new identity from scratch, if you wish. You can love in new and expansive ways.

It's not easy, but it might be worth it.

[anewp0tat0]

i lied i had like atleast one more weston thought to expell from my brain, before i miss this boat entirely. we're heading to green lands woooo

[r0semultiverse]

I’m just gonna say it, the newer generations (yes even that one other trans/nonbinary person you think would never hurt you) are way too comfortable pedojacketing their former friends/partners. Just because someone hurt you or you didn’t like the way they acted around you, doesn’t mean they’re a pedo or some shit. I’m tired of seeing this happen to other younger trans folks and I’m tired from having gone through it myself with younger nonbinary folks. It’s always the younger folks too it feels like. You need some reason to try to “cancel” someone even though you have no evidence and no case whatsoever because you would rather be in control and be angry than face your own sadness and sit with your discomfort at a situation that doesn’t require any public outcry!

[nenoname]

yes i'm still salty that some people were super annoying when folks compared stan and bill-- despite the website being even more blunt about their similarities!!!!

[france-the-third]

man i love trying making plans with a friend and 1) they forget or 2) they answer my request to shift the plans slightly after the time we made plans for /s

[o-wyrmlight]

Blue Prince goes brr

[hollytree33]

I’m back!!

[haunted-calathea]

Whenever you guys are ready we can topple the government... Literally been waiting here with my brick collection and comically large hammer for you guys to catch up :/

[itshomobirb]

ok i am gonna order the penis bong i swear. but first, i need to order a couch and a bookshelf. i have no living room furniture and would like some more storage to put my hobby stuffs, instead of in moving boxes against the wall

[carmillatism]

Hey I understand wanting to share your medical stuff for special interest reasons, but you shouldn't have all of that on a public website, that is incredibly dangerous, especially since you're a minor. You also shouldn't be recommending medications for the same reasons

i do want to know why it is exactly dangerous. it really doesn't help the fact that you're an anon i do not know telling me it's dangerous to talk about conditions i live with, especially when we're on tumblr where people talk about this shit. i don't know you, and you do not know me. i would say thank you for your concern, but if you were truly concerned, i think you'd take this up with me in dms on your personal account and actually explain your reasoning to me. i don't talk about this just for special interest reasons. my disabilities aren't my special interest; medical science in general is my special interest. i talk about my own disabilities to find community with other people; that is not an absurd thing to do online, and i don't see how that would put me in harm's way when i'm not disclosing specific traumas, revealing information, or identification. my recommendation of any type of medical advice is fully disclaimed with the fact that i am not a professional, and it is simply based on my own experiences so that i may possibly help someone else. sorry to get mad about this, but i'm not open to taking personal advice that i have not asked for from someone who has gone out of their way to not tell me who they are; you can see how this puts me at a disadvantage and can make me feel shitry simply for existing the way i do on the internet, right? if you are legitimately concerned, please dm me on an account that discloses who you are and actually give me decent information i can work with instead of accusing me of not knowing what i'm doing, putting myself in harm's way, and implying i spread misinformation. u can use anon again if you feel it impertinent to not have your identity known, but i do prefer you privately speak with me about something that concerns you about me (which again, ido not know you). thanks.

[steviescrystals]

MY LIFE IS NOT REAL WHAT IS GOING ON

[angels-heap]

This is obviously a personal gripe and not a suggestion to harass anybody, but god, I hate* people who write spam fics that have just enough "plot" to them that they don't technically violate TOS.

It's one thing to earnestly write a fic that happens to be bad. We've all done it, including me! It's another thing entirely to write deliberately shitty spam fics to entertain 3.5 of your middle school friends and then subject us all to them by posting them on an archive with legitimate-looking tags. Really wish people would stop fucking doing that.

[tyrantisterror]

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anywhere.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could crochet me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

[backpackingspace]

Me suddenly remembering I have my once a month (sometimes once every two months) therapy check in. And being hit with a months worth of panic all at once