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a-gal-with-taste · 1 year

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Certainties & Mistletoe

Summary: Mistletoe, the only decoration the old bastard could bear to stand during the winter-months. You thought it harmless, simple and almost forgettable... but the event it causes, is anything-but.

Ebenezer Scrooge & F!Reader | 2469 Words | AO3

Part 2 | Part 3

Tags: Oneshot, mistletoe-troupe, humor, internal-thoughts, boss/employee relationship, pre-prelationship, first-kiss, pining (??), Scrooge being a grump (shocker), open-ended, haven't watched the movie, just think Scrooge is kinda-

A/N: I have. No excuse. But blame @sweatandwoe and Netflix anyways, because they had no rights, but caused this anyways.

Upmost in certainty, were these three facts:

One, that Ebenezer Scrooge was the richest man in this district of London.

Two, that Ebenezer Scrooge was the most miserable, selfish, cold-hearted miser in the district, possibly in the country, certainly within the distract.

And three, that Ebenezer Scrooge kissed sweetly enough, that one could nearly forget the prior two-facts.

Or, rather... the Master Ebenezer didn't exactly kiss you back. In fact he didn't little much of anything, and remaining-still as you pressed your own lips, delicate as the falling-flecks of white, to his.

Was it a mistake? Undoubtedly.

Foolish? Certainly, you could be out in a slum-house come tomorrow morning, dismissed in disgrace.

But, the mistletoe... oh, it was silly, but the it had looked so inviting! Berries casted soft glow in the nearby light of lanterns, spiked leaves untouched with frost.

The one-decoration the old bastard had enough paitence to withstand, and of course, it had been your demise. Like the temptation of the apple, like the god of hell-itself beckoning, you had almost been eager to lean-forth towards your doom.

Foolish, stupid, silly mistake, one that could ruin you.

And yet, you didn't pull back.

And neither did he.

From the moment you had spoken his name, soft as snow's first-fall on the porch, the sole movement Ebenezer managed, before you cupped a hand over a sturdy, well-trimmed cheek, stood high on the tip of your toes, and sealed your fate by pressing his lips to your own.

He had yet to pull back.

Yet to move entirely, speak, or... frankly, you feared he lost the ability to breathe.

Ironically, it was that fact that finally convinced you to retract from the man. Not the fact this was Master Scrooge, nor even that your future was as uncertain as a ship traversing through rock-laden waters onto certain doom...

But the fact that your simple kiss, had been enough to completely halt the miser entirely.

Heels kiss the ground in silence, as open your eyes to gaze at the looming man, who, indeed, was in some-sort of state of inanimation. More frozen than an hanging-icicle, your gaze flicked from an unrising-chest, tightly-pursed lips, eyes sightlessly staring-forth, and a distinct lack of pale-clouds emanating from mouth or nostrils.

One could almost fear the kiss had been enough to kill him.

You, however, always preferred being of the optimistic-sort, if a bit realistic.

Assuming the less-dire, you took another step back, and spoke as if Ebenezer was still residing well-into the land of conscious thought and reality, and not clearly miles-away in snowy clouds. "Forgive me, sir. That was a poor-choice, and you have my sincerest apology for my action, I... I have no excuse."

Well, there was one excuse. But you could hardly blame a decorative plant.

Speaking of it, though it was a bit of a strain, your fingers tugged the innocent, demonic little pest from the doorway free. The ribbon it was attached to fluttered simply to the ground, but you dared not stoop to pick it up - instead, placing the plant in the certain of your palm, you held it out between yourself and your employer.

A peace offering.

Though this was an event that was anything but peaceful, you still held out the offending object with a brief smile, one that wobbled at the corners. Not just with the shivers of your body, but with the slow-looming knowledge of what you had just done, and what it would cost you.

What was the price, of a simple kiss?

Scrooge, a most professional businessman, would surely be able to tell you. But he seemed rather strained with words, speech made entirely impossible even as life resumes within him, thank God...

He is able to blink. Twice, before his eyes dropped down to yours, than down to what was effectively, the murder-weapon of your current employment in your palm, before his mouth moved to form a single-word:

"What."

"I'm sorry," You said again, shaky smile fading, but the trembling of your lips moved instead to reside your voice. "I-i... there is no excuse. I can only offer an apology, which I do... I do so quite, quite heartily, Mister Scrooge."

Worrying at your bottom lip, your own eyes followed the same trajectory as his own. Darting from his unreadable, unblinking eyes, and those damning plump-red berries held aloft in your gloved-palm.

Something wet, almost burning in comparison to the winter's chill, began to prick at the back of your eyelids, before finally, large and dark-clad gloves decended down onto your hand.

Pinching the culprit between his fingers like a sixpence, when he raised it to eyelevel for inspection, you dropped your own gaze to settle down near the ground. You couldn't help noting how perfectly his boots gleamed in a somber-black, causing the snowflakes that fell upon it to be in a perfect outline.

A distraction. Welcomed, but you roused yourself from it to face reality, even if you kept your gaze well-averted.

"I shall pack upon the morrow, if it suits you," You whispered, words trapped on a small cloud of frigid air, and releasing near-silently between you both. "You shant see me again, Master Scrooge, if it is in your desire... I fear that is the minimal I can offer for my transgression. I'm sorry. P-please... please accept it, as my truest apology."

"... ahem."

You raised your gaze, now truly stinging with the weight of water at your lashes, but a singular blink was quick to ease them away. Despair faded, replaced by confusion at the... oddest expression on the face of Ebenezer Scrooge.

He had turned away from you, unsurprisingly. Perhaps he couldn't stomach the sight of such unruly behavior from an otherwise acceptable-maid, but had a rather fixated-attention on the small branch of green and red in his fingers.

And, apparently, on his collar.

He was adjusting it, clearing his throat periodically, as his attention remained averted from your own growing-bewilderment, and remained steadfast on loosening his tight-cravat.

"... Master?"

Another clearing of his throat. Without the guide of his facial-expression, you were unable to discern his exact emotions at this given-moment, but you deduced that it was a scoff of acknowledgement, and attempted to salvage yourself once-more.

"I... shall guess you will have me return-early, to do a days work before my final departure? Or shall I, perhaps, remain the evening so-as to prepare for my replacement on the morrow-"

Unlikely he would find-one willing enough to work for the miser, even with the steady-promise of coin, but it was a possibility quickly-forgotten with his sudden-snap, like a whip of words.

"What foolishness. You think I shall take-up the duster, the broom in your absence?"

You blinked. The dust had been nearly an inch-thick on your first day of working, you half-imagined the man didn't know such objects of cleaning existed. "I... I only thought-"

"-that I would discard a perfectly-suitable maid? Bah, don't be absurd." You were not exempt from the trademark scorn that caused many in London to wince at the mere-mention of the name Scrooge, but it was... muted?

Certainly not softer, and lacking even the basics of kindness, but... you did not flinch. Only blinked, and quietly asked the man what he would like you to do now.

The dark, rich leather-gloves creaked as his pinched-fingers tightened sharply on the deep-emerald stalk. Silence reigned, in a muted-world where little existed, save for the soft-falling snow, the two of them, and the mistletoe in his grasp.

Then, after another strange clearing of his throat, Scrooge brought words into the small, trapped-reality the two of you shared.

"What would like, is for you to go home," He commanded sharply. "And ensure my coin is put to good use, by arriving back here on the morrow, on-time."

You blinked. "You... would like me to return? Even after-"

"Was it not what I said?" Ebenezer interrupted, voice even sharper than before... no. Now it bordered on shrill, something choked. "You certainly won't be if you were to catch a chill, a likely consequence if you were to remain-out any longer on this night."

It's a dismissal, but one that barely registers until he jerks his head back, briefly facing you with the gesture.

The sight of cheeks, dusted in a deep-pink besides his well-trimmed salt-and-pepper sideburns, is enough to make you blink. Certaiy, the chill is enough to coax a darker-shade onto one's skin, and you know that you have some frost-nipped skin of your own, but Scrooge's shade was enough to worry you.

Others might dance a jig at the thought of old Ebenezer Scrooge catching a chill, long-standing karma being served at last, but a burst of worry still resides within you.

The thought of ailment or illness befalling the gentleman, even if that gentleman was Scrooge, was enough to grant you concern at the sight of reddened-cheeks. Emotion outfitted sense, as you stepped forward. "Sir, are you quite well-?"

"Go home," He snapped, the sound harsh and reverberating through gritted teeth. More akin to a growl of a hunter than man, causing you, the prey, frozen in your steps with wide-eyes. "I hardly plan to pay you for remaining later-hours, and I will still expect you upon the morrow without delay. It would be, in your upmost best interest, to leave."

A dismissal.

Ebenezer Scrooge was... letting you off, with only a dismissal.A mere be-gone for the evening, no different than any other you have received in the days-past, if a little more scornful than the rest.

You'd be a fool not to take this gift, perhaps the only the old bastard could provide - absolution, an escape from this humiliation transgression.

You would be a fool not to take it. Yet, you're the kind of fool to hesitate.

Not long - you don't have a death-wish, despite recent actions may otherwise suggest - but after another moments' pause to study the man, you hesitated curstied in obedient politeness, gathering your skirts high-enough to step down the ice-slick porch-steps.

You had little fear of falling, having traversed this walk on the daily, but some part of you felt quite uncertain.

As if the axis of the world has shifted, in some form or the other, and you walked down the steps with uncertainty of what exactly it was.

And how different your world would look, come morning.

For the moment, longing to remain in normalcy, you turned and called back your quiet, routine salutations to the Master - or rather his back. He had yet to face you fully.

"Good-night, Mister Scrooge."

Stepping down the lane with a tug of your shawl tighter around you, the streetlamp you pass-by offers temporary warmth, refuge from the uncertainty and the unsteadiness beneath your feet...

"Good-night."

... which became only more unsturdy beneath your heels, at the sound of Ebenezer Scrooge, the most miserable man in town, wishing you a good night.

Unheard of.

Inconceivable.

The gentleman had never provided you with a pleasantry in all the time you've known him, and yet now, it's offered in a way that could almost be described, daresay, as soft.

A sharp turn, harsh pivot, that miraculously doesn't send you sprawling onto the ice-slick path, but it's too late. The click of the cane on cobble is enough to signal his retreat, and the sight of his back, shawl catching on a snowy-breeze, is enough to confirm his escape before you can question it.

Before you can question if it had even happened at all, or if the snow-filled wind carried words as well as ice.

Perhaps you had fallen into madness - surely, the only true explanation for your lapse in good-sense in the first-place.

It was a more pleasing thought, than whatever it could possible mean that Scrooge felt the urge to offer a nicety after such transgression, and one you worked-steadfast of to convincing yourself at, all the way to your small apartment several blocks over.

It was the one-comfort you found, once dressed and tucked beneath your sheets. The solace was well-suited for your buzzing mind, the delusion that his parting-words were merely something of illusion enough to send you into a restful-sleep.

So restful, that you quite nearly forgot the incident entirely upon return to the waking-world.

Certainly, the motification remained in regards to your own-actions, which you were certain had occurred in reality. There came moments when your lips seemed to recall a soft, unfamiliar presence when memories returned of the incident, ensuring you did not forget it.

Apology, one in daylight and well-rehearsed to display true remorse, was well in-order.

You also suspected such would put your mind to ease. While the gentleman had seemed keen to erase the moment in the minutes-following, you resigned to put the event of transgression well-out of your mind, as well as the impossibility of good-night that had followed, and an assurance that such behavior would never transpire-again.

Closing the chapter entirely, and forgetting it's contents.

Including the one where you imagined Ebenezer Scrooge, of all people, wishing you a good-night.

Absurdity!

Such fantasy was only liable and expected to be forgotten entirely, in order to move-forward in life. And when you stepped into his buisness the following-morning, you had intended to do just that. Begin to forget the fact that you had kissed Ebenezer Scrooge, and in response, he had bid you good-night.

That had been your plan.

Your first-step towards normalcy, the first stride back into stability, and you had taken it into his office with an optimistic smile hinting at your face, as you pushed open the door.

Your plan to move-past the incident was foiled immediately, when you opened the door to the man's office.

Catching sight of that same accursed sprig of spiked-green and perfect red-berries, atop Mister Ebenezer Scrooge's otherwise entirely plain-desk, and settle in a filled-glass of water.

Preserving the event with it's allowed continued existence.

And once-more shifting reality into realms uncertain, when steele-blue raise from endless inspection of the cut-plant, to entourage gaze in an examination of equal-intensity.

The gaze neutralized. Becoming safely familiar, even as the words that followed, were not.

"Good morning."

And you realized, it would not be so-easy to return to what reality had been. Before the night prior where you had taken the apple, the hand-to-hell, in the form of following the practice of mistletoe.

Because, there was now no possibility to return from when-once-you-came.

A fact solidified, when you opened your mouth, and whispered in-repeat words you never thought such a miserable man was capable of saying to you...

"Good morning."

... but the fact that he did, was a fact that confirmed that change was here, like the days' fresh-blanket of cool snow upon the city of London.

A change refreshing, despite the uncertainty it held for the winter ahead.

#how could netflix do this?#scrooge: a christmas carol #scrooge 2022 #scrooge 2022 x reader #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge x reader #netflix #reader insert #this is only 50% joke #guess what the other 50% is #fanfic #female reader #scrooge fanfic #writing #christmas

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sakuramoti0903 · 2 months

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crossover(Ducktales×Frieren)

#fanart #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #dt17 fanart #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #huey dewey and louie #webby vanderquack #huey dewey louie and webby #scrooge mcduck #sousou no frieren #frieren: beyond journey's end #crossover #fanfic

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teaboxcarmarbles · 9 months

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I wanted to draw art for Kyprish_Prohetess fanfic Masks Within Masks https://archiveofourown.org/works/42864048/chapters/107684214

Check out there fanfic it’s Good 🦆❤️💙😊

#ducktales 2017 #disney #donald duck #paperlink #pkna #legendofthethreeCaballeros #the three caballeros #disney ducks #crossover #fanfic art #masks within masks #kingdom hearts #duck avenger #della duck #scrooge mcduck

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flowercrowngods · 4 months

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j.r. harrington's christmas carol

in prose. being a ghost story of christmas. a modern au.

stave i

Three things in John Richard Harrington‘s life come with absolute certainty: tax returns, unsweetened black coffee three times a day, and the permanent headache once December inevitably rolls around, over time wandering from his temples to just behind his eyes, worsening his already sour mood.

“Idiocy, all of this,” he mutters under his breath as he pushes open the door to his office, leaving behind his stammering secretary and the ungodly blare of Christmas songs he cannot seem to escape this year. It’s grating on his nerves, and he hangs his hat on the coat-tree, damp with water because it never snows anymore.

All the better for traffic, at least, because not a day passes that he has nowhere to be. Snow tends to thwart these plans.

“Absolute humbug,” he grumbles once more, shucking his coat and smoothing a hand over the lapels, keeping them immaculate despite the rain.

There is a stack of documents on his desk, and it is a blessed vision, that. None of that dilly-dallying that the rest of the world seems so adamant on indulging this time of year, no. Not for John Richard Harrington, real estate magnate and financier by trade. The world of Money is not about to stop just because workers all across the globe are wont to forget about their employment for a few days of illusion and play-pretend.

“Bah!” He sits down and finds note upon note from long-standing business partners and loyal clients, wishing him a Merry Christmas and expressing gratification and happiness towards their business this year.

While Harrington does appreciate the loyalty and the premise of future business, he does not need their Merry Christmasses nor their Good Tidings. What he needs is responsible, determined employees who do purposeful work regardless of the holidays.

But all he gets is a bunch of ungrateful, aimless good-for-nothings who, instead of working as they are expected to, spend all of December beseeching him to grant them just two days of Christmas vacation — and every year they get the same answer: “Stay home for Christmas and find yourselves unemployed.”

And every year they make the decision to come into work, restoring Harrington’s faith and goodwill that at times has been known to go so far as to sending them home a half hour early — paid! He is not a monster, after all; no matter what they say. He is a realist. A capitalist. A wise investor and a driven businessman. And business, he knows, at times necessitates a compromise.

He will, however, not compromise a whole year’s work for a meaningless holiday that is in dire need of a better soundtrack. How people do not grow tired of listening to always the same songs on repeat each and every year is past him, and he won’t even try to understand it. So long as they keep their miguided cheer far away from him, he does not care if the first noël is born or if the midwinter is indeed bleak.

A knock sounds against the heavy wooden door and he frowns, already anticipating the person behind the door even as he keeps sorting the stack on his desk, sorting mail into dedicated piles of business, sentimentality, and Steven. The latter has been empty for years now, but that is just as well.

Another knock, and the old Harrington growls, his eyes flitting to the door as though he were capable of making the person behind it disappear by sheer willpower alone. Although he has to concede that making Cratchit disappear would be a poor move, as the man is one of his most efficient. Their acquaintance could be excellent if only Cratchit weren’t so adamant on experiencing the Christmas cheer each year without pause.

John Richard sighs and leans back in his chair, still frowning at the door as he bids him inside.

“Cratchit.”

“Merry Christmas, sir!” Cratchit says, a glint of tease beneath the unfortunately entirely genuine sentiment that ricochets right off of Harrington’s scowl and returns to its sender, only brightening the man’s smile.

“Tell me what you want and then get back to work, Cratchit. I don’t pay you for… lallygagging.”

Cratchit’s smile falters a little, and he clears his throat. “Well, you see, sir, my son. He has flown in from overseas, arrived this morning, in fact. Has come home for Christmas for the first time in three years, you see. He will stay over the holidays, and so I was wondering if, perhaps, you would make an exception this year and show a little heart—“

“Heart!” Harrington exclaims, effectively shutting up his stammering employee. “Compassion! And where will that get me, Cratchit? Let’s say I concede this year, you lot will expect it every year from now on. Add to that a vacation for New Year’s Day, and maybe a few days give or take until work ethic declines and you will only work from one holiday to another. Isn’t that what will happen, hm?” He scoffs, shaking his head in derision. “Compassion… I expected better from you, Cratchit.”

The man withers, and normally Harrington wouldn’t mind that, would study his misery and hold it against him in future debates. But something about it, something about that grin disappearing, and with it that glint of something so youthful even though the man is only a few years his junior cracks at something inside him. Something that feels a lot like that empty stack of mail on his desk.

“Please,” Cratchit says. “Please, sir, just… Just half the day tomorrow. It’s—“

It’s Christmas. It's humbug!

Anger rises inside him and barely contains himself as it coils and bubbles inside him. “Get out, Cratchit, before I’ll have you escorted outside.”

“But sir—“

“Get out!” he shouts, watching as Cratchit flinches, entirely too soft for this world. Marley wouldn’t have hesitated to fire him thrice over for even trying to bargain over this.

But Marley is dead seven years now, and Harrington is the only hard-headed man in charge of these good-for-nothings. And maybe it’s that; a tiny, misguided shred of mourning his business partner; or maybe it’s his hand reaching for the non-existent stack on his desk and finding his hand empty. Maybe it’s heart, as Cratchit put it, even though John Richard is known not to have one, and he is not inclined to disagree.

Whatever the reason may be, Harrington calls, before Cratchit can hastily pull the door shut behind him, “And when you come back after Christmas, I expect to see you at your best performance, Cratchit. Understood?”

The man blinks, his eyes wide as saucers as he regards Harrington, his mouth falling open as he loses whatver composure he might have possessed before this. Five seconds pass and Harrington is inclined to take back his words when Cratchit shake shimself out of his stupor and falls into a tirade of gratitude and disbelief that Harrington really has no time for, calling for his assistant to escort Cratchit back downstairs. They have work to do after all.

When the door falls shut once more, leaving the grand office in silence, he allows himself a moment to breathe and regret his moment of softness, hearing Marley’s grouching insistence that softness and compassion in a capitalist’s world will only lead to ruin and bitterness.

But bitterness is there in Harrington’s life regardless, especially around this time of year.

***

There is another certainty in John Richard Harrington’s life: He does not get nightmares. There are no terrors haunting him, no ghosts of future or past relationships to linger in the back corners of his mind, waiting to come out at night when he lets his guard down.

That, however, does very little to explain this nightmare of Jacob Marley warning him of an eternity of sorrow and chains if he does not see the error in his ways, if he does not better himself and reconnect with the heart tapping a steady but withering beat in his chest.

“I don’t undestand!” he calls into the void as the world spins around him, light becoming darkness and darkness turning into light, blinding and disorienting him as he feels colder by the second.

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” Marley’s apparition says as Harrington falls, scrambling away from the Ghost, feeling real fear for the first time in his life. “You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits. Please them and yours will not be the same fate as mine. Expect the first one tonight, when the clock strikes One. The second will find you the night after that at the same hour. And the third will come when Christmas Eve turns into Christmas Day.”

He shakes his head, refusing to believe this Ghost, ready to bargain that she should meet all these Spirits at once if they were real, that they should reveal themselves and absolve him of what crimes they think him to be guilty of. But Marley holds up his hand, forbidding John Richard to speak, and he does hold his tongue — more out of fear than real obedience.

Before he knows it, the room fills with horrible wails of lamentation and regret, self-accusatory and begging for absolution so sorrowful that Harrington feels a cold shiver travelling down his back, a sensation he is not at all familiar with.

And then, as quickly as it started, the spectre is gone and silence returns, the show is over. There is no time to collect himself, because he gasps awake the next moment, feeling no different than just seconds before and wondering if it really was a dream or if he was hallucinating. Unfortunately, a hallucination is just as impossible as a nightmare.

The alarm clock on is bedside table shows 12:19 a.m.

And for some reason, fear still coursing through his veins, John Richard Harrington decides to stay awake. Pretending not to count down the minutes until the clock stikes One and be assured to still exist in a world where ghosts aren’t real.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #will feature:#steddie #and stobin hehehe #and parental redemption #a christmas carol #have a whacky take at a christmas carol with harrington sr as scrooge #i fully don't expect this to get any notes but i wanted a fun little challenge and i kinda like the idea and i have Plans #(i also have no time for these plans but Oh Well™️)#stranger things christmas carol #dio words #this is whacky the words aint flowing i am only just regaining them after months of horribleness my brain is like rebooting sorry

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cleake · 1 year

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Concerns

I wrote this at midnight, so please excuse any mistakes. I just want to let this man know that he’s good, and maybe kiss his hand.

Warning: English is not my first language

You and Ebenezer had been living together for some time. At first, it was strange, because you two didn’t think of it much. You just moved to Scrooge's house after he offered you this opportunity. You’ve known each other for quite some time, you were there witnessing how Ebenezer had changed throughout the years. You were always by his side and he felt it was an understatement to call you a “friend”. You were there when he prepared a Christmas party for his close ones after years, it was so nice to see how happy he finally was. On that day he offered you to stay with him, and you accepted his offer. It was so natural for both of you, you didn’t think of it much. But after some time it struck you, maybe you two were not just good friends but none of you would admit it to themselves. You two spent a lot of time together, from the moment you shared breakfast to the late-night talks. You two walked around the streets of London, hand in hand, talking about everything you two could. Ebenezer made a lot of effort to show you how important you were to him, by buying you gifts, taking you to the places you dreamed of visiting, and listening to your every word. He felt so much warmth when he was with you, the smallest things about you made him tingle inside. He didn’t feel that way for a long time, and he was afraid that he would lose you too if he didn’t try harder. You were so good to him, so nice, peaceful, kind, empathetic, soft his heart would melt. He felt that he needed to be close to you, his hands wanted to feel yours, he wanted to give you everything, he wanted to hold you in his arms forever. But he was afraid of doing so, he didn’t want to scare you away from him, he would break if you left him because of his fault. So he enjoyed the image of you and appreciated every moment you two shared.

But you wanted to know, to be certain that this is only friendship. You didn’t want to have your hopes high for something that never was there.

You slowly walked to Ebenezer's door to his office, he was working this evening, leaving you as politely as he could. You felt like you would explode from uncertainty, you wanted to know now. You knocked on the door, and a muffled “come in” followed. You entered the room, seeing Scrooge's eyes already on you.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” he asked, putting his quill down. You walked closer to his desk.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Alright, I’m listening,” he said standing up from his armchair. You take a shaky breath, before speaking.

“Lately I’ve been feeling confused about our relationship, Ebenezer.”

Scrooge looked at you with raised eyebrows, something in his chest has risen. He was scared of this conversation, he thought you may want to leave. He would understand if you wanted to leave him for yourself, but he wanted to know if he did everything right.

“Yes…I see,” he whispered, gazing at the floor

“Please tell me how you see us,” you said, playing with your hands. The man’s eyes focused back at you, there was some kind of fear inside of them, and his breath sharpened. He slowly forced a smile on his lips.

“I truly admire you, Y/N. I see you as someone I can trust with everything, I know that you’ll listen to me and are willing to help me in any form. I think you’re an honorable human being, and I would be honored if you wanted to stay with me here.” he answered, putting his hands behind his back.

You looked at him with slightly frowned eyebrows.

“I understand that, Ebenezer. I know that. But I want to know… Do you see me as a friend, and if only as a friend.”

Ebenezer perused his lips and hung his head down.

“I am afraid to reveal my feelings toward you, Y/N.”

“Would you do it if I told you first what I think of you?” you asked, and Scrooge raised his head again.

“It would bring me some peace.”

You nodded slightly and took a deep breath, closing your eyes.

“I have known you for years, Ebenezer, I saw every side of you, and I wanted every one of them. I learned that you were something I needed close to me. I think that you are a great man, I think you are a lovely man. I want to stand by your side and help you with my greatest efforts. I feel safe with you, I feel connected to you. I want you. I adore you, Ebenezer.”

Scrooge stood there, your words hitting him. His lips were slightly parted, and his winded eyes were focused on you, thin tears showing in the light. He bearly breathed, everything stood in silence. Finally, Ebenezer took a sharp breath, his eyes softening a little bit. He felt so much warmth, so much love it made his hands shake. Every thought that made him believe he was no good for you abruptly left him, with so much lightless staying in him.

“Oh… Oh, my dear.” he breathed out, slowly walking towards you, with his hands slightly raised. When he stood next to you, he didn’t know what to do, his hands were too tense to hold you, he just looked at you, a small smile on his lips. He forced his hand to lean over your cheek, but he stopped. With a sob, he collapsed into your arms, which made you jump a little bit. Holding the man in your arms you heard small sobs from him with muffled mumbling.

“Ebenezer,” you whispered, gently putting your hand on the back of his neck. He felt your warm touch on his skin, which made him feel so much at once. He was happy, truly, but he felt like he didn’t deserve this from you, your love, or your friendship. His forehead was resting on your shoulder, his fingers delicately grasped your hand, touching your skin slightly, afraid of bigger moves. You took his hand fully which made him gasp.

Ebenezer slowly raised his head and looked at you, tears falling from his eyes onto his cheeks. Your hand gently leaned on his cheek, wiping the tears.

“I’m so sorry.” he choked out, wiping his eyes from the tears.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, putting your hand on his waist “don’t be ashamed of me, I understand everything.”

Ebenezer smiled at you and laughed nervously, his hand leaning over yours, still afraid to touch you fully.

“Don’t be afraid, I truly meant everything I said,” you say, caressing his cheek.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said, looking away from you “I just feel, that you may be too good for me to call ‘mine’.”

“I allow you to call me ‘yours’, and I will call you ‘mine’ if you agree to that.”

Ebenezer shook his head slightly, before coming into your arms, his own around you, hugging tightly as if you were to disappear at any moment.

“I-I love you,” he said trying to cover his tears.

“I love you, Ebenezer,” you replied, and pulling away from the hug you took his face in your hands. The man leaned to your touch, with closed eyes, enjoying how warm your hands were. When he looked at you, he saw how your eyes gazed upon his lips. You were slowly coming closer to Ebenezer, your noses touching. His eyes were focused on your every move.

“May I?” you asked when his lips were a few breaths away from yours.

“Please,” he whispered, closing his eyes. He felt how your soft lips landed on his, he gasped slightly at how it felt to have you this close. He felt like running away, but your touch on his waist calmed him down. Your lips slowly left him, Ebenezer slowly opened his eyes, missing the feeling of your lips. He looked at you, you were still close, holding him to yourself.

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hands in his, he brought them to his lips, kissing them softly. You smiled at Ebenezer, feeling full, with no concerns in you.

#x reader #reader insert #scrooge netflix #ebenezer scrooge #ebenezer scrooge x reader #scrooge x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfiction #come get yall food #i love this man #i want him #thank you #I just know he’s touch starved

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astrodances · 2 months

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Oooo for the drabble thing how's about

"Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?"

and you know this just oozes scroldie 😆

Yes, it most certainly does!! 😁 And thank you for the prompt!

Happy (belated) Valentine's Day, and I hope you enjoy this! 💜

AO3 link here

_____

The Love Language of Nature

Want to send a special message to your Valentine? Say it with flowers!

Goldie’s eye caught on the flier taped to the inside of the window in front of her. She’d been walking through downtown Duckburg, between errands, heist-planning, and errands for heist-planning, doing some window-browsing. Every window display was making her painfully aware of the upcoming holiday, yet she still took time to take note of things she couldn’t help but want to get for her special someone. Because of course she would.

The flower arrangements displayed before her were admittedly beautiful, and Goldie had seen plenty to compare around the world in her years. But these were close, were here, and the store offered free delivery with purchase if booked a week or more before the big day.

And the flier’s implications were making it all the more tempting. It listed a whole slew of flowers, and their special, hidden meanings.

She wasn’t the best with words, she knew that; maybe flowers were her love language?

Browsing through the list still, she pulled out her phone and asked Siri (Louie had given her a smartphone 101 walkthrough a while ago, insisting that she needed to “up her tech game to at least the basics, c’mon” if she was going to pull off schemes in the modern age, and especially with him) to call Scrooge. She couldn’t wait around for him to answer a text (which she was very good at, thank you very much) lest she lose her nerve.

It took him three rings to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sourdough. Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?”

“That depends, are they poisonous?” Scrooge asked, not missing a beat.

There was an elevator ding in the background on his end, then more of an open din, and Goldie knew he was at the Money Bin. She automatically turned to the behemoth structure in the distance, as if it would amplify their conversation, and her ensuing indignation.

She let out an offended squawk. “Hey! No they are not, thank you, but if you’re gonna be like that, then never mind!”

He laughed, and the sound reminded her why she did want to send the flowers, darn him. “Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he unfortunately had to point out.

“Yeah, well...”

So sending him a bouquet of lilies, tulips, and lupine from a mythic beast’s wedding from the Underworld to rid herself of a curse hadn’t been her finest hour.

He lived.

“Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?” Scrooge asked, reversing the question.

A blush bloomed through her cheeks instantly. “I...n-no...” So much for not being cursed - her heart was getting softer by the second these days, it seemed.

“Then there’s your answer, dear. Look at you, being so thoughtful.”

Goldie’s brain was ready to self-combust at that, but she had to recover some of her dignity as this call came to a close. A quick, stabilizing breath, and- “Yeah, yeah, just try to forget this conversation ever happened, Sourdough. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sounds grand.” There was a squeak of his old desk chair as he sat down. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Despite the teasing, the warm smile was what remained as Goldie hung up and scanned over the flower list once more before strolling into the flower shop. The air was intoxicating with lovely, fresh scents - heck, all flowers were poisonous if they made her feel like this, this...light, giddy, and airy, and despicably drunk with love.

“Hey there, welcome to Rhoda’s Dendrons! Anything I can help you with today?” the young duck with curly black hair behind the front counter asked.

Goldie’s roving gaze snapped to her as she approached. She tapped a finger on an identical flier from the window that was laminated and taped to the counter’s glass top. “Yeah, I’d like to order some flowers for delivery...”

_____

On the evening of Valentine’s Day, an elaborate arrangement of flowers sat atop Scrooge’s dresser in a tall, multi-tiered golden vase. A pamphlet version of the store’s flower guide, with the bouquet’s choices checkmarked with hearts in a sugary pink ink, laid waiting on the floor next to the bed, its seal broken despite the bashful protests the sender had put up for its recipient to wait to read until the next day (or until her near-impossible death, thanks immortality).

(She had insisted that the pamphlet be included, on a whim of courage, because as embarrassed as she would be, she was also pretty sure he wouldn’t have a clue about the language of flowers, as far as she knew.)

And thankfully, he had read it (as she sat next to him on his bed in half-mortification, half-burning-desire, holding his hand and looking away, his own squeeze growing stronger by the second between sounds of amusement and adoration), because she had been immediately bombarded with hundreds of loving kisses when he finished reading, and now they laid entangled together, happily exhausted, utterly closer in heart, and basking in a symphony of floral aromas.

On the pamphlet, the following flowers were checked off:

Blue salvia - I think of you

Dahlia - good taste

Heliotrope - eternal love, devotion

Lady’s slipper - capricious beauty

Lilac - joy of youth

Pink rose - happiness

Red camellia - you’re a flame in my heart

Red carnation - I admire you and am missing you

Red rose - love, I love you

Red salvia - forever mine

White camellia - you’re adorable

White chrysanthemum - truth

White clover - think of me

Yarrow - everlasting love

#DuckTales #Goldie O'Gilt #Scrooge McDuck #scroldie #my fanfics #the flowers in the wedding bouquet I mention are actually poisonous to ducks!!#if you get the flower store name reference I love you #thanks again for the prompt GJ!!

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0sharisa0 · 1 month

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Do you know any good fanfics about Scrooge and Donald on AO3?

I need something to cry on😏

#ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ducktales #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #uncle and nephew #I need something to cry on #🥲🥲🥲#ducktales fandom

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backgroundshipper · 3 months

Text

Done with the first chapter of the Ducktales Spinoff series!

I hope you all like it!

I’ll be adding more tags, and characters as time goes on. I just wanted to get this up before I go to bed.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales fanfiction #ducktales fandom #duckverse #disney ducks #ducktales spinoff fanfic #scrooge mcduck #della duck #donald duck #daisy duck #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #webby vanderquack #mrs beakley

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sparklingspidey · 4 months

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Now taking fic commissions! Contact via dm or discord (Radioactiveoliver). Check out @sparklingspidey on ao3 for writing examples

Prices:

>500 : $10

500-1000: $25

1000-1500: $30

1500-2000: $35

2000-2500: $40

Over 2500: message for details

Fandoms I will write for:

Percy Jackson, Community, Ducktales 17, and Spider-man/Spider-Verse. For other fandoms feel free to ask!

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niku30 · 1 year

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I cant believe I did that

Yes it’s me I made that TikTok

#netflix scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #i Hope people write fanfics #i dont Read fanfics actually but I’m sure others will #niku30 #ebenezer scrooge

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a-gal-with-taste · 1 year

Text

Certainties & Mistletoe | Ch. 3

Summary: Mistletoe, the only decoration the old bastard could bear to stand during the winter-months. You thought it harmless, simple and almost forgettable… but the events it causes, is anything-but.

Ebenezer Scrooge & F!Reader | 5929 Words | Prev.

Tags: Slow-burn, humor, banter, internal-thoughts, boss/employee relationship, maid!Reader, some world-building, pining (?), denial of feelings, confrontations, drinking, historical inaccuracies, canes, Scrooge being a Bastard

The gift of observation was a talent every proper servant of a house or business should be incredibly well-versed in. A requirement, necessity to perform the many duties of the house, and you thought yourself well-practiced, and quite subtle with your own gift of observation...

Then Mister Scrooge turned, leaving the cowering shopkeep to sag with relief at the lack of attention, and now fixed his cool-blue gaze sternly on you instead, completely catching you in your unabashed staring.

You didn't flinch. But you found the subtle threadwork of your winter-gloves suddenly very, very fascinating to study.

"That is thrice now," Lowly he spoke, though his stride was in high-spirits, as the pouch of fresh-collected coat clinked within his coat as he marched past you. "One would think you would learn to be more subtle by the second-time."

You followed after him into the snow-laden breeze upon the streets of London, protest on your frost-chapped lips, "I wasn't-"

"You were, and it is as much unnecessary, as it is unwelcomed." The sharpness in his voice is second-only to the tapping of his cane on cobble. "Manners, miss. I would expect you to remember them, even when not performing in the confines of the building you work in."

Murmuring your assent, you swallowed back a sigh, and silently-chided yourself on your foolishness. Both for your conduct, and for putting yourself into this bloody, unnecessary mess in the first-place.

The hours upon the streets were long, cold, and whatever stark-change had overcome the persona of Ebenezer Scrooge, seemed to have long-dissipated the very instant he marched out onto the streets.

You were falling, yes, but into uncertainty no-longer. Because while you were falling back, as rapidly as you had fallen-out, of normalcy, Scrooge had fallen back into his old ways.

And you felt the fool for thinking anything different.

Militaristic as ever, the Master marches to a tune that is entirely his own, and at least twice as stern as even the most uptight marshal could be. Undaunted by few, and not hesitating to barrel his way past many others, Mister Scrooge was a force of unforgiving nature all on his own.

And you - silly, foolish, far too-caring you - were stuck half-sprinting to keep up with the path of destruction he left-behind.

Prudence was sweet enough to trot a pace or two behind her master's heels, offering a sympathetic woof further-back to you whilst legs burned with the effort of keeping-speed with the man.

"Thank you, dear girl," You whispered breathlessly as you - at last! - passed her to come stand at the gentleman's side. Ebenezer Scrooge was darkly glaring forth at the driving-lanes before him, thick and crowded with enough carriages to at-last stop him in his tracks.

You were sorely tempted to kiss the hands of all the drivers-present, in gratitude, but instead gathered enough frigid air into your lungs to speak, "h...Holiday-rush, I suspect! Plenty of packages, plenty of gifts-"

"Humbug!"

"Oh, it's only traffic, Mister Scrooge-!"

"No, the lot of it!" He declares, scowling as he raises his cane to gesture upon the line of horse-drawn vehicles. A purely venomous expression was affixed on his face, teeth grinding and eyes flashing as he snapped, "Wasting countless - and for what?? Dying joy, fleeting happiness... it all only lasts a single-day, a wonder any would want to bother with it at all!"

You said nothing. Merely taking advantage of your gift of inspection, eyes trailing from the sharp-cuts of fury, creases of annoyance lining his face, with his knuckles tight enough to tremble on his cane-handle.

Mister Scrooge looked, in all seriousness, like he was bracing to pounce-upon the drivers and all their festive contents. Something that simply would not do.

Carefully, you reached out to place a palm on the dark-wood of his cane. "Indeed, such a season can be quite a headache, when one considers all the work that must go into it..." A slight pressure, a bit pleadingly so, but the gentleman eventually followed the motion of your hands, blessedly lowering his cane back to touch the ground.

"Tis no must, about-it." He grunted once more, clapping one still-shaking hand over another on the handle of his walking-stick. "Though I can't think of any good-reason. A waste in all aspects, not excluding financial."

"Well," You started, tone still treading-carefully, for the last thing you needed was to restrain the man if he truly threw a fit at the drivers. "I cannot speak for the gifts, but as material as they are, I like to think the meaning behind the effort is where the true-gratification lies."

"Humbug." He said once-again, but it's a little less heated, quieter.

"It shows one cares," You state with a simple shrug. "However minimal, however much coin, or whether it is something that can even be held, it matters little. There are a thousand-ways one can display their care, adoration for another. Gifts just happen to be the most physical, and most popular in that regard."

This only earns you a scoff, and round of fingers tapping along on the cane-handle as the miser turns-cheek from you, apparently to study the line of carts on your opposing-side.

"This isn't the only season that one is inclined to give gifts, you recall?" You add, almost curious, as to whether his hate extended beyond the world of winter's festivities, into all holidays of giving.

The tapping grows louder, more rapid with his grunt in the affirmative, but the confirmation is distracted, distant, and only makes you frown. Your hand, seemingly disconnected with your body, reaches out towards the edge of his coat with fingertips brushing on the somber-cloth.

"Mister Scrooge-"

"Hurry along," And now, he is gone. A length cloud of black, his coat billows behind him as heels pivot, with Ebenezer driving himself from your side and down the walking-street, with a force that could rival the hurricane.

And, much to your chagrin, Ebenezer Scrooge was also inclined to rival a hurricane in speed.

Mayhaps he sought to kill-you through exhaustion, you ponder as you weave through thickets of crowds, ducking between shops as you reach the marketplace, and muttering apologies all the while for yourself, and your wayward employer.

"What haste!" A Madame scoffs, looking as ruffled as her fur-lined coat, glowering after the repeating black-clad figure. "I pray it's an emergency, or else, I...!"

"My apologies!" You assure her quickly, smile sympathetic, and strained from lack of air. "Tis is indeed an emergency... one of his coin purse," You add under what-little breath you had left. It truly felt like a three-way chase was being conducted: the bloodhound of a man sniffing out his borrowed gold, with Prudence trotting at a leisurely-pace behind, and you left to chase after them both.

And all the while, you could only think why?

Why on earth, did you fool yourself with the notion that something was amiss with the Master in the firstplace? That you thought something had gone wrong with the man, when instead there was surely something wrong with you.

Not simply because you kissed the man, though surely that was a first-sign to your newly discovered brand of madness.

But a form of concern? For the welfare of none other than the one and only Ebenezer Scrooge?

Yes, a maid was gifted with skills of observation, and a special-sort of empathy for those they work for, and in your near two-years of employment, you offered a certain sort of care for the man. This went far, far beyond what you were normally capable of providing.

A walking-companion! You thought, finally allowed to slow when seeing the abrupt-halt Scrooge makes before an ale-stall, the bottles gleaming in the lamp-light nearby. I could've offered tea, or simply asked the cause of what thoughts and worries had come to offer change to his personality... not subject myself to such brutal exercise, with nothing to show for it!

Other solutions would have been simpler, especially when it seems any change, shift or departure of normal-attitude of the old-bastard seems to have long-since fled - besides the hasty ‘good-morning’ offered upon your entry, spoken without eye-contact.

Besides that singular incident, now becoming a habit, seemingly nothing had changed in old Ebenezer Scrooge.

And you, panting and leaning delicately at the stall as you staggered to meet your employer already engaged in snarky-discussion of his client, felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner.

There was no shift, no unsteadiness, nor uncertainty that required the closer-examination you sought, when you requested to join Mister Scrooge in the first place.

Ebenezer Scrooge was exactly the same as he was, and as he always would be... a single incident under a sprig of mistletoe, would surely not be enough to change him otherwise.

As proven by his harsh-speech to his very-late client.

"An additional-week, you've cost me," He says, through unclenched teeth as he looks over the curve of his nose at the ruddy-faced brewsman behind the stall-counter. "You're poor at math, as evident by your financial-prowess, but in layman terms, it means you now owe me double."

"Double!" Sputters the man, clasping a hand over his heart like the news caused the organ to sputter-too. "Mister, come now! Tardiness is most unforgivable, I can attest-to, but surely double is a bit harsh-"

"What would be harsh, is if I were to call to those fellows that-a-way," The menacing lender of Cornhill spoke flatly, but there was an almost malicious glint in his pale-eyes as he pointed down the lane, towards a lazy, unoccupied assembly of constables. "And inform them of a thievery, two-weeks in the making."

"You wouldn't-!"

"I would be well-within my rights to," Scrooge points out, no shortage of cold smugness in that sharp-toothed smile. "One-week's tardiness was mercy. I allowed this second-week to commence, moreso out of morbid-curiosity, rather than leniency. I was quite-fascinated to see how long this charade would go on, but it has stopped being entertaining."

"Mister Scrooge, I-"

"Pay. Or, I'll round up the police."

Despite your lungs still aching from your hours-long jogging, your breath caught and was rendered unusable as you looked between the paled-salesman, and your employer. He's drawn himself up practically on his toes, head-high and the glare in his eyes nothing short of deadly, in seriousness.

It's a look you would easily cave-at.

And it's a glare the stall-crafter can only bear a moment longer, before the stalemate ends with his sigh, and reaching beneath the counter.

"I only just gathered it today, Mister," He informed Mister Scrooge quite glumly. "Honest, swear on Her Majesty, 've only just made-back on profits-"

"My deepest, most heartfelt sympathies for your plight." Scrooge responded with a voice completely void of emotion, but the sharp, cruel smirk he soon offers is anything-but. "I'll inspect every coin. Drunkards and thieves are known to paint irons into gold, and I would so enjoy getting the entire sum I am owed back."

"Of course!" Nearly insulted at the insinuation, the man still winces as Scrooge opens the box with a nearly-careless air, catching a wayward coin before it can roll away from his grasp. “Here, now!? Must you-?”

“After a fee two weeks late? I indeed must.”

Smartly, the brewer doesn’t complain, though looked particularly irked when Mister Scrooge oh-so-casually begins to clink and shift his way through the boxed-collection, clearly enjoying the theatrics with a loud hum or low-whistle when he selected one worth bringing up to closer-inspection.

Toying with the brewsman, to the point where even Prudence snorts along with something curiously akin to an eyeroll.

Pity overtakes you for the stranger - many already offered the infamous-man a wide berth, but by association, now the marketman suffers a loss in all-interest from local pursuing clients, who are eager to quicken their step past his stall.

Having reassociated yourself with full-lungs of air, and pity, you quietly lean forth to ask: “Pardon me sir, but what finities do you offer?”

“Oh!” At-last taking notice of you, he’s eager to turn his attention from your employer onto you. “Only the finest , ma'am. Finest in all of the district, perhaps in all of London-!”

“I would think even the Thames ferments better than whatever you have in stock,” Scrooge drawls, frown exaggerated as he lifts a coin between thumb and pointer to bring to examination in the light. “This shade finds more kinship with marigold, rather than gold, wouldn’t you say?”

“I... I wouldn’t know, Mister Scrooge.”

A dismissive scoff as the sovereign was carelessly tossed back-in, while you faintly recalled that the man had recently spoken - and was provided a long, unwanted lecture - from a local florist, likely where a man such as Scrooge learned such precision for shades of flora.

Dismissing that thought yourself, you leaned forth with a more disarming smile, words far more friendly, “I admit, I'm most-curious to know what you offer, and quite the novice to private-brews. Anything of high-remark I should be aware of?”

“All of it, madam, all of it,” He assures you, smiling in relief to have a distraction in the form of a polite lady, though his eyes still glint over to the far less-welcomed gentleman at your side. “Mayhaps... a lady as lovely as yourself would be keen to see for yourself? A sample to soothe the temperaments, yes?” He asked, suddenly eager with his offer, and already ruffling around his stock for a mug.

“Oh,” You leaned back, your own gaze flitting to your employer, who was now actually-engrossed in examining his payment for fraudulent-gold. Even out on the streets, you were still on the clock. “Oh, I don’t know if I should...”

But it’s too late, a cork is already popped off, and a generous amount of amber-liquid poured into what you hope is a clean mug for tasting. “Not a worry, ma’am! Tis the season for relaxation and joy, both of which are assured in th’ brew,” Turning to you, there’s a wink offered as the finity is pressed into your hands. “Not to mention the warmth will keep you a-going in these winter-winds for hours more to come!”

“Well...” Another glance, uncertain as you seem to often-be these recent days.

But Scrooge remains occupied with the gold he pinches between-fingers, squinting down hawkishly onto his payment, seemingly without any care for the rest of the world. Least of all his maid taking a quick sip of a privately-made brew.

And, well... it is bitterly cold this afternoon.

“I suppose,” You murmur, partially into the cup with a final hesitation, before tipping it back to allow the liquid to touch your lips, reach your tongue, slip down your throat-

Oh!

By Her Majesty, you quite-nearly keel over as the pure fire that races down your windpipes like a rifle's bullet, and seemingly finding comfort in lighting a blaze within your lungs. Nearly spilling the mug in your attempts to immediately put it down - more importantly, put it away from you - you gloved-palm nearly slaps over your lips, in an effort to keep from coughing sharply at the sheer strength in a single-sip.

Tears welled in your eyes at the effort, and at the burning...!

A large, furry head presses against your skirts, whining-concerningly as you rasp a prayer from salvation to the almighty around your thick-glove. Apparently, He hears your weak exclamations, as a foreign-hand comes up onto your shoulder. A comfort, though the source of it seems uncertain, jerking slightly upon contact... as if its owner is surprised to have made it himself, or perhaps shocked at willingly-touching another human-being.

“Perhaps I wasn't wrong to proclaim the Thames as the better craftsman.” The snarl cuts though your awareness like a knife, with Ebenezer Scrooge’s tone just as sharp as a blade. “What in the heavens did you give her, fool, arsenic?!”

“'Course not!” The salesman's eyes are wide, as he glances between your overwhelmingly adverse reaction, and whatever your employer's expression contains... based on the poor-man’s rapid pallor, it’s clear Scrooge looks the furthest from pleased. “It's my best-seller 'round these parts! S’got a bit of a kick, yes, but I thought she would appreciate the aftertaste-”

“Indeed, it’s clear that she doesn’t .” There’s a harder press of fingers into your shoulder as you swallow back the urge to cough, before a sharp-slam, and click of a lock falling into place of a coin-box, is heard. “I do hope you fancied borrowing my coin, for you’ll get nothing further from me. Except perhaps a bit of a kick for yourself, should you have the courage to try a stunt like this a second-time.”

Your vision clears, enough to see the salesman holding both palms up in surrender. Looking far from pleased, from what you manage to witness with your blurry-eyes, but far more fearful than to fret over his loss of lender.

Meeting your own, slightly bloodshot gaze as you struggle with the harsh-liquor, the gentleman winces with some sense of guilt, before murmuring his intentions, “I do apologize, truly, sir! I only considered that you might be inclined to forgive m'late pay. P-perhaps further support my lil' business, if your dear-wife showed favor with my wares.”

Your throat still burns, but everything else freezes.

Not excluding the now corpse-stiff hand upon your shoulder. And indeed, Mister Scrooge rasps like he is the wrath of Death itself as he frigidly-growls, “She is not my wife."

The fingers dig through the layers of fabric into your shoulder under his tense grip, one unyielding as he sharply turns you away from the stall, and whatever sputtered apologies the marketman has to offer. You would sympathize if your esophagus didn’t feel aflame, like hell-itself had come to light your throat into a smolder...

Your cheeks are equally heated, in the sheer embarrassment of the whole situation, and no small amount of self-anger at propping yourself here.

What foolishness! Priorly, you thought injecting yourself into the affairs of your employer was enough of a mortification, yet now you see that your own limits to humiliating-displays know no-limitations.

Of course, this should’ve been evident, the moment you chose on a whim and on fool’s tradition, to kiss the very-man who pays your wages. A humiliating display, but certainly not the end of your streak of such exhibitions.

You lower your glove to apologize - the minimal of what you can do in such an ongoing predicament - but the very-instant you attempt to speak, you burst into a coughing fit as the heinous warmth races back-up upon contact with fresh-air, forcing you to a stumbling halt as fresh-tears spring in your eyes.

You’re largely unaware of being ushered for some-semblance of privacy in a nearby alleyway, but entirely aware of the hand still resting upon your shoulder, soon traveling... lower.

It's all very-proper, of course, and... admittedly, a bit clumsy. The hand that comes to rest between your heaving shoulder-blades in your pants, is moreso like one of Prudence's paws with how lamely it attempts to soothe your breathing, providing easier passage of air back into your burning-lungs.

Sadly, it doesn't work.

But the gruff, barely-audible words that somehow manage to reach your ears between the coughing, help ease your coughs more out of shock than anything else, "That's it... In. Out..."

Guidance. It's gruff, rusted and, and certainly lacking much bedside-manner.

But the gentleman is guiding you, urging you with slow, grave words that seem long-since out of practice, in order to get you breathing-clearly once more. And that fact alone is enough to assist in smoother-breathing through your airways, taking-in easier, and easier-breaths as result of Mister Scrooge's guidance.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING CHAPTER 3 ON AO3

And the shock, that he would be so-willing to do so.

#scrooge: a christmas carol #scrooge #scrooge 2022 #scrooge 2022 x reader #scrooge x reader #ebenezer scrooge #reader insert #netflix #multi chapter #fanfic #scrooge fanfic #fanfiction

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