Propositions PART 1: A Christmas Carol Tale (Ebenezer Scrooge X fem!Reader)
This time of year was normally filled with joy for you and your noble family, the Griffiths. But with your parentsβ untimely passing this year, you feel nothing but sorrow. And as an unmarried woman at an age deeming you a spinster, you fear for your future when faced with choosing between the altar or the streets.
Enjoying the festive Christmas season as usual, was not in your plans. Until Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge swoops in as your savior⦠but is it the first time?
β¦the devil works fast but I THE MOST ANONYMOUS SCRIBBLER, WORK FASTER! I see one streak of grey on an animated man and BOOM! Iβm done.
Just for clarityβs sake, the story is taking place the following year of the film, 1844 to be precise. Also, note because I went down a rabbit hole, they messed up with the photo because the story should be taking place in the 1840s BUT photography was not invented until 1839β¦ tsk tsk tsk. BUT WHO NEEDS LOGIC! BOOM! History is a guideline not a rule I suppose.Β
Also, I fully intend on making part 2⦠gonna be a smutty lil mess sooo⦠give me time to perfect that, but I shall provide if this is enjoyed
EDIT 12/7 1:10 AM: might end up being 3 parts only because Iβm already 2k words in AAAAND havenβt even gotten to the GOOD bits yet, but we shall see!
And additionally, I had to give you a last name for my sanityβs sake (Griffiths) but no first name. Thatβs all you babe. Happy reading! MWAH!Β Β
Contains: Marriage of convenience, fluff, comfort, angst, trauma, blood, slight gore, victorian era problems, original dog character, minor character death, loss of parents, vague allusions to medical conditions (will be fully mentioned/addressed in Part 2)
βSo,β your mother began as the carriage shifted into motion, jostling slightly from the gravel path that led away from the grand social season event you, her and your father had all escaped or more, retired from, βAnyone promising this evening?βΒ
βDecidedly not,β you proclaimed, brushing an invisible speck from your evening gownβs silken skirts, grateful for the opened neckline of your dress as you still felt your blood boiling, βI had not a single worthwhile exchange the entire night. All those peacocks spoke of was their rank and title and if not that, then it was how they only wanted sons. Daughters are apparently βloathsome burdensβ as Lord Weatherford put it.βΒ
