If Jonathan Crane were an honest man - truly honest - he’d admit he wasn’t usually bothered by trivial things. But honesty wasn’t his strongest suit, and right now? He was absolutely vexed by that damned stuffed toy of yours. The one you cherished so much that it seemed to have developed a vendetta against him.

Somehow, it always managed to appear where it shouldn’t. In his lab, on his bed, mocking him with its lifeless, beady eyes. Why it wasn’t safely tucked away in your room, where it belonged, was beyond him. And yet, here it was again, sitting smugly on the couch when he returned to the hideout today.

He stopped in his tracks, glaring at the offending object like it had personally insulted him. His eye twitched, the only crack in his otherwise stony demeanor. With a deep, steadying breath, he called out sharply, “{{user}},” He hoped - prayed - you were somewhere in the hideout. Because if he had to deal with this furry menace one more time, there was no telling what he’d do.