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witticasterThese don't have particular titles yet, but the series as a whole has been christened The Poe Family Adventures.
The premise is that Edgar Allan Poe and his wife, Virginia, didn't die traaaaagic deaths. Instead, they had three children (Maria Constance Poe, Susan Virginia Poe, and Edgar Clemm Poe) and proceeded to have little misadventures. In other words, it's 19th century literary figure AU RPF.
I am vaguely nervous about posting them because they're exceedingly rough and historical accuracy of any sort has been thrown out the window in favour of pleasing my own self. And there are people IRL who, if I showed them these, would spend the next hour telling me everything impossibly inaccurate about them, and then I would proceed to hit them. And cry. So while I welcome concrit and general responses as always, I ask that you bear in mind why exactly these stories exist when typing it out. ♥
Which is all very blah blah blah (I'm horrifically long-winded, I knooooow) and basically means: Look at these silly little stories I wrote! :DDD!
Saturday tended to be the queerest day of the week in the Poe family household. One never knew what might occur on that day: a visit from Grandmother and her new husband, a quiet afternoon at home, or, if the family coffers were particularly robust, perhaps even a day trip to a place of interest within the city. These occurrences may not sound particularly unusual at first glance, but when they were experienced by Mister Poe, his wife, and three children, they never tended to go quite as normally as they might in other families (and for now, let us not even touch upon those occasions which sounded unusual from description alone).
On this particular morning, adventure was to be solely of the soft-spoken sort. At half past nine, the curtains in the master bedroom were still drawn tightly shut, with a heavy piece of black cloth draped over them in hopes of keeping out a few more cracks of sunlight. The bedroom door was left slightly ajar, so that a thin line of gold extending into the room was the only indicator of the fact that it was, in fact, morning.
...Well, that twine-like line of daylight and the muffled sounds coming from the nursery. Edgar groaned miserably as a shriek arose from the other room, presumably from one of his small daughters' mouths. Virginia stroked the hair back from his forehead as he twisted in her lap, murmuring soothing words. Things quieted, and Edgar relaxed with a sigh--only for the pounding in his head to redouble at the sound of another piercing shout from his children's room.
Virginia sighed, and carefully extricated herself from beneath her husband. Laying a kiss upon his wearied forehead, she said, "Stay here, my poor Eddy. I will have a word with the little banshees." As though he had any intentions of moving with a hangover as impressive as this one.
When she opened the door to the nursery, Virginia was stunningly unsurprised at what she found. The Poe children tended towards chaos in general, and on mornings that they were allowed to remain in their nightclothes well after they had awoken, their games only increased in intensity. The two girls stood on the bed they shared, in stances which suggested one might attempt to tackle the other at any given moment; the boy watched from the floor, clapping his hands at his sisters' antics.
At the sight of their mother in the doorway, the girls climbed down and, leading their brother between them, came to stand in front of her with sheepish expressions. Maria, the eldest at seven, looked up with defiant dark eyes and even darker hair, which desperately required brushing. Susan, just turned five and sharing in the colouring all three Poe children possessed, looked slightly less mussed and slightly more guilty. And little Edgar, now two, gave his mother a hug 'round the legs and smiled up at her in hello.
Virginia lifted him into her arms and gave her daughters a stern look. "Do you recall what I told you before you went to sleep last night?"
They had the good grace to look down at the floor with a modicum of shame. "To--to be quiet this morning, because Papa would be sick?" Maria offered.
"Yes, Mamie." Virginia's sharp expression softened into the more motherly countenance the girls were used to. "Papa is unwell this morning, and we mustn't make him feel worse by shouting."
Susan looked on the verge of tears. "I--I didn't mean to make Papa unhappy! Is he going to roar at us?" The memory of three days previous, when she had interrupted his writing and had been soundly rebuffed, still pricked sharp in her memory.
"I think that he sha'n't, if you are good little girls and apologize to him for making such noise." Virginia hid a smile. Roaring at them would hurt Edgar as much as the girls at this point.
Without waiting for further instruction, Susan squeezed past her mother and clattered down the hall to her parents' bedroom; Maria followed suit. They entered the room with the air of penitents, and approached the dark form on the bed with great hesitation.
"Papa?" Susan whispered.
"Sukey?" he whispered back.
"Sukey and I are sorry we made so much noise--" Maria began.
"Oh, please don't roar at us!" Susan interrupted, her voice quivering as though it was on the verge of a very loud wail.
"Sukey, be quiet!" Maria hissed, poking her little sister, who began to cry in great hiccups.
"I will not roar at you," their father said quickly, wincing at the sounds of Susan's little sobs. "You are forgiven. Perhaps--" He gritted his teeth and started again, ignoring the pounding in his head. "Perhaps you should go and ask your Mama for some breakfast and then play quietly."
The word "breakfast" was enough to calm Susan some, who measured days by such concrete events as meals, and Maria was able to drag her sister out of the room and back to the nursery to dress for the day. Before they left, though, Maria kissed her father on the cheek.
He covered with a hand the spot which had borne his daughter's endearment, threw his other arm over his eyes, and sighed. This would be a very long day...especially as his daughters had left the door open wide, spilling midmorning sunshine into the room.
The premise is that Edgar Allan Poe and his wife, Virginia, didn't die traaaaagic deaths. Instead, they had three children (Maria Constance Poe, Susan Virginia Poe, and Edgar Clemm Poe) and proceeded to have little misadventures. In other words, it's 19th century literary figure AU RPF.
I am vaguely nervous about posting them because they're exceedingly rough and historical accuracy of any sort has been thrown out the window in favour of pleasing my own self. And there are people IRL who, if I showed them these, would spend the next hour telling me everything impossibly inaccurate about them, and then I would proceed to hit them. And cry. So while I welcome concrit and general responses as always, I ask that you bear in mind why exactly these stories exist when typing it out. ♥
Which is all very blah blah blah (I'm horrifically long-winded, I knooooow) and basically means: Look at these silly little stories I wrote! :DDD!
Saturday tended to be the queerest day of the week in the Poe family household. One never knew what might occur on that day: a visit from Grandmother and her new husband, a quiet afternoon at home, or, if the family coffers were particularly robust, perhaps even a day trip to a place of interest within the city. These occurrences may not sound particularly unusual at first glance, but when they were experienced by Mister Poe, his wife, and three children, they never tended to go quite as normally as they might in other families (and for now, let us not even touch upon those occasions which sounded unusual from description alone).
On this particular morning, adventure was to be solely of the soft-spoken sort. At half past nine, the curtains in the master bedroom were still drawn tightly shut, with a heavy piece of black cloth draped over them in hopes of keeping out a few more cracks of sunlight. The bedroom door was left slightly ajar, so that a thin line of gold extending into the room was the only indicator of the fact that it was, in fact, morning.
...Well, that twine-like line of daylight and the muffled sounds coming from the nursery. Edgar groaned miserably as a shriek arose from the other room, presumably from one of his small daughters' mouths. Virginia stroked the hair back from his forehead as he twisted in her lap, murmuring soothing words. Things quieted, and Edgar relaxed with a sigh--only for the pounding in his head to redouble at the sound of another piercing shout from his children's room.
Virginia sighed, and carefully extricated herself from beneath her husband. Laying a kiss upon his wearied forehead, she said, "Stay here, my poor Eddy. I will have a word with the little banshees." As though he had any intentions of moving with a hangover as impressive as this one.
When she opened the door to the nursery, Virginia was stunningly unsurprised at what she found. The Poe children tended towards chaos in general, and on mornings that they were allowed to remain in their nightclothes well after they had awoken, their games only increased in intensity. The two girls stood on the bed they shared, in stances which suggested one might attempt to tackle the other at any given moment; the boy watched from the floor, clapping his hands at his sisters' antics.
At the sight of their mother in the doorway, the girls climbed down and, leading their brother between them, came to stand in front of her with sheepish expressions. Maria, the eldest at seven, looked up with defiant dark eyes and even darker hair, which desperately required brushing. Susan, just turned five and sharing in the colouring all three Poe children possessed, looked slightly less mussed and slightly more guilty. And little Edgar, now two, gave his mother a hug 'round the legs and smiled up at her in hello.
Virginia lifted him into her arms and gave her daughters a stern look. "Do you recall what I told you before you went to sleep last night?"
They had the good grace to look down at the floor with a modicum of shame. "To--to be quiet this morning, because Papa would be sick?" Maria offered.
"Yes, Mamie." Virginia's sharp expression softened into the more motherly countenance the girls were used to. "Papa is unwell this morning, and we mustn't make him feel worse by shouting."
Susan looked on the verge of tears. "I--I didn't mean to make Papa unhappy! Is he going to roar at us?" The memory of three days previous, when she had interrupted his writing and had been soundly rebuffed, still pricked sharp in her memory.
"I think that he sha'n't, if you are good little girls and apologize to him for making such noise." Virginia hid a smile. Roaring at them would hurt Edgar as much as the girls at this point.
Without waiting for further instruction, Susan squeezed past her mother and clattered down the hall to her parents' bedroom; Maria followed suit. They entered the room with the air of penitents, and approached the dark form on the bed with great hesitation.
"Papa?" Susan whispered.
"Sukey?" he whispered back.
"Sukey and I are sorry we made so much noise--" Maria began.
"Oh, please don't roar at us!" Susan interrupted, her voice quivering as though it was on the verge of a very loud wail.
"Sukey, be quiet!" Maria hissed, poking her little sister, who began to cry in great hiccups.
"I will not roar at you," their father said quickly, wincing at the sounds of Susan's little sobs. "You are forgiven. Perhaps--" He gritted his teeth and started again, ignoring the pounding in his head. "Perhaps you should go and ask your Mama for some breakfast and then play quietly."
The word "breakfast" was enough to calm Susan some, who measured days by such concrete events as meals, and Maria was able to drag her sister out of the room and back to the nursery to dress for the day. Before they left, though, Maria kissed her father on the cheek.
He covered with a hand the spot which had borne his daughter's endearment, threw his other arm over his eyes, and sighed. This would be a very long day...especially as his daughters had left the door open wide, spilling midmorning sunshine into the room.
