strawberrygypsy replied to your post:[[MOR]i hate myself so much im gonna puke i...
Tip for quick writing: make a skeleton outline of you main points. Write whatever you can about them. Use this as the body of the paper. 1000 words add up pretty fast when you do this. Most importantly: If you get stuck just move on to the next sentence!!
Fantine adores Halloween, especially because it gives her the chance to spoil the neighborhood kids rotten with fistfuls of candy.
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A quick modern AU, Halloween-themed birthday drabble for strawberrygypsy. Hope you enjoy, darling. ^^
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Trick or Treat
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Tap-tap-tap-tap-thud.
Fantine exchanges an amused glance with her husband before getting up and grabbing the bowl of candy by the front door.
She opens the door to find the boy next door standing solemnly on her porch with a group of his friends in an adorably whimsical and colorful procession. The expressions on their seven-to-nine-year-old faces clearly declare this night to be “serious business,” however, so she stifles her laugh and nods politely in greeting: “Hello, there, Combeferre! How are you, darling? I see you’re a doctor tonight.”
Combeferre pushes his glasses up, the too-long sleeves of his lab coat (no doubt his mother’s) catching on the stethoscope around his neck. “Uh-huh. ‘M supposed to be Frankenstein, Mrs. Valjean.”
“Ah, I see,” Fantine replies. “And is your Creature with you tonight?”
“Me! Me! Me! That’s me! I’m Frankenstein’s monster!” a tall, chubby boy in the back proclaims, and indeed his dark skin has been overlaid with green make-up and zombie-like stitches.
“Bahorel, I told you, it’s Frankenstein’s Creature, and not monster,” the blond-haired boy in the front declares, exasperated. Fantine recognizes Enjolras, despite the Guy Fawkes mask he wears, well-familiar with his strident voice from his constant arguments with her own Éponine.
“Well, it’s my costume, Enjolras,” Bahorel replies, sticking his tongue out at his friend.
Fantine coughs into her hand to hide her giggle, then blinks as one of the younger boys tugs on her skirt and holds out a pillow case. “Trick or treat?” he asks plaintively, green eyes peering out from behind the holes cut into a sheet covered with lilacs.
“Of course, baby,” she answer, immediately dropping a good fistful of candy into his bags, smiling as his eyes widen. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“I’m allergic to peanuts,” one of the boys in the back, a pirate from the looks of his eye-patch and boots and the fake parrot perched on his shoulder, says.
“Joly, you are not allergic to peanuts,” one of the other ones, a Blue Power Ranger, says.
“Am too, Bossuet!” the pirate replies.
“Guys, don’t fight!” says Marius, who Fantine is fairly certain has a crush on her Cosette. He’s currently dressed as Batman, and fidgets nervously with his cape.
“Joly, calm down. Mrs. Lopez said you weren’t. It was almonds you were allergic to, so don’t get any of the Almond Joy,” says the boy dressed as...Fantine thinks he might be Clint Barton, or maybe some other archer. She wracks her mind to remember his name—oh!
“How about you, Grantaire? Do you want candy?” she asks.
“The whole bowl, please, if you can,” he says, winking.
“Oh, oh! Me, too, me, too!” says Courfeyrac, the last member of their group, ho is dressed as Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid. He gives her a charming smile and holds out his pumpkin.
This time she doesn’t bother hiding her laughter, and the other boys crowd in for their own share. She waves them off with a grin that only widens as she sees her own babies returning.
“Mama! Mama, look, look! Mr. Myriel gave us brownies!” Cosette announces, curly hair bouncing against the angel costume Fantine had sewn for her, the little golden-wire halo Jean had crafted settled firmly on her head.
Éponine nods next to her, mouth stuffed full with one of the brownies. She’s dressed as a witch, and her sister beside her opted to be Princess Merida, and their brother is sleepily rubbing his eyes and smudging his cat make-up.
“You tired, baby?” she asks, stepping forward to pick him up.
“Mmmhm,” Gavroche mumbles against her neck.
“The girls wanted to take the long way,” Feuilly, the oldest of her foster children at twelve-years-old, replies apologetically.
She pats his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, honey, they’ll be just fine with some rest. Now, how about all of you come in? Daddy made us some of his spaghetti.”
All three of her girls give a cheer, and run into the house, already intent on tackling their father, and Fantine loops her arm around Feuilly’s shoulders as they follow at a more sedate pace.
Yes, she thought to herself. I really do love Halloween.
