#and because bad luck follows lucien like the plague they always get into something when they visit new places

[achaotichuman]

Actually, I think Elain and Lucien have a cottage right smack bang in the point where Summer, Autumn and Spring join up. And the house is split into thirds, each being affected by the different seasons. The Autumn side it all reds, oranges, dark woods and dead leaves. The Spring side is all green, blooming flowers and smelling of sweet new beds. And the Summer side is all white and smells like tropical fruit.

And they live there and Elain has a garden split into three that wraps around the entire house, they have a wrap around porch and three sets of rocking chairs at each season depending on where they want to sit at sunset. All the sunsets look different in each seasonal sky.

And they have three dogs that continuously run around the house, delighted by the changes in season, and a cat that sits contently on Elain's lap.

And they just wake up stress free every lazy morning, and have walks through each season. And sometimes they travel to different continents, and other Courts to explore and visit their friends, but ultimately they go home to their little secluded spot where it's just them and their happy little world.

[ddaddsprompts]

how the dads handle dadsona caring for them when sick?

🥃 If Robert was grumpy on agood day, he was even worse when he was sick. Honestly, you didn’t even noticehe was sick until you realised you two hadn’t seen or even talked to each otherin days, which wouldn’t have been worrying pre-rehab, but was far from the normnowadays. So you’d gone over to his house and let yourself inside, worried somethingbad had happened. You found Robert in his bedroom, buried under more blanketsthan you thought he owned. And he is absolutely miserable. “Do you want me toget you anything?” He just grunts and turns his head so it’s buried in thepillow. Since he can’t see you, you throw up your hands in frustration and rollyour eyes. “Juice?” He grunts. “Soup?” Same response. “Want me to stab you?”That, at least, got you an amused snort, which was immediately followed by acough. He coughs so badly, you worry he might choke, but then he turns on hisback and glares at you. “Don’t make me laugh,” he grumbles. His voice is roughlike sandpaper. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” Your protest doesn’t seem tointerest Robert one bit. He turns back on his side and pulls a blanket over hishead. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t.” Unsure what to do with yourself, you just standthere, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Maybe you should leavehim alone, he doesn’t seem to want your company – or any other person’s, forthat matter. Robert is quiet for so long, you wonder whether he’s fallenasleep, but then he turns to look at you again and raises an eyebrow. Youpolitely do not tell him he looks like shit; you figure he already knowsanyway. “About that soup…” His pointed expression makes you chuckle. “Surething, coming right up. Try not to die while I’m out.” He huffs out a laugh andshows you the finger. “Wouldn’t want to do you that favour.”

🍸 You lean against the door leading to Joseph’sbedroom and sink down against it with a quiet sigh. You love the man, youreally do, but god, he’s an absolute menace when he’s sick. It’s a simple cold,but he makes it seem like he is down with the plague. Had he stoppedoverworking himself when the first symptoms emerged, things might have beendifferent now, but he hadn’t, and now he is bedridden and, if you believed him,dying. You run a hand through your hair and brace yourself. You count the facthe hasn’t called for you in the last five minutes a blessing and push open thedoor. “Hey,” you say quietly. Joseph makes a small noise in the back of histhroat and waves weakly. “I brought you soup. It’s in a thermos so you candrink it easily.” He manages a smile and makes grabby hands for the flask. Themoment you give it to him, he cradles it close to his chest. “Thank you,” hewhispers. A second passes. Then, he makes grabby hands again. “Y/N?” Josephwhines. “Can you get me some juice?” Your left eye twitches but you nodindulgingly. “Orange?” He nods and drops his hands again, burrowing them underthe blankets you dropped on him when you first dropped by. “Do you wantanything else? Some more cold medicine? Something against your cough?” Josephshakes his head and turns on his side, looking sleepy and exhausted. “Thankyou, but I don’t need anything. You already did more than I asked for, Y/N. Ilove you.” Warmth floods through your chest. “I love you too,” you say and turnaround to get his juice. As you set your foot over the doorframe, his voicemakes you pause. “Maybe some medicine would be nice after all.”

☕ You gently brush back Mat’s locks from hissweaty forehead and replace the damp washcloth with a new, cold one. His feverhas thankfully gone down from 102 degrees Fahrenheit to 101,3, so you’rehopeful he will be better soon. Carmensita had called you early in the morningbecause her father was sick and needed someone to care for him, and you’d takenthe day off work to do just that. As far as patients go, he is an angel.Whether that is because he’s too out of it to be a nuisance or just how healways is, you don’t know, but you don’t question your luck. You smile when heleans into your touch and mumbles something under his breath that you don’tunderstand, and lean down to kiss his cheek. Mat’s eyelids flutter, then heslowly opens his eyes, looking up at you sleepily. “Hey, baby,” you say, and hechuckles at the nickname. “How are you feeling?” He shifts a little and you adjustthe cloth, making him groan at the cold. “Better.” Even when sick his voicesounds soft and smooth, like honey. “Thank you for taking care of me.” Leaningdown, you kiss his cheek again. Mat turns his head and his lips brush over yourjaw. “Of course, baby. Anytime. Take it as repayment for all the free coffeeand banana bread you always give me.” Mat chuckles and hums. When he startscoughing, you help him sit up a little, offering him a glass of water. He downsit greedily and sighs at the relief it gives him. “Go back to sleep, baby, I’llmake Carmensita something for lunch when she comes back from school.” You stayby Mat’s sides until he’s snoring and though it’s gross, you find the sight ofhim endearing.

🌹 “You didn’t have to come,” Damien says weakly ashe opens the door for you. He looks even paler than he already does normally, afaint sheen of sweat making his skin look grey and sickly. He’s leaning heavilyagainst the door, prompting you to reach out and wrap a steadying arm aroundhis waist to make sure he wouldn’t fall down if his legs gave in. Where yourskin touches his, you can feel him burning up. “Of course I had to, Dames. Ican’t leave you in Lucien’s care, who knows what kind of ideas he might getwhen he’s bored.” Damien chuckles; the sound catches in his throat and beforeyou know it, you’re the only thing holding him up as he coughs violently. He’snot that heavy, thankfully, so you manage to manoeuvre him into bed with fewproblems. You pull the blankets up to his chin and feel his temperature. “Wheredo you keep your medicine?” He gestures towards the bathroom. When you return,carrying everything you could find, he propped himself up with a few pillowsand he is watching you with tired, shining eyes. “If we were living in theVictorian ages,” he says while you check all the labels, “you might haveoffered me a Cigare de Joy. By smoking them you would inhale the coughtreatment, for example Stramonium. Of course—“ He cuts himself off with asneeze and coughs. “—Stramonium causes hallucinations, but it brought genuinerelief for the sick.” You pour some cough syrup into a small cup and offer itto him. “I don’t have any of those handy, so this’ll have to do. Bottoms up.”He returns your smile and obediently drinks his medicine.

🎣 You find Brian curled up in his bed. His faceseems to be locked in a fight with his hair over who can get redder and at themoment, his face is winning. You put down the soup you prepared after Daisycalled you and sit down on the bed next to him. “Hey, babe,” you say softly. Heopens his eyes and shuffles away from you, as far as the bed would let him. “Youshould keep your distance,” he croaks out. “I don’ wan’ to make you sick. ‘scontagious.” You frown and reach out to touch his forehead. No, he doesn’t feelthat hot, it can’t be hallucinations. “What makes you say that?” He looks soupset and worried, if you hadn’t known it was just the flu, you would be scarednow. Instead of answering, he points at his phone. Confused, you take it andunlock the screen. It’s the internet app, still open. You skim over the pagethat is open, your frown getting deeper the more you read. Finally, you aredone and look up at him again. “Brian,” you say, dryly. “Did you seriouslygoogle your symptoms?” Brian snuffles and blows into the tissue. The soundreminds you of ship horns or whales.  “Iwan’ed to know wha’ I got, ‘cause it do’n’t feel like the flu.” You see tearsrush into his eyes and the next moment he is full out bawling. Awkwardly, youpat his shoulder. “There, there… it’s nothing serious, Brian, you just have theflu. Don’t worry…” You put aside the phone, making a mental note to ban Brianfrom accessing the internet while he was sick.

👟 How Briar even got your phone number, you have noidea. But you’re definitely glad she did, because there was no way the twinswould have been able to deal with thisalone. This being their father, whois sick, but absolutely in denial. It takes both Briar and Hazel sitting downon top of him to stop him from getting up and even then Craig is still tryingto go to work. “Bro, stop it, I’m not letting you out of bed.” You push himdown again and feel his temperature. He’s still burning up. “I’m not sick,” hesays or rather tries to. It is only through your experience with his collegeself that you’re able to understand his mumbling. “Yes, you are. Craig, comeon, you can’t really believe I’d let you go to work like this.” Craig sniffles.You barely manage to hold the tissue against his nose before he is sneezingalready. “I’m not—“ He coughs and it sounds horrible. His immune system isbetter than any other person’s so when he does get sick, it’s bad. With a sigh,you release the twins from their duties and pull the blanket up to Craig’schin. He doesn’t protest, but that’s only because he is visibly fighting tokeep his eyes open. “Bro… please go to sleep. If you force yourself to go towork like that, it’ll only get worse and last for longer. Please?” When hedoesn’t reply, you look at his face. He’s fast asleep. Finally.

📖 You would have expected Hugo, of all people, torecognise the signs of illness and do the reasonable thing – which was stayingat home and recovering in peace. But no, here he is, already halfway out of thedoor by the time he slips up and sneezes in front of you. You narrow your eyes,take in his shining eyes, the light shimmer of sweat on his forehead and hisred nose, and put your hands on your hips. “Hugo Vega, where do you think youare going?” He, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “To… work?” Hisvoice is at least an octave deeper than normal and he realises his error whenyou frown at him. “I’m fine, I just caught the cold that’s making the rounds atschool. It’s nothing.” His nose starts to twitch and—he sneezed so loudly theglasses in the cupboards trembled. Before he can try and continue his (futile,mind you) attempts at convincing you, you walk up to him and nudge him, backtowards the bedroom. “That neither look like you’re fine, nor like it’snothing. You, sir, are sick and sick people do not go to work.”“But-““No, no buts. You have more sick days than there are days in the calendar,there are no important tests or exams today, and your school has enoughteachers to jump in and cover your classes. If I missed any other excuse, feelfree to try it, but the answer stays the same. You’re staying at home until you’refeeling better and that’s final.” He opens his mouth to protest, but shuts itagain when he sees your expression. Once you got him to sit on the bed, youpinch your nose and sigh. If sick Hugo is anything, anything even remotelyclose to sick Ernest, you’re in for a long week.