please tell me about "Stolas gets sick" I'm hoping for blitz playing nurse 🥺🥺
You are correct! This is for the prompt ‘Soulmates/Mortality’:
“Blitzø…is it morning?”
Blitzø chuckled softly, pressing a cool washcloth to Stolas’s clammy forehead. “No, you slept right through to lunch.”
“Oh, well, at least I didn’t miss game night.” He sighed, relieved.
“…Erm, actually…” Blitzø hesitated, removing the cloth and placing it beside him on the bed. “You did…it’s the next day.”
”I WHAT?!” He sat up way too quickly because the room suddenly started spinning again, and he was forced to lie back down as a wave of nausea overcame him.
”Fuckkkkk,” He groaned, clenching his eyes shut.
”Shhh, it’s alright, Stols.” Blitzø gently put his hand on his forehead, letting out a faint sigh. “Yep, you’re still feverish, birdie.”
”Noooooo, Blitzyyyyy,” He thrashed from side to side, absolutely fed up with being sick. How in Hell did lower mortals deal with this their whole fucking lives?!
“Yesssss, Mister.” Blitzø pulled the comforter back over his body, sternly looking down at him. “Come on, let me tuck you in.”
Having used what little energy he had on his mini-meltdown, he relented, letting Blitzø turn him into a very long, very lanky burrito. He wrapped the duvet tightly around his body, encapsulating his arms until he was cocooned.
“I’ll check on you in a few hours, mkay?” Blitzø reassured him, kissing him on the cheek and turning off the light.
Welp, guess he had no choice but to sleep this wretched illness away.
3884 words | Teen | Part 2/5
Author's AO3: PoisonedAce
Story Link: Texting Fate
Part 1 A Part 1B
Summary: An accidental text ropes Blitzo, a snarky imp stuck in a boarding school for troubled youth, into chatting with Stolas, a sickly Ars Goetia prince juggling royal expectations and an arranged marriage. What starts as sarcastic banter escalates into something suspiciously like love, but their shared past—conveniently ignored—looms over them. Together, they fumble through a tangled mess of love, rejection fears, identity crises, and the overly rigid boundaries of their ridiculously mismatched worlds.
~o0o~o0o~o0o~Chapter Two~o0o~o0o~o0o~
Stolas hesitated before responding, his talons tapping nervously against his phone screen. What did Ozzie mean by ‘a knack for finding trouble? What type of trouble did the imp find himself in to land in a school for troubled imps?
Stolas reread Ozzie’s message, a frown playing on his face. Questions gnawed at him, persistent and unwelcome. Was he truly all right? Did Stolas have any right to ask?
His thoughts drifted to the imp’s chaotic visit to the palace years ago, the trinkets and treasures that had mysteriously vanished along with him. Was that mischief still a part of Blitzo’s life? The thought unsettled him, though he quickly pushed it aside. Their connection—tangled and inexplicable as it was—felt fragile enough without prying his beak into Blitzo's life.
With a soft sigh, Stolas leaned back in his chair, the rich scent of parchment and ink grounding him as he tried to ease the tension in his shoulders. Blitzo had been navigating his stormy life long before their paths crossed again. It wasn’t Stolas’s place to intervene—not yet.
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Blitzo huffed as he slumped onto the edge of a battered bench in the corridor outside Ozzie's office, his tail twitching irritably. The faint scent of industrial-strength cleaning chemicals clung to him like a second skin, and his hands were still raw from scrubbing glitter out of every crevice in Ozzie’s gaudy office with a stupidly small toothbrush.
Glitter. Of all the things his stupid little mind had come up with, it had to be glitter. He could still see the tiny sparkles embedded under his claws and clinging to his uniform, mocking him.
“Stupid detention,” he muttered under his breath, kicking at a loose piece of tile on the floor. “Stupid Ozzie. Stupid toothbrush scrubbing.”
He pulled out his phone, the cracked screen flickering faintly under the fluorescent lights. His reflection stared back at him, disheveled and glitter-dusted, and he groaned. “Yeah, sure, character-building,” he said, mimicking Ozzie’s rich baritone with an exaggerated sneer. “How ‘bout I build some character by setting his fucking office on fire?”
His thumb hovered over his contacts, scrolling past familiar names before stopping at the one labeled “Mean Birb.” A small smirk crept onto his face. Stolas always had something sarcastic to say, and Blitzo could use the distraction.
He typed quickly, his claws clinking softly against the screen as he crafted his message, his irritation bleeding through every letter.
Blitzo snorted loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway and earning a sharp glare from a passing teacher. He quickly ducked his head, mumbling an insincere “Sorry” as he turned his attention back to his phone. Shielding the screen with his hand, he typed out a reply, his grin widening despite his attempts to stifle it.
Blitzo’s eyes widened slightly as he reread the text, the absurdity hitting him like a slap. A snort escaped before he could stop it—a loud, involuntary sound that startled even himself. Half-chewed caramel lodged in his throat mid-laugh, and he doubled over, coughing and wheezing. His face turned a shade darker as he fought to clear his airway, but the laughter bubbling up refused to be suppressed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he thumped his chest, muttering, “Damn caramel,” between choked giggles. A teacher down the hall raised an eyebrow but kept walking, clearly deciding Blitzo wasn’t worth the effort.
Still grinning, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reread the message. Stolas wasn’t usually this… snarky. It was a rare glimpse of something less polished, less princely, and Blitzo was eating it up like a kid who’d just found free candy at the carnival.
“Wilted fern,” he repeated to himself, chuckling as he imagined some stiff, joyless demon droning on about algebra or something equally boring while Stolas sat there with that signature unimpressed look. The visual was so vivid that he couldn’t help but laugh again, earning another glare from the same teacher as before.
Blitzo froze mid-scroll, his thumb hovering above the screen. The mention of the circus caught him off guard. His brain stumbled for a moment, replaying the sentence in his head to make sure he hadn’t misread it.
His chest tightened, an old, familiar discomfort he tried to ignore while at school. Memories flickered uninvited: the creak of the rickety bleachers, the harsh snap of a whip in practice, and the way his father’s voice always cut just a little too deep.
But before the feeling could settle, Blitzo snorted sharply, forcing a grin onto his face. “The hell does he know about the circus?” he muttered, shaking his head as if to physically shove the memories aside. Stolas couldn’t have meant it literally, right? The guy probably thought “circus training” was just some weird figure of speech—like a metaphor for juggling too many things at once or some crap like that.
Blitzo grimaced at the sound of Moxxie vomiting from his spot beside him. “For fucks sake, Mox, I told you not to fucking eat that shit!” He shoved his tray aside with a dramatic flair, and sighed heavily. At least he had the snacks from the circus that Fizz had snuck back during their last break.
Moxxie wiped his mouth with a napkin, glaring weakly at Blitzo. “How was I supposed to know the mystery meat was... actually a mystery? I thought it was chicken!”
Blitzo snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Chicken? Moxxie, even the rats knew better than to touch that shit. What made you think your delicate stomach could handle it?”
“It’s called optimism,” Moxxie grumbled, clutching his stomach. “Something you clearly lack.”
“Optimism won’t save you from food poisoning, genius.” Blitzo waved his phone in front of Moxxie’s face. “Now, cereal. That’s a survivor’s meal. Mean Birb agrees.”
Moxxie blinked, confused. “Mean Birb? Wait—are you seriously texting him about cafeteria food?”
Blitzo’s ears twitched, and he quickly shoved his phone into his pocket. “You’re too busy puking to worry about who I'm texting.”
“Uh-huh.” Moxxie raised an eyebrow, but before he could press further, Millie plopped down beside him with her own tray, grinning.
“What’d I miss? Oh, Moxx, sugar, you look green. Was it the meatloaf again?”
Blitzo cackled. “Meatloaf, chicken, unidentified space goo—whatever it was, Moxxie decided to gamble, and he lost big time.”
“Shut up, Blitzo,” Moxxie snapped, his voice weak but full of indignation.
Millie patted Moxxie’s back with a sympathetic smile. “Aw, poor thing. Next time, just stick with the pudding cups. At least they don’t bite back.”
Blitzo grinned, his fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to pull his phone back out. Stolas’s dry wit had been oddly entertaining, but he’d never hear the end of it if Moxxie or Millie caught on to how often they’d been texting lately. “Speaking of biting,” he drawled, “anyone else think this place’s food might actually be alive?”
Blitzo’s loud laugh caught Millie’s attention. “What’s so funny, Blitzo?” she asked, licking the pudding out of her cup.
“Nothing! Just texting someone who thinks toast counts as a full meal,” Blitzo said, shoving the phone back into his pocket, though he kept glancing at it, itching to see what Stolas would say next.
“Toast?” Millie wrinkled her nose. “That’s just sad.”
“Tell me about it.” Blitzo leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Can’t wait to see what other depressing secrets he’s hiding.”
Moxxie, still recovering, raised an eyebrow. “Who is this person that eats toast as a meal?”
“Shut up, Moxxie!” Blitzo interrupted, throwing a napkin at him. “Eat your damn pudding and mind your business.”
Moxxie didn’t look convinced, but Millie distracted him with a fresh pudding cup, leaving Blitzo to check his phone again eagerly.
Moxxie threw down his pudding cup and hunched over, face pale, clutching his stomach. He let out a pitiful moan, and Blitzo groaned in exasperation.
“For fuck’s sake, Moxxie!” Blitzo snapped, slamming his tray onto the table. “Look at you, sounding like a dying cat.”
Moxxie whined, his head lolling dramatically to the side. “I don’t think it’s going away,” he croaked, voice heavy with complaint. “Take me back to the dorm. Please.”
“Not my problem. You got yourself into this mess.”
Moxxie pouted, then reached out with grabby hands. “Uppies.”
Blitzo froze mid-eye-roll, staring at Moxxie like he’d sprouted another head. “Uppies? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not carrying your dumb ass. This was your stupid decision, and you can walk it off.”
“But I’m sick,” Moxxie whined louder, his hands still outstretched. “Uppies!”
Millie, leaning against the table and trying not to laugh, finally chimed in. “Yeah, Blitzo, he’s sick. Give him uppies.” Her grin was wide and mischievous as she crossed her arms, clearly enjoying the situation.
Blitzo groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”
Blitzo shoved his phone back into his pocket before climbing out of his chair and kneeling. “Fine. Get on, but if you puke on me, I swear I’ll leave you in the hallway.”
Moxxie perked up immediately, wrapping his arms around Blitzo’s neck with surprising enthusiasm for someone claiming to be so sick. “Thanks, Blitzo!” he said, his voice muffled against Blitzo’s shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t thank me yet. Look to the side! Don’t you dare breathe vomit in my face. Millie, grab our bags!” Blitzo barked, hefting Moxxie onto his back with more effort than he wanted to admit.
Millie saluted mockingly, grabbing their stuff while stifling a laugh. “You’re a real softie, Blitzo,” she teased, trotting after them as they made their way out of the cafeteria.
Halfway down the hall, Moxxie wiggled slightly, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Blitzo, you’re going too fast,” he whined.
“You’re fine,” Blitzo growled, but as he adjusted his grip, his foot slipped, and Moxxie slid off his back, landing on the floor with a loud thud.
Moxxie immediately burst into tears. “You dropped me!” he wailed, his voice cracking pathetically. Oh, for Lucifer’s sake!” Blitzo exclaimed, crouching down and tugging Moxxie back to his feet. “Quit crying! You’re not a damn baby!”
“You dropped me!” Moxxie sobbed louder, rubbing at his eyes as tears and sniffles overtook him.
Blitzo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before his tone softened slightly. “Okay, okay, I dropped you, but you’re fine, alright? Stop crying before someone sees us. Do you want me to carry you again or not?”
Moxxie sniffled, then nodded, still pouting. “Uppies.”
Blitzo huffed but turned around, letting Moxxie climb back on. “You’re such a pain in my ass,” he muttered as Moxxie clung to him. “This is why I told you not to eat cafeteria food tonight. You’re such a baby when you’re sick. Learn from this, dumbass.”
“You two are just adorable,” Millie quipped, earning a glare from Blitzo as they trudged toward the dorms.
Moxxie, now comfortably back on Blitzo, purred, rubbing his face into Blitzo’s shoulder. “Thanks, Blitzo.”
Blitzo groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Don’t push your luck.”
Millie grinned. “See, Moxxie? Blitzo does care. He’s practically a hero!”
“Yeah, yeah, Millie,” Blitzo shot back. “Maybe next time, he can learn how to eat like a smart imp, and we won’t have to reenact this whole scene.”
Moxxie let out a weak laugh, still clinging to Blitzo’s back. “You love me. Admit it.”
“Sure, Moxx. Like I love migraines,” Blitzo grumbled. But despite the sharp retort, he leaned his head back slightly, brushing it comfortingly against Moxxie’s. A small purr escaped the smaller imp, and Blitzo couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips.
~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~
Moxxie groaned as he trudged down the hall to his dorm, shoulders sagging under the weight of his Debate Club binder. Evening practice had been grueling, as always, thanks to the upcoming tournament against Wrath Academy—a school renowned for its theatrical debate style and flair for humiliating opponents.
It didn’t help that his long-time rival, his uncle Lorenzo’s obnoxiously smug nephew, Ambrose, was captain of their debate team. Moxxie clenched his jaw just thinking about him. Ambrose had a knack for goading him into arguments that went wildly off track, always with that infuriating smirk plastered across his stupid face.
“‘Oh, Moxxie,’” Moxxie grumbled to himself in a mocking tone as he turned the doorknob, “‘is your rebuttal always this derivative, or do you save your best work for the cafeteria menu?’ Arrogant bastard.”
He slammed the door shut behind him, prepared to stew over debate strategies in peace, only to stop dead in his tracks. His sour mood plummeted further.
Blitzo and Fizz occupied his bed, sprawled out, and snuggled together like two particularly lazy cats, surrounded by a sea of empty junk food wrappers and homework. His junk food wrappers. The ones he had painstakingly hidden under his bed, under a loose floorboard, away from prying eyes and sticky fingers.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Moxxie screeched, snatching a pillow off a nearby chair and smacking Blitzo over the head with it.
Blitzo groaned, cracking one eye open to glare at him. “Ow, the fuck, Mox? I’m sleeping here. Rude.”
“You’re sleeping in my bed! Surrounded by my snacks! Explain yourself, or so help me—”
Blitzo yawned dramatically, shifting over to kick a few wrappers onto the floor with zero remorse. “Relax, Mox. Come nap. Talk later.” He patted the empty spot beside him and held out his arm, inviting his friend into their sleep-warm nest.
Fizz snored softly beside him, clutching an empty pudding cup like a teddy bear, his head resting comfortably on Blitzo’s stomach.
Moxxie spluttered, clutching the pillow tightly. “I am NOT napping, and we are talking about this right now—hey, let go of me!”
Blitzo’s tail had curled around Moxxie’s leg, giving it a playful tug and throwing him off balance. Before he could regain his footing, Blitzo yanked him onto the bed.
“Nap now,” Blitzo muttered, tugging Moxxie close like a particularly disgruntled blanket. “Talk later.” Without waiting for an answer, he pushed Moxxie’s head onto his chest and gave it a firm pat as if sealing the deal.
Moxxie tried to wiggle free but eventually let out a resigned sigh, glaring at the wall as Blitzo’s steady purring lulled him into reluctant calm. “This isn’t over,” he grumbled, though his voice lacked conviction.
~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~
Millie pressed her ear against the door and knocked, listening for any type of commotion coming from the other side. She had been trying to get in contact with the boys for the past several hours, and none of them answered or even read her messages. Moxxie, she knew, was likely so far into debate strategies he hadn’t moved from his desk or glanced at his phone since after Debate Club that evening, but for Blitzo and Fizz not to answer caused her some concern. She hoped nothing happened during practice earlier that day.
She jigged the doorknob and twisted, frowning when she realized it was unlocked. She pushed the door open and peeked inside, her worry melting into a delighted grin when she spotted the scene on the bed.
“Well, isn’t this just adorable?” she murmured with a soft chuckle, pulling out her phone from her back pocket. Her smile faded as the screen stayed stubbornly black. Letting out a small huff, her gaze shifted to Blitzo’s jacket draped over the desk chair. An idea sparked. Quietly, she tiptoed over, reaching into the inner pocket and retrieving his phone. “Sorry, Blitzo,” she whispered, a mischievous grin creeping back onto her face.
She clicked the photo button and snapped a picture of the trio on the bed— Fizz’s tiny snores punctuated the soft rustling of the wrappers around them, Blitzo sprawled across the bed like he owned it, one arm loosely draped over Moxxie, who looked both annoyed and oddly at peace, even in his sleep. They’re ridiculous, Millie thought, her heart swelling with affection.
She hesitated for a moment before switching to Blitzo’s other messages, her thumb hovering over the contact labeled “Mean Birb.” Her grin faltered as she stared at the name. Am I overstepping? she thought, biting her lip. This wasn’t her business, after all. Whatever was going on between Blitzo and this Mean Birb wasn’t her place to meddle in—no matter how obvious it was that something was going on, despite Blito's strong protests.
But then again, Millie reasoned, Blitzo wasn’t exactly subtle. He’d been glued to his phone for days, his expression softening in rare moments when a notification popped up. And though he’d never admit it, there was a certain fondness in the way he talked about whoever was on the other side of those texts.
“Ah, screw it,” she muttered under her breath. If Blitzo didn’t want Mean Birb to see this, he shouldn’t have looked so damn cute snuggled up like a baby possum. Besides, whoever this person was, they obviously meant something to him, and Millie figured a little harmless teasing never hurt anyone.
With a sly grin, she tapped the contact and attached the photo, quickly typing out her message:
Her finger hovered over the send button for just a moment before she pressed it, exhaling as the message went through. "Well," she whispered, going to slip the phone back into Blitzo’s jacket, "what’s done is done."
Her grin returned as the reply came almost instantly, causing her to pull her hand back from the jacket and look down at the screen. She reopened the phone to see what he had written.
Millie chuckled softly, tucking Blitzo’s phone back into his jacket. She glanced at the trio on the bed, her heart swelling as she watched them breathing in sync, their usual chaos replaced with a rare, tranquil unity. She went towards Blitzo’s bed, intent on also taking a nap when a soft, tired voice broke her reverie. She turned to see Moxxie stirring slightly, his hand outstretched toward her.
“Yeah, Mox?”
“Why’re you sleeping over there?” he asked groggily, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Come nap.”
Without waiting for her answer, he tugged her gently toward the bed. Millie smiled warmly, climbing into the pile of warmth and chaos. She nestled against Moxxie’s side, pressing her face into his shoulder. Millie sighed contentedly.
They’re ridiculous, she thought. But they’re mine.
~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~
Can be skipped. It's just a little background on APLD (Avian Post-Laying Despair)
APLD occurs after the laying of an egg. The mother smashes its egg, usually because of environmental or biological stressors, which pushes the mother into a state of heightened distress.
These could be things such as unfit conditions or accidental destruction.
Unfit Conditions- One common cause is the perception that the environment is unsuitable for the survival of the egg. This can include insufficient resources, poor health of the mother, or external dangers that make rearing the offspring seem impossible. In such cases, the mother may preemptively destroy the egg, believing it has little chance of survival.
Accidental Destruction - Another cause stems from accidents, such as the egg being dropped or mishandled during an episode of distress. The sight or awareness of damage to the egg can exacerbate the mother’s stress, potentially leading to destructive behaviors that mimic grief or despair.
More information will be coming up next chapter, if there is anything specific you wish to know about, just let me know.
