I Made A Cinderella Boy S2 Bingo ✨

crying 😭😭😭 saw this on pinterest and like--

CB theories/thoughts part 5 (Did Prunella's mom actually buy the second key from the flea market?)

After overthinking a bit a thought occurred to me.

Was Goldie indeed the key that we saw at the flea market with Bronze? Was Prunella's mom the one who actually bought the other key? Where am I trying to get at, you may ask. Well, if we take a look at the second key and the key in the craft box of prunella's mom, doesn't the colour seem a bit different? (Or it is just me,I could have sworn they looked a bit different for a second, but it could be the lighting) The second key in the market looks greenish while Goldie looks light brownish when covered in dirt (if you look hard enough? lmao😭)

Also when we take a look at the back of Goldie we see that the dirt is not in the same places as in the key in the market. But what is more is that their keyrings also seem to have a different colour. The keyrings of the keys in the market are dark while the keyring of Goldie is of a lighter colour.

What is weird is that the seller says he doesn't remember who he sold it to, but Prunella's mom has a very unique style. You would think that a woman who dresses as if she came out of a fairy tale would be memorable enough. 

you're telling me he would not remember this woman?

Then when Chase wonders who bought the key we see a bunch of Shadow of people, you could think that it is not important and they are just shadows meant to depict unimportant characters that we will never see again, unless not really. Next to Chase's bubble of asking who bought the other key there is a shadow who kinda looks like one of Chase's friends. 

(It is more believable that the seller forgot who bought they key if it was this dude lol)

Maybe the answer to who bought the key was all along right in front of Chase (or well, behind him at that moment cause his back was turned lol). 

If Goldie and the key in the market are not the one and the same,how did Agatha acquire Goldie? Why is he in her possession? Well the same goes for the market guy, why did he have two keys? In previous parts I theorized about people being connected to Ex Libris but having no memory of it due to someone's involvement. They both seem to be unaware of what is the keys' true worth. Going back to my theory in part 4 where I mention that the old man is missing 4 keys, if we accept the theory of the market key not being Goldie for the sake of theorising, then market key is the fourth missing key. 

If that's true then here are the possible missing keys and their (possible) keyholders:

1) missing key: Bronze ,keyholder : Deacon 

2) missing key : Goldie, keyholder: Prunella

3) missing key: villain key,keyholder: Simon?

4) missing key: unknown identity but since it looks so much like Goldie the metal could be brass, and if we look at the paper with all the key symbols there's a crown near the sun and opposite of the apple which is Bronze’s symbol and he was found in the market with some other key, mind you.

 Deacon also mentioned some key roles when they were trying to figure out what key prunella had and he mentioned the ruler key. 

So if I had to guess which symbol the ruler key has I would say the crown because a crown defines rulers and the role has similarities to the hero whose symbol is close to it. And if I had to guess the keyholder, I would say Chase's friend whose name I am not sure is mentioned.

So to summarize, the missing keys are the following:

Bronze, the helper key

Goldie, the hero key

The villain Key

The ruler key

Bonus detail: in my previous post I said that Simon might have put up the reward poster but it could have been the other friend too since the posters started appearing a few days later after the flea market day. Besides, birds of the feather flock together and either of Chase’s friends could have the same idea as him and put up posters.

Honestly, out of all the theories I have come up with, this is the most insane one, but the keys at the market were turned around so we could not see their symbols and this could have been on purpose, so who knows? 

I love this so much Deaf Will solace is one of my favorite headcanons

you don't have to know what to say or what to think on ao3

The first time it happens, it's an honest mistake.

(The times after that are also honest mistakes, but Nico feels like he should've known better.)

He's been working really, really hard to learn American Sign Language. After his three days in the infirmary, after working night after night, talking to Mr. D, struggling to learn how to open up to other people and how to finally be a 15-year-old teenager who tries his best to not let his lifelong trauma get to him too much, Nico di Angelo had become close friends with one Will Solace.

He'd never thought he'd be able to have a friendship with someone like Will. Someone who didn't take shit from anyone—he made sure to make that clear—, but was doting and cared for everyone else, sometimes a little too much. Someone who was as bright as the sun itself, who could light stars in the sky just by smiling, who could coax Nico's fears out of him and make him feel equal, not judged.

Someone who Nico could see himself loving.

Okay, and, woah, that might be a little too far, but was he wrong? He was finally allowing himself to feel hope after The Incident (mental trademark), letting himself have friends and a crush that didn't feel like ripping his insides apart and stir-frying them for dinner. So what if Nico's eyes lingered a little too long on the way Will's hair glowed against the infirmary's emergency lights?

(“Nico, when the siren rings and lights up, you stop everything and you go help!”, Kayla had yelled at him the first time it happened. He only felt death in the air after Will finally started running after the patient.

It was that bad.)

Who could blame him, then, for wanting to learn the language the boy he liked felt more comfortable with? Will had assured him that he did just fine with English, that his Cabin Nine hearing aids worked more than perfectly, but Nico had seen the way he got excited whenever he got to sign with someone. There were a few Deaf demigods around camp and Will knew every single one of them. Sometimes, he would sign while speaking, and it made Nico's Italian self happy because hand gestures! Then it made Nico's gay self happy because Will's hands, oh my gods, and then Nico wanted to learn how to make Will's face light up like that.

So, he learned. He got familiar with the computer in the Big House, watching YouTube videos on the matter, practicing in the mirror, going up to other campers who were signers and fighting social anxiety like his life depended on it. He had nailed most stuff by week three. The power of hyperfixations.

He did it all hiding from Will, of course. It was meant to be a surprise. He would walk up to Will, sign something, and Will would be like, “Nico, I didn't know you signed!”, so Nico would reply, “I learned just for you!”, and they'd hold hands and kiss and skip into the sunset.

A guy can dream, right?

“Hey, Nico!” Will yells out from the infirmary steps. “I'm done with my shift. Wasn't expectin' to see you here.”

Gods, his accent is so cute.

“I just thought I'd stop by, see how you were doing,” says Nico, preparing himself mentally for what comes next. “I have a surprise for you, actually.”

“Oh, you do?” Will gives his side-tooth smile, the one he does when he's excited for something he doesn't want to show excitement over.

Nico takes a deep breath.

“Food-you-want?” He signs, slowly but surely. “Me-hungry.”

Will blinks.

“Do that again.”

A warm feeling bubbles up in Nico's chest. Embarrassment, adoration, nervousness, teenage crush? He doesn't really know. He only knows that Will's cheeks look flushed and his voice is barely above a whisper, a tone Nico doesn't get to hear often, so of course he signs his sentence again. He'd do anything Will asks for.

“Do the last sign again.”

“Hum,” Nico starts, feeling a little off. He signs it again, anyway, placing his hand shaped like a C in front of his torso, following a line from the center of his collarbones down to the middle of his chest, then vice-versa. “It means 'hungry'... Right?”

Will takes a deep breath, face redder than Nico's ever seen.

“It means 'hungry' when you do the movement once,” he explains, carefully, doing the sign. The same handshape and movement Nico did, but just once, from the collarbone to the middle of his chest. “When you do the movement twice… It means something else.”

“What does it mean?”

They stare at each other. Nico's eyes are wide. Will's eyes are so blue. Nico would pay more attention to the blue if he weren't so preoccupied with—

“It means 'horny'. You signed, I'm horny.”

—With running away.

☀️🤟🏻⭐️

The second time it happens, Nico is still embarrassed by the first one.

Maybe it had been his fault to not pay a lot of attention when the online video he was watching went over the five parameters of ASL. But it wasn't entirely his fault the two signs were so similar, right? Will assured him afterwards—after he found Nico and after a few awkward laughs—that it was a very, very common mistake. The signs were really similar, after all. Nothing wrong with admitting that.

Still, Nico couldn't help but feel his face heat up every time he remembered that day. He'd told his crush he was horny. Unwillingly, sure, but it was sort of true! Nico was still accepting what being horny meant, but he knew that, even in the mildest sense of the word, he was horny for Will. Embarrassing, but honest.

So now, they were hanging out in the Hades' cabin, just the two of us and a bunch of DVDs they'd stolen from the Apollo cabin and Chiron's stash in the Big House. A mix of old rom-coms, sci-fi, noir, and historical dramas, limitless options, but they still argued over what to watch.

Nico suggested, finally, Back to the Future. Will adjourned his case.

As Will walks back from the DVD player, having put the disk in there, Nico takes a deep breath.

“You-eat-want-what?” he signs, going over each sign in his head like a mantra. He does not need a repeat of last time. Then, he raises his eyebrows, signing, “Pizza?”

Will goes as red as a tomato in the face.

“N-No, I'm good,” Will stutters, fanning himself like Hazel does when she's shocked. “Not hungry.” 

“You just came back from a 12-hour shift,” Nico deadpans.

“Let's just watch the movie.”

So Nico is taken back to nights at the Lotus Hotel, when they would have movie nights and play Back to the Future in a loop. Marty McFly might have been his first boy crush. Briefly, he imagined Will in a costume like that for Halloween. But, for now, they're doing just fine, thighs close enough to touch, Will's hand nearly making its way to Nico's scalp for some good head scratches, and life is good.

Sooner than Nico would've liked, it's curfew time. The DeLorean is long gone, and Will is rising up to his feet, stretching, his shirt riding up, and Nico sees the sliver of skin, with a little of hair on his navel, and, oh, gods, he shouldn't be seeing this, but Will is really handsome, and—

“Walk me out?” he says, sweet as ever, and Nico can't say no.

“I had a good time,” says Nico, leaning on the door panel. The moonlight makes Will's hearing aids glimmer.

“Me too,” Will replies, smiling. “The infirmary today was as excitin' as a mashed-potato san'which, good Lord.”

His accent got thicker the more tired he got, just like Nico's.

“Good-night,” Nico signs. “Sleep-good, you.”

Will's eyes linger on Nico's hands, then on his face. His expression is unreadable. It seems… fond? Happy? Nico doesn't know. He just knows he wants that big smile.

“By the way, Nico,” Will starts, voice a little serious, “this is how you sign 'pizza'.”

He goes through the motions. It's just fingerspelling, Nico notices. P-i-z-z-a.

Nico furrows his brows. “What did I sign?”

“You signed…” Will takes a deep breath. “You asked me if I wanted to eat, uh, the… The female genitalia.”

Nico slams the door so hard he doesn't know how Will keeps all of his teeth and nose intact.

☀️🤟🏻⭐️

The third time it happens, Nico is just plain tired.

He had been on a week-long trip for his father, working on some old business in Louisiana, fighting the occasional monster that came his way and shadow-traveling out of danger—no longer to an inch of his life because he didn't want to make Will worry about him. His clothes are a mess, his hair is greasy, there's soil built up under his fingernails, he hasn't had an actual meal in days, and he's exhausted to say the least.

After showering, eating, and bed-rotting any leftover worries away, he sleeps for fifteen hours straight. He wakes up still exhausted, though a little less, so he walks up to the infirmary since he has nothing better to do. Might as well get a check-up while he's there.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he says to the head of blond hair when he sees it.

“Good afternoon, di Angelo,” Will replies, looking ready to tackle any challenge, bloody or non-human, that comes his way in his combination of scrubs, cargo shorts, and Jesus sandals. “You look like you're near 'bout past goin'.”

Nico doesn't know what he's saying, but shrugs anyway. “I'm tired.” Then, he signs, “Me-tired. Coffee, me-need.”

Will smirks.

“All you had to do was ask, Death Boy,” he replies, amused, and Nico lights up.

“You have coffee?” He doesn't know why Will looks so smug about coffee, in a way he's never looked before, but he lets himself be led to the infirmary kitchen, watches Will drape over the Nespresso machine, churning out a nice cup of pure, slightly-processed espresso.

The smell is enough to make Nico's eyes open a little more.

“Also,” Will says, putting his doughnut down by the table, still smirking for reasons unknown, “the sign for 'coffee' goes like this.”

He demonstrates. Nico barely follows, focused on taking a sip from his coffee.

“You signed, I need to make-out. You've gotta pay more attention, di Angelo, or— oh, my gods, Nico, breathe! You're gonna burn your throat! Nico!”

☀️🤟🏻⭐️ 

Nico is tired of failing.

It's not like he's failed-failed. Will has been more than helpful, willing to show him the ropes and correct his signs, and they've actually spent more time with the other Deaf campers, practicing and practicing. Nico is still fighting the flush that decorates his cheeks whenever he signs with someone else, but he's getting there. Anything for that megawatt Will Solace smile.

So, on the Fourth of July, as they're watching the fireworks, Will takes his hearing aids off, saying the noise makes it hurt. Nico gets a little antsy, but shakes it off, and would rather focus on the way the red, white, and blue from the sky makes Will's freckles change colors, too.

And he looks so good tonight. He ditched his usual medic attire for something still Will, a white tank top, denim shorts, an American flag bandana to keep his curls out of his eyes and flip-flops. Nico dressed similarly, but in a black t-shirt and black shorts, black socks and black sneakers. No bandana; only Will can pull it off.

The tank-top is low cut enough that Nico can see his tattoo peeking out. Gods, he's so beautiful, he thinks to himself, lost in thought he almost misses the way Will is waving his hand in front of Nico's face.

“Hi,” Will signs. “Here, fun.”

Nico nods.

“Confess-me,” Will signs. It's a closed fist by his sternum, opening outwards, like he's pulling something out of his chest. Nico translates it to, I need to tell you something, then nods again. Will takes a deep breath. “Me-like-you. Me-like-like-you.”

Nico's breath is stolen. He doesn't know where it went. He doesn't know what's going on. Off in the distance, someone whoops loudly and a group of campers cheer, but he can only focus on the opaque thump of the fireworks and his own heartbeat increasing pace against his chest. Will is staring at him, blue eyes like the sky, like the bandana, like the prettiest gemstone one could conjure.

“Sign-you-learn. Why? Me. Special-you. Me-like-you, why? You.” When he points at Nico, the final 'you', he does a flourish, like he's honoring Nico. You learned sign for me. You're special. I like you because you're you.

Nico feels words bubbling up in his throat, but doesn't let himself say anything. Instead, he moves his hands like he's practiced so many times in front of the mirror before.

“Me-like-you. Long-how? Long. Favorite-person, you-mine. Date-you, I want.”

I've liked you for a long time. You're my favorite person. I'd like to date you.

With that, he finally gets a megawatt Will Solace smile.

The first thing Will ever destroys is a songbird. He is four, and screaming, and his mother is twenty-three and exhausted and screaming back, and he wants to tear the world to shreds with his bare hands. And the little feathered thing out the window chirps at the wrong volume at the wrong time, tilting his little head, and Will just thinks deathdeathdeathdeath. And it keels over, and it dies.

The second thing Will ever destroys is immediately after and it is a little thing in the centre of his belly. And it is gone. Others have it, he’s sure, and it is what tethers them to the place between Hades and Heaven and what will float them gently to Elysium when their string withers, but his died with the bird. He felt it drop like a stone echoing deathdeathdeathdeath.

Every other thing he destroys wraps its twisted tethered tendrils around his throat.

———

He learns how to use it. Eventually. There is a moment in Cabin Seven in the dead middle of the night, after a nightmare, when Lee blinks green smoke out of his wide eyes and says, when he recovers: “Never speak of this again.”

And Will, eight, destroyer of so many things Abraham and his sands could not count them, nods. And Lee takes his hands and presses a gentle, squeezing kiss to his knuckles and in two years’ time Will destroys that, too. He holds the fragments of Lee’s skull in his hands and green smoke pools from his palms, from his eyes, from his mouth and his nose, and the grinning Cyclops cannot hold his breath in time and Will thinks deathdeathdeathdeath.

And the songbird was quick and the hole in Will’s belly gets bigger and Lee was slow, slow, slow. And for ever second his brother suffered Will extols it tenforth upon his enemy, and he collapses to his knees, tongue blackening, eye shrinking in its massive socket, throat screaming around sounds Will drags from his lungs. Boils pepper his skin and his bones crack and splinter into his muscle and blood seeps from his pores. And Will watches, and Lee’s blood pools in his hands, and the smoke thickens. And thickens. And thickens. And the Cyclops does not turn to dust when he dies, but a shrivelled, slimy corpse of a bird, a crow, and bile crawls its way up Will’s throat. He turns his head just in time and vomits all over the disintegrated grass and watches it smoke and bubble, devouring everything it touches. Lee’s stained skin smoulders under his palms. He drops him.

Michael watches, wide-eyed, and says: “Oh, my gods.”

And later when they are fitting the fragments of Lee’s skull together and tucking a coin in the spaces between his broken fingers, because the plates forming the roof of his mouth have been torn apart, Michael holds his shoulder. And he breathes, and he says.

“Never speak of this again.”

And Will feels around for that empty spot in his belly, and he rubs his hand over his burned, bruised throat. He imagines Lee’s big hands joining the fray, squeezing.

And he nods.

———

When he destroys Michael and follows Percy off the ruined bridge and then watches as each one of his older siblings is dragged into the broken hotel infirmary and drags sheets over their heads. When he closes their eyes and commits their blame to memory. When he saves Annabeth’s life and comes back to find his youngest older sister dead.

He squeezes his eyes shut and he thinks deathdeathdeathdeath. And the smoke is thin and cooling and scaly, and it slithers through the cracks of the ruined Manhattan pavement and wraps around exposed heels. And it bites, sinking into flesh, and demigods die, shrivelled, diseased, screaming. And they join the chain of souls wrapped around Will’s neck and whisper their echoes into his ears: deathdeathdeathdeath. And when he is the last and only son to walk through the only gilded doors he will ever see there is an electric fan still humming. There is floral wallpaper still up on the walls. There are unmade bunks. There is the smell of sweet hyacinth and the gentle curve of bowstrings.

He squeezes his eyes, sinks to the floor, and thinks deathdeathdeathdeath. And the hyacinth spots and dies, and the dandelions turn to ash. The wallpaper yellows and yellows and crumples in on itself and the wood of guitars rot. And when he wakes up on the creaking floorboards in the morning there is nothing but broken metal frames and a thin layer of soil, of grave dirt, where there were once painted hydrangeas. And he sweeps it out the steps and tells Chiron his cabin was burned to ash by Greek fire. His throat itches and aches, a fraction as much as his palms.

It is renovated by the end of the week.

The walls are sterile-white.

———

When a straw-haired suffering boy stretches into his face and screams I am the son of Apollo, Will squeezes his eyes shut. And he thinks: death.

And Death wraps a hand around his elbow, squeezing, stalling, and says: “Octavian, think of what you’re doing.”

The praetor-elect snarls, and does not. His robes catch on the twisted end of the onager, and his string of Fate is cut. He is launched into the air, screaming, and when his ghost floats back down, it does not join the thousands on Will’s back. Instead it sits on Nico’s shoulders, and Nico takes the weight, breathing through his mouth, and soldiers on. Will watches him with wide eyes.

———

“Never speak of this again,” his brothers warned him.

———

His father told him: you are marked.

———

He hears, endlessly, echoed: deathdeathdeathdeath.

———

“I could use a friend,” he says, and swallows. The dead on his back echo their laughter: friend. Friend. Friend.

“Friend,” Nico echoes.

Will nods. He tries for a smile. It’s thin, but Nico does not comment on it. “Or a friendly face, if that’s easier to swallow.”

“You don’t want a harbinger in your infirmary, Solace.”

And Will cannot help but laugh out loud. And Nico scowls, offended, but Will holds up a hand, palm open.

“I know something about harbingers,” he promises. “You are not by far the worst thing to happen to this camp.”

Nico’s eyes widen. Will snatched his hand back, and there must be something in his face. Because Nico nods, slowly, big eyes blinking.

“Okay.” he says, and swallows. “I have to do something, but I’ll be — back.”

And he is.

———

Nico controls the dead. He cares for them. Like his father he is commanding, but he is fair. He gives the dying the chance to fight, the space to plead; when it is time to collect souls he will take them, gently, and guide them, weeping, on. Death is compassionate. Nico moreso.

Will curls his blackened rotting fists to his sides. The snake wraps up his leg, tongue resting on his scraped knees. It hisses, gently.

Nico places a soft, caring hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, gently. “Some deaths are not preventable. You know that.” He squeezes. “You are a light on this Earth, Solace. She was suffering. She will be granted Elysium, as all the heroes who died here will be.”

Heroes.

Nico searches for his eyes, and smiles. The snake around Will’s ankles hisses, moving close. Will holds his breath.

“Remember all your hands have done, Will.”

Will swallows, and tucks his palms into his pockets.

Death.

Death.

Death.

Death.

“Believe me. I will.”

Bothersome beast, comforting friend

🌸🌺🌹🌻🌼

I’ve seen a lot of posts on my dash tonight about users who are threatening suicide, with other Tumblr members posting in effort to try to get ahold of them. I think you all should see this:

IF THERE IS EVER A TUMBLR USER WHO HAS POSTED A GOOD-BYE MESSAGE, SUICIDE NOTE, VIDEO, OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, PLEASE FOLLOW THIS POST.

1. Scroll to the top of your dashboard.

2. See the circular question mark icon at the top? It’s the third one over from your home symbol. Click on that, and a screen similar to the one in the picture will come up.

3. Where you can type in questions, the box with the magnifying glass at the top, type in the word “suicide.”

4. Click on the first link that shows up. It should say, “Pass the URL of the blog on to us.”

5. Type in the user’s URL and tell Tumblr admin that the user is contemplating suicide and has posted a message indicating that they are going through with it or will be attempting. Hit send! Tumblr administration will perform a number of actions to contact the user and take the necessary steps to prevent the suicide.

TUMBLR: THIS COULD SAVE A USER’S LIFE. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE SUICIDE THREATS.

Reblog this to keep other users aware. Suicide isn’t a joke, and neither is someone’s life. If you didn’t know this, someone else may not, either. Pass it on.

ranking the best things I have heard surgeons say mid-surgery:

1. "Five second rule!" while scrubbed, after dropping a sterile scalpel on the floor (no they did NOT pick it up again but I swear everyone's buttholes puckered)

2. (spoken during the closing of a particularly long and difficult case) "Nurse - my tunes." :heavy metal starts blasting:

3. Gently to a fretful patient, pre-anaesthesia: "It's going to be okay. I promise, I've dealt with worse." As soon as the patient is unconscious: "This is literally the worst thing I've ever seen."

4. [okay this one was a med student] "Wowwww, that's so gross!!" Reg: "Please remember that [patient] is awake for this procedure." Student to patient: "Oh my god. I am so sorry, that was really unprofessional - " Patient, cheerfully, also engrossed with what's happening inside them on the screen: "Nah - it's, like, super gross, right?"

5. [another procedure where the patient couldn't be put under GA] Patient: *starts singing country roads midway through the procedure* Surgeon: *shrugs and joins in with surprisingly good harmony*

fair and pre-emptive warning

i am enjoying the fuck out of the smut i am writing right now. im like 2000 words in and nowhere close to stopping. it will be tonight's post. it's a lot lighter than last time's but if that's not your thing don't sweat it. i'll be back later with chill stuff. but if you are a fellow deviant lock in we're eating GOOD tonight

bi 4 bi percabeth,,,,, 👉👈