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So I think That Nico di Angelo is short, and here's why

The average man in italy in the 1930s was around 5'4-5'7, and then we went though revolution and got taller And Now Italians are about 5'8-5'10

Nico is from the 1930s as we know and he was in the hotel for 70 years so he didn't go though revolution with evey one else so that's why he seems short but it would be considered average.

I think that Nico is 5'5, and It's just an idea, so I'm not 100% sure, and this is just a theory.

The duality of man

What do yall think Nico and Will will look like in the TV show

They are changing many things(not that it's a bad thing) all I hope is that they keep them relatively the same and don't like white wash them or Change them completely

Also they need to make Nico so cool

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Will smiles, pushing down the bubble of air that fires up his torso, pressing down on the balloon of giggles that expand up his belly, into his lungs. He hides into the pillow, acting at sleep, feeling Nico’s hand walk across his chest.

“Tell me more.”

That callused hand pauses, and Will’s breath hitches, goosebumps pilling up all over his warmed skin. He can feel the slow spread of Nico’s tiny grin in the air, can feel the crooked edge to it, the sharp edge of possession. His teeth-torn fingernails dip below the sag of Will’s stretched-out tank top and feign hesitance, feign modesty, before sliding clear up along his abdomen, his sternum, his pectorals. The web of Nico’s thumb rests dangerously, daringly close to the edge of Will’s areola, by no accident. Will shivers.

“Greedy,” Nico murmurs, and his lips are so close to Will’s skin that he feels the rumbling baritone of his voice in the hard lines of his muscles, and they clench, tiny little spasms, with every ghosting breath. “Greedy, greedy boy.”

Will’s stomach bottoms out. He feels it, dropping to his clenched toes, and drawn unbidden from his mouth is the tiniest of little sounds, breathy, gravelly, humiliating; the quiet echo of Nico’s snicker makes it so, so much more intoxicatingly worse and he can feel it, the headiness. The way his mind starts to float.

“‘M not.”

It’s barely a defense. It’s barely words. He can focus only on the scrape of Nico’s palms against his skin, on the heat of his breath, his body; so close. Will’s mind spins and his own breathing gets short, shallow. Wanting.

“You are.” His lips touch, finally, the burning want of Will’s skin; pressing firm against the slope of Will’s shoulder, hard enough to feel teeth, to feel panting, to feel the strength of Nico’s wanting. His taking. “You drink everything I give you. You replenish your blood with it, don’t you.”

“And?” Will asks, breathless, challenging. He bares his neck and hears the sharpness of Nico’s inhale; looks out of the corner of his eyes and smirks at the clench of his Nico’s jaw, the tongue that darts out to wet at his lips, to lap at him. “Will you give it to me?”

“I will give you anything.”

He says it with the force of a thousand whispers, a million final oaths. He says it and Will hears thunder clap. He feels the ground shake, the bed shake, his thighs shake, uncontrollably, weak under the bruise of Nico’s clench, the brand of his palms. I will give you anything. I will give you everything.

“How will you ever afford it?”

Nico’s teeth sink into his skin and Will opens his mouth to shout but the only sound to exit is the broken vowels of his Nico’s name, all of them. Nico shifts to face him and he knows, but the steel in his Earthen eyes, that cost is of no question, if no concern.

I will. Easily.

Will folds into him like the stars do their ending, glowing sun.

"What was that for?"

He is warm, and soft, and he smells good.

And when Nico catches him by surprise, he touches the tips of his fingers to the swell of his lips, eyes wide, freckles blinking like stars.

Nico hides a smile, rocking back on his heels.

"No reason."

"Not that I am complaining," Will hastens to explain, "uh, I loved it, actually, I just -- I am kind of gross? I was gonna go run to take a shower before I woke you and --"

Nico leans over and kisses him again. From this angle he can -- the sand pit for volleyball is just slightly lower than the bleachers, and if Nico stands on the second step, he can just...lean over. Will's lips are right there, even if it is more a press of mouths than a kiss with Will's rambling.

It stops, though, when Nico kisses him. He clams up and kisses back like he's afraid Nico is going to stop.

"Was that one just 'cause, too?" he says, when Nico lets up. Nico pulls away and notices that he is breathless. That could be the game he just played.

It could also be the little tinge of red around his cheekbones -- barely, really, anything -- and the way he darts his eyes between Nico's mouth and his eyes. Experimentally, Nico leans slightly forward. Immediately, Will closes his mouth, then his eyes, waiting.

Nico waits, too, grinning. When Will cracks one confused eye open he cannot help but laugh, and Will shoves him, scowling.

"You're teasing me," he accuses.

Nico quiets his mirth in his hands.

"A little."

"You're mean."

"Mhm. A little."

He leans forward, again, past the threshold of middle ground between them. This time Will waits, evaluating, pout on his bitten-red lips. He narrows his Carolina-blue eyes and Nico takes the time to watch them, to memorize them. He thinks of brilliant butterfly wings and fire. He thinks of afternoon skies. He thinks of shallow, splashing lakes, of robin eggs and icebergs. Of scorpions and scales and flower petals. He thinks long enough for Will to believe him, again, to fall for it; he thinks he could get away with making him wait, again, but finds he doesn't want to.

"You taste like strawberry," Will mumbles, and presses himself closer, "the candy kind."

Nico smiles against his mouth. A bribe, of sorts. Will's tongue licks along the seem of his lips, determined to taste more. Nico allows it and slides his hands up his belly in his distraction, resting on his chest. He swears he can feel when his skin gives way to dark ink, long-healed as it is. There is less of a buzz.

Will pulls away, slightly, although there isn't much to go.

"I'm supposed to -- get ready."

"Mhm." Nico kisses him again. He resists, or he tries to. Nico hovers, for a moment, candy breath and all, and he cracks in second. "What was it you had to do, again?"

"I --" Nico swipes his thumb along the line of his ribs, featherlight, and he twitches, trembles; "I --"

He is so easy. It is like he has buttons red and tantalizing for Nico to press, and his impulse control has never been good. Nico memorized them ages ago, and uses them at his leisure; Twizzlers, before a game, dipping his hands in ice water so they're cooler than usual. A fingernail against his ribcage, a flat palm on the heart of his tattoo. A little bit of height, and the promise of a kiss, of the end of one.

Like a detonator.

"Don't stop," Will sighs, forgetting. Nico can almost see the list of responsibilities float from his brain, wrapping around Nico's head like laurels. He curls his fists to avoid the crow of victory bubbling in his throat, wrapping his hands in strands of Will's hair -- another button.

He tugs.

Will whimpers.

Easy.

"Won't," Nico promises, and kisses him again.

I had a headcanon today about none other then Solangelo cuz why not

I feel like Will has one if those big family reunions during Easter you know the one where there's like 20 people in your house and that one random baby sleeping in your bed for no reason but also Just like all the random people that you have barely meet but they say that they changed your diaper when you were a baby

Anyway He brings nico along to celebrate with his family and Nico get to see why Will is they way he is because of all these people that he grew up are just a weird as he is but Nico secretly enjoys feeling like he is part if Will's family

Anyways Happy Easter every one and if you don't celebrate it Have a great day

"Don't cry."

"...I'm not."

"Omigods. Will. Don't cry."

"I'm not!"

But there are welled up tears making his eyes looking huge, and even as he bites it his lip still trembles. In seconds there is the slightest of sniffles.

Nico groans, slumping against the handle of the grocery cart. A WASPy mother glares at him in passing. He glares back and sics an errant soul onto her monstrosity of a hairdo for good measure.

"Will," he groans, metal bar digging into his forehead, "Will, it's a lemon."

"I know," Will sniffles, bravely. "Just -- leave it. Let's go."

Nico moves his arm, just enough to watch his too-tall over-empathetic dumbass best friend try and fail to pull himself together in the, and Nico cannot emphasize this enough, very public grocery store in the suburbs of Long Island, where people stare.

And, like.

The staring is not too unusual.

Will is in cutoff shorts and flip-flops. It's early March. Climate change is not that bad yet. The two of them are wearing neon camp t-shirts -- Nico's good, goth t-shirts have been stolen from him to be 'washed' -- and are both, Nico must emphasize again, fifteen years of age, with a grocery cart each full to the actual brim with Pop Tarts, Twizzlers, medical supplies, socks, and silly string. Will is approximately nineteen feet tall. They make a scene. That is a fair evaluation.

But rare is the day where Nico cannot quell the stares by reflecting hellfire into his eyes. Mortals usually flee in terror or at least walk away traumatized. Today they aren't even looking.

"Will," he says, as gently as he can manage. Will looks over, after a minute, and his bright eyes look so glassy and miserable that whoa, hey, Nico can manage a whole lot gentler than he thought he could, can't he. He reaches up and pats a palm against Will's wet cheek, swiping a thumb under his eyes. "Do you. Want." He glances over at the lone, half-dried up lemon on the floor by the produce baskets. "Would you like to take the lemon home with us.

"Yes," says Will quietly. Nico's hand falls away and Will wipes his face, crouching down to scoop it up. He hesitates before putting it in the cart, cradling it against his chest. "It's just." He looks at Nico through his eyelashes. Nico tries to smile encouragingly. Based on the immediate tears and sobbing of a child directly behind Will's shoulders, he is unsuccessful. "If we don't take it, no one will, you know."

"Yes," agrees Nico slowly. "Due to the fact that it is garbage."

Will snatches his hand back like Nico had smacked it, glaring hard. Nico is really starting to consider those bipolar pamphlets Kayla left pointedly on the Apollo table. Yeesh.

"It's not -- garbage! Just because -- just because something isn't as good as everything else doesn't mean it's garbage!"

...Or not.

Ah.

"Ah," says Nico. He clears his throat. "Ah."

Some cultures attribute tact and gentleness to his father -- Death accepts all, and in facts invites all, to reside with Him. He will take your hand and guide you to whence you have never travelled, where you have no kin. He will speak to you in your shock of your life and your triumphs. He, when you have no one, is your compassionate, voluble friend.

Hazel inherited all that, unfortunately. Nico got the dead-eyed stare and fruitiness.

"Uh," he tries, anyway, "if you were a rotten lemon, I would take you home."

Will looks at him skeptically. "You would?"

"Y -- uh, yes. I would make." He wracks his brain. "I would use you to clean surfaces."

"...Oh."

"Yes. Like -- chopping boards, and the like." He makes a karate chop motion with his hand. He immediately takes the hand and shoves it into the untraveled depths of his pocket, which is a challenge due to the fact that it took him forty minutes to paint his jeans on this morning, and vows to cut its quisling digits off as quickly as possible. Why is he alive.

He is grateful at least that his friend is about as stupid as he is.

"That would be a good use for me if I was a rotting lemon," Will agrees. He looks down at the rotting lemon cradled in his hands. "Maybe we will use you to clean."

"Yes," Nico says, gentle coaxing. "Now let's put the lemon in the cart, okay? We're almost done. We just need the nineteen quarts of ice cream Cecil paid me ninety dollars not to disclose to Chiron. Let's go."

"'Kay."

Garbage lemon safely laid among a braid of licorice packages, dead centre in the cart, they move on. The stares follow them, but Will at least does not seem to mind -- used to it, veteran camper that he is -- and slides his arm through Nico's crooked elbow. Nico takes that as the opportunity it is to steer him away from the cake that a nefarious teenager has pushed to the floor, lest that set him off next. They have only minutes until they make it to the cash register, where Nico will pay for whatever Will is watching him scan, and are home free.

"Hey, Nico."

Nico hums, eyeing the self-checkout line. "Yeah?"

"Would we still be friends if I was a worm?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

I'm so excited for this!!!

Ik Im terribly late but- COTD trio doodle :)

It is so rare, for a day of peace. So, so rare. For the Apollo cabin to be empty, for siblings to be busy, for the sun to be gentle and the birds to be sweet.

"Hey, Will."

So serene. Truly. Cecil lounging on Will's bed, remembering to have taken his shoes off for once. Quietly flipping through a comic book. Will, suffering but willingly, with his Calculus III textbook on the floor. Actually making progress this time, gunning through practice questions.

And Lou Ellen.

It always has to be one of them.

Lou Ellen watches, velvet skirts tucked under her crossed ankles, dark eyes squinting in contemplation.

Will barely looks up, scrawling something illegible over the most graphite-smudged paper maybe in the entire world.

"Yeah."

"Can we kiss for a little bit?"

That works. The slowly shifting sun through the dusty windows pauses. The chisme plants turn, slowly, shifting their stems to the center of the cabin. Will takes a full seventeen seconds to visibly separate from his textbook, process the question, and erupt into a shade of red previously unknown to man.

"Um," he says, or rather squeaks. "Yes?"

Cecil snorts, turning a page.

"Bicycle."

"Shut the fuck up, Cecil."

"Just like your father."

"Shut the fuck up, Cecil."

"I just want to try something," Lou Ellen soothes, potentially hearing the lack of breathing happening in Will's general direction. "Like, for science. That works for you, right, nerd?"

"Science generally begins with a hypothesis and due process," says Will weakly. But he dutifully crawls over to her direction, settling in front of her. "Um. Now?"

"Now would be great," Lou Ellen agrees. She tilts her head. "So do you just, like, go for it, or...?"

"I mean. In my experience?"

"Which is about to go from two to three," Cecil adds.

This time, Lou Ellen and Will are in perfect sync:

"Shut the fuck up, Cecil!"

Cecil flips another page and promises nothing.

The determination has slowed some of the blush in Will's face, containing it high in his cheeks. Or, well, spite. Cecil-branded fury. That does a whole lot of activating every modicum of ADHD impulsivity in Will's soul.

"Okay," he says, nodding to himself. He meets Lou Ellen's wide, round eyes. "Okay, so I'm gonna -- lean in. And we gotta close our eyes or it's weird. And then I'm gonna kiss you, okay? And you test."

Lou Ellen nods, serious. "Got it."

She breathes in, then out. She purses her lips, leaning forward. Her hands rest, fingers spread, on her knees. Her eyes flutter shut.

Will exhales. He squeezes his eyes shut.

He leans in, gently, and presses his lips to hers, resting a warm hand on the soft curve of her jaw.

"Hm," says Lou Ellen, as they separate. "Hm."

Will shifts nervously.

"You smell good," he offers. "And you taste like orange shampoo. In a good way."

Lou Ellen narrows her eyes at him. She reaches her hand out slowly, like how you may approach a startled horse, and grabs Will's chin with the tips of her fingers.

"Why," Will says.

"Hm," says Lou Ellen, again. She moves his face from side to side, inspecting. Will does not protest, but does choose to make an entirely unintelligible gesture with his hands. "You are hot, aren't you."

"Gah??" Will says. The confusions shifts rapidly from his face; his eyes widen, pupils narrowing, he tries and fails to pull slightly away and generally makes a collection of noises that boil down to hey, pardon. "I'm??"

Cecil choses this moment in time to tuck his comic carefully away, facing his friends in full. He also chooses to take this time to appraise Will's slightly squished face, nodding smugly.

"Yeah, he's a babe."

"Right, okay, that's what I thought. It's the bone structure, right, it totally --"

"Yeah, yeah, and the pouty lips, that definitely --"

"--you're so literally right --"

"You ever watched his shoulders?"

"They're biteable! Biteable, and when he plays volleyball it's like --"

"--yep. And his legs are approximately the length of the equator."

"Freckly, too, it's so --"

"His eyes??"

"I know??"

"Honestly wild."

They turn to him, twin dark brown eyes glowing amber in the sun, appraising him from his golden hair to his bare toes. Will, unfortunately, seems to be right on the urge of passing out, so red he has begun to glow, so warm Lou is forced to let go, and so lightheaded he has begun to sway.

"Hngg-what," he mumbles, eyes far away. "Wha -- I'm --"

Cecil pokes gently at him with his toe.

"I think we broke him," he observes.

"I see," Lou Ellen agrees, chin in her hands. "That's kinda cute, too."

"Oh yah. He's like -- he's never not a smokeshow, you know? Like he's hot when he's mad."

"Smoking."

"And the whole -- it's diabolical to say, but he's like..."

"Movie star pretty when he cries. Yeah, yeah, I hear you."

They turn to each other, lips pursed in thought. They turn back to their slightly dying friend.

"Hm," they say, together.

Will begins to pray. His father, intrigued, only shifts to better the lighting on Will's face. Will agonizes, shifting to pray to his aunt. This too proves useless.

"You know," says Lou Ellen. She taps her manicured finger against her cheek. "We could always share him."

Cecil raises his eyebrows. "We could?"

"Do I??" Will gestures wildly, face now glowing so brightly he is kind of hard to see. "Get a say??"

Cecil and Lou Ellen look at each other. They look back at Will.

"No."

"Nah."

"That's! I am -- taken, okay! I!"

Cecil snorts. "A long-standing crush on greasy Gerard Way does not count as --"

"It's not his fault he's greasy!"

Lou Ellen observes the boys. She hums to herself, rocking back on her knees.

"-- and he's hardly ever here, you met him like twice --"

"Four times! And he's charming!"

Hm indeed.

"I have an announcement to make," Lou Ellen announces.

Both boys stop immediately. Lou Ellen nods graciously, sitting regally on Will's bed. Will pouts a little, but says nothing.

"I am considering converting to lesbianism," she says solemnly. "I'm not sure yet, but I have been presented with a case and it is compelling."

Will and Cecil shrug, making noises of agreement.

"Yeah, fair."

"I mean, girls. I get you."

Will clears his throat. "But, uh. No boys? For sure?" His pout returns. It is indeed very cute. "Did I do a bad job?"

Lou Ellen reaches over and pats him very gently on the head. Her bangles get in his eyes a little. He blinks them away politely.

"Aw, no. You just seem very hung up, and I'm not sure how well dating Cecil would work, and no one else will talk to me yet."

"Dating me is an amazing experience, I have references," Cecil says, at the same time Will says, "Wait, still?"

There is a pause. Again, they speak at the same time:

"Stop using me as a reference, Cecil, gods."

"You want me to vandalize their possession for you, Lou? I would love to do that for you."

Lou Ellen moves to pat Cecil gently and condensendingly on the head.

"I'm good. Thanks, though. Chiron says they just need time. And perhaps an ass-kicking, if I feel so inclined."

"Sage."

"Good advice, that."

They all nod at each other. Wordlessly, they stand, returning to their earlier positions: Cecil, reclining on Will's bed, having abandoned the comic book for a nap; Will, poking at his math; and Lou Ellen, passing a green spark around her fingers and carefully Observing.

It takes her several minutes of reflection to blink and realise.

References.

Her eyes widen.

"Hey, wait a second --"

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