Hii :) Do You Have Headcanons For The Bichie Instagram Edit?

i knew i was going to die when i saw you for the first time in twenty-seven years. 

your voice, first—oh, that voice—and then i turned and saw you, across the room, across the great divide—and i swallowed hard because i knew. i was going to die for you because i would always die for you. remember? all those times i ran for you, jumped off the quarry for you, drove your truck fast down the highway because you liked when i got reckless—all that stupid shit i did for you, no question (a little pushback, maybe). i would die for you, simple. and i knew when i looked to you and you looked back to me that i was going to.

but i didn’t want to. i fought it every step of the way. i could see—if i just made it through the dinner, if i just made it through the pharmacy, if i just made it through the ritual, if i just made it through the sewers—there was a life with you, waiting patiently.

i wanted to make it.

we have lived a life of should-haves. all of us—and it goes back further than that summer: we should have turned left on jackson instead of right when we were just kids and maybe we never would have found ourselves in it’s path. and i should have told you, so many times. i had every chance. i should have followed you, gone wherever you wanted, driven west in that car i saved up for and forgotten all about new york, forgotten all about anything that wasn’t you. but we never really got it right.

when the claw went through my chest, it didn’t hurt. when i said your name and my mouth filled with blood, it didn’t hurt. when you laid me against the rock and pressed your hand to my stomach, it didn’t hurt. 

but it hurt when i laughed and it hurt when you smiled that split-second smile. (that’s when i knew i would not last much longer). it hurt when your smile fell. it hurt when you walked away from me. it hurt knowing i could not get up and follow you. and it hurt knowing that when you came back to me, you would have to find me dead and i could not hold you—i would never be able to make the pain go away anymore and i would be the cause of it.

i knew i was going to die for you a long time ago. i had just forgotten for a while. i didn’t know it would be like this—i thought maybe you’d hold me a little longer, maybe i’d tell you then.

i don’t know what i said while i died. i wanted to say, i wish you wouldn’t go. i wanted to tell you i was sorry i would not keep my promise to hold on. i hope you know i wanted to. i remember the blurry and fragmented image of you, walking away after slipping your pinky from mine. most of all, i wanted to tell you that tomorrow, we should get up early and go back home to our place, how about it my love?

but the last thing i remember is you, behind me on the cliff at the quarry on a summer day, reaching out to take my hand before we jumped, your voice shouting my name. and then—

would it be a nice day tomorrow? would the sun be shining on you, the way i always liked? 

i wonder. 

it’s honestly crazy how many ppl u meet in your early twenties who have never been in love or been in a relationship or had sex and then you’re like oh it’s actually normal and social milestones actually mean nothing bc everyone is different and has different experiences. cool!

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i knew i was going to die when i saw you for the first time in twenty-seven years. 

your voice, first—oh, that voice—and then i turned and saw you, across the room, across the great divide—and i swallowed hard because i knew. i was going to die for you because i would always die for you. remember? all those times i ran for you, jumped off the quarry for you, drove your truck fast down the highway because you liked when i got reckless—all that stupid shit i did for you, no question (a little pushback, maybe). i would die for you, simple. and i knew when i looked to you and you looked back to me that i was going to.

but i didn’t want to. i fought it every step of the way. i could see—if i just made it through the dinner, if i just made it through the pharmacy, if i just made it through the ritual, if i just made it through the sewers—there was a life with you, waiting patiently.

i wanted to make it.

we have lived a life of should-haves. all of us—and it goes back further than that summer: we should have turned left on jackson instead of right when we were just kids and maybe we never would have found ourselves in it’s path. and i should have told you, so many times. i had every chance. i should have followed you, gone wherever you wanted, driven west in that car i saved up for and forgotten all about new york, forgotten all about anything that wasn’t you. but we never really got it right.

when the claw went through my chest, it didn’t hurt. when i said your name and my mouth filled with blood, it didn’t hurt. when you laid me against the rock and pressed your hand to my stomach, it didn’t hurt. 

but it hurt when i laughed and it hurt when you smiled that split-second smile. (that’s when i knew i would not last much longer). it hurt when your smile fell. it hurt when you walked away from me. it hurt knowing i could not get up and follow you. and it hurt knowing that when you came back to me, you would have to find me dead and i could not hold you—i would never be able to make the pain go away anymore and i would be the cause of it.

i knew i was going to die for you a long time ago. i had just forgotten for a while. i didn’t know it would be like this—i thought maybe you’d hold me a little longer, maybe i’d tell you then.

i don’t know what i said while i died. i wanted to say, i wish you wouldn’t go. i wanted to tell you i was sorry i would not keep my promise to hold on. i hope you know i wanted to. i remember the blurry and fragmented image of you, walking away after slipping your pinky from mine. most of all, i wanted to tell you that tomorrow, we should get up early and go back home to our place, how about it my love?

but the last thing i remember is you, behind me on the cliff at the quarry on a summer day, reaching out to take my hand before we jumped, your voice shouting my name. and then—

would it be a nice day tomorrow? would the sun be shining on you, the way i always liked? 

i wonder. 

Just in case this needs to be said:

It’s the first draft. Use the word “suddenly.” Put as many dialogue tags and adverbs as you want. Say “he saw” “she remembered” “she felt” “they wondered” as many times as you need to. Put the em dash there, put in too many commas, use semi-colons with reckless abandon. Type in [whatever] instead of thinking up a title for something. Just write it. If you worry too much about the particulars, about all the advice posts you’ve seen saying whatever you’re doing is wrong or not good enough, you won’t get anything done. It will slow you down as you go back and try to reword what you just wrote to make it better, proper. The first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be done. And when you get to the end, you’ll find that all those “mistakes” are just clues for your future self to put together to make it all better.

Putting in adverbs and certain dialogue tags are a note for you as to who is saying something and how they’re saying it. When you’re editing, you can make sure it shows through the story instead. The word “suddenly” is a reminder to make things more abrupt. The first draft is just you mapping out where you want to go and how you want to get there. Don’t waste time trying to get it 100% right now, because then it will never get done. Don’t think too much– just write. Save the thinking for editing later.

“I would say it was Dad who implemented all of this […] my alienation through procedures, through harsh […] all followed for fear of the alternative. And to an ex[tent?] […] true. I can’t forgive what he did to me - but somet[…] where Dad’s actions ended and my siblings’ beg[an] […] consider what a mind, especially a young mind […] harness when put into dire situations, it’s not […] believe that my siblings learned cruelty from […] [ev]entually made it their own. It wasn’t just th[e] […] of top-secret meetings, anymore. It jus[t] […] [wou]ld sit at the end of the table, so Die[go] […]ique, or so Allison could paint Klaus’ […]omed to sulking and watching the […] oatmeal went uneaten and […] 

(p.???)

      Meals became the only time of day […] to be together - and I met them with equal parts […] and dread. Would today be the day I [engaged Allison?] […] stand up to Diego’s taunts? Maybe I’d show Five […] I’d been working on for years.       Though prone to arrogance and […] than the average preteen, Five was my sole confidant years before he [disappeared] […] It almost seemed fitting […] the siblings to leave […] ////////////// Dad’s manipulation […]

[Five’s hand obscures the page.]

      One morning […]   ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// behind, I think I even […] from home following me when […] a bus stop, and I sat there all day long  […] //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  had thought I was alone my future life […] something new and entirely different. I was afraid of what […] and would [choose Dad’s torment any day?] dark stretched down our street. […] waved the kind drivers away. That night I walked  […] front doors, and no one knew I had ever left to […] I wonder how long it would have […] extra girl they never needed was […] To this day, I’m not sure. The next time […] when we all did. After what happened to […] everyday existence was full of evidence that Dad […] into […] experiments. Not children […]mals. And what  happened to Ben was the […] shattered the illusion for the others. I […] all along what they realized that day. I didn’t […] to leave on my own. It wasn’t until Allison […]ood and Diego [cursed out?] the old man […] were ultimately a broken family. […] that my family would accept me into the fold. I […] [as] long as there was a [club?] to […] to […] notice me and invited me to. Everyone would […]ya, we can’t believe we’ve wasted so much […] you’re our sister after all.       […] it was then that I realized something […]ing for me to aspire to be anymore. It was liberat[ing] […] that I had wanted for as long as I could remember […]y fallen apart. Without The Umbrella Academy […] [fre]edom to be whomever I chose. Suddenly, my violin [was]n’t stupid - it was something that made me special.” 

(p.??-??)

Extracts from Vanya Hargreeves, Extra Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven,[TUA 1X05]

Things to conclude from this extract:

Reginald Hargreeves was an A-grade Bad Dad, whose iron fisted rule ensured the children internalised Vanya’s exclusion from the ‘club’, and would ostracise her from any social activities from a young age. Vanya attributes this in part to the ‘dire situation’ of their childhood under Reginald’s strict tutelage, but cannot forgive their inability to think for themselves.

Five & Vanya: Five was Vanya’s sole confidant, but despite this, she spent years working on something (perhaps practising her violin?) without sharing it with him or anyone else, for fear of rejection and ridicule. 

Vanya & the others: perhaps felt intimidated by Allison (did not feel confident enough to ‘engage’ her - in conversation? Confrontation?) and was taunted by Diego.  

Vanya ran away: she went so far as to spend all day sitting at a bus stop, wondering if anyone would miss her. However, she lacked the confidence to run away, and returned to the Academy - where no one had noticed she was gone. 

Reginald’s Star Pupil: It’s implied Reginald felt the loss of Five acutely, and trained the other children past even the most tenuous ethical guidelines to compensate for his absence. It was not until Ben died, possibly as a result of these experiments, that the others finally started thinking for themselves. However, even now, they did not realise their treatment of Vanya, and did not welcome her ‘into the fold’.

Diego swore at Reginald, probably until he was blue in the face. 

Something special: Vanya realised her hopes for reconciliation with her siblings were ultimately empty. All those ‘extraordinary’ people in her life were still cruel, even without Reginald’s guiding hand. But for Vanya, it was a moment of epiphany. Where her violin had once been an embarrassment in comparison to the talents of her siblings, it was now something special all its own.   

Something else to consider: Why is this (the part about his own preteen angst and disappearance) the passage Five reads as he considers the error in his calculations? Is it a fixed point in time? Is this the ‘quantum state version’ of himself he projected himself into?  

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Keep reading

reginald talking about his messy break up with carmichael: and thats why i adopted seven children

pogo: all i asked was what your plans are today :\

can not get over Miss Vanya Hargreeves having absolutely no memories and then a 15 year old in a terrible uniform pops up and is like 'hey you're my sister we're superheros the apocalypse is this week let's go' and she just,,,,accepted that lmao