mistakes and accidents

BUT CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW IT HAPPENED ON THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE?

BECAUSE I WAS EXPECTING IT TO HAPPEN BECAUSE VICTOR WANTED TO “SEDUCE” HIM OR DESTABILIZE HIM OR SOMETHING, BUT NO, IT WAS GENUINE AND PURE, HE WENT FOR IT NOT BECAUSE HE HAD A PLAN, HE WENT FOR IT BECAUSE HE ABSOLUTELY FELT HE HAD TO DO IT BECAUSE HE LOVES YURI SO DAMN MUCH HE COULDN’T JUST NOT DO IT. IT WASN’T A BAIT, IT WASN’T A MISTAKE, NOR AN ACCIDENT NOR A PLAN, IT WAS LOVE, JUST SIMPLE AND PURE AND OVERWHELMING LOVE AND I CAN’T BELIEVE I WITNESSED IT IN OUR DAY AND AGE

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.

So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make new mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.

Whatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.

Make your mistakes, next year and forever.

—  Neil Gaiman

Real talk, tho: I’m forever wounded over how Morrigan says that Kieran being an incredible child isn’t her doing, and how she does is try to inflict as little damage as possible. Because that alone shows just how deep the abuse Morrigan suffered as a child scarred her, and how terrified she is to make these mistakes, even by accident.

And basically how some adults that suffered extensive abuse and violence as children feel like, when they get to the point they become cognizant of the trauma they went through and how that shaped them?

It’s… How many adults that suffered abuse in the hands of their parents feel when they become parents themselves. The fear of hurting them is terrifying, choking, paralyzing. And it’s part of healing.

For Morrigan to show that… It’s so important.

A note to writers:

wEary (tired)

wAry (cautious)

Weary is not pronounced wear-y. You’re thinking of wary. And I’m so weary of this mistake that it makes me wary of the rest of the fic when I encounter it in the first chapter.

the signs as bob ross quotes
  • aries: "i like to beat the brush"
  • taurus: "beauty is everywhere, you only have to look to see it"
  • gemini: "there is nothing wrong with having trees as friends"
  • cancer: "not all trees grow up to be perfect, a lot like people"
  • leo: "let's get crazy!"
  • virgo: "it's wet, slick and ready to go!"
  • libra: "i'm just crazy about ladies"
  • scorpio: "you gotta think like a tree"
  • sagittarius: "here i am the dictator and i can do what i want"
  • aquarius: "we don't make mistakes, only happy accidents"
  • capricorn: "maybe in your world, we aren't all straight sticks"
  • pisces: "just let your brush wiggle and have fun"
8

The Road So Far: Season 6

The fact that you know who Efron and Bieber are… *Slow clap*

The minute you said, “Accidents don’t just happen accidentally,” I lost my shit.

Then you screamed, “Fight the fairies. You fight those fairies!” 

But the French Mistake? Holy crap. Genius. Misha

Happy Tears

Requested by anon: Reader has an eleven-year old son, who’s a little cold and aloof. Spencer meets him, and tries to win his approval.


Running a bookstore is the easiest part of her day. There are customers to appease, employees to look after, vendors to call. There will always be someone frustrated or unhappy, and there will always be a few mistakes. However, those little accidents don’t haunt her. Her other job, the mistakes she makes there keep her awake at night. Wondering how badly she’s messed up, or how she could have possibly done better. A perpetual guessing game, hoping that what she does is making a difference.

It’s the hardest thing she’s ever done, being a single mother.

Oscar is eleven years old, and it’s been just the two of them since he was five. He looks so much like his father, who took off after deciding that being a parent and a partner was too much to handle. In the little things, she can see herself reflected. He has her nose, and her eyes, and her infinite love for books. There is a certain resemblance in the way that he walks and the way his voice changes when he’s trying to lie. And in the they both try to make each other happy.

Being a single parent leaves little time for herself, or for making plans with others. Oscar was, is, and always will be her number one priority. Lately though, someone else has entered the picture.

She sits at the coffee shop just down the road from her store, cappuccino in hand, and Spencer across from her.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I mean, it’s a big deal.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he says. Words accompanied by an unfailing smile. For four months they’ve been seeing each other, with things steadily becoming more serious. All that time, he’s known about Oscar, but she has never introduced them. She wasn’t sure how long it would last, and if there’s anything she has learned, it’s that kids need constants in their lives. To bring in a stream of ever-changing suitors wouldn’t be fair to her son. Spencer is different though, she has always known that.

From the moment they met, when he came in to purchase the entire works of Proust, and they ended up talking for twenty minutes, she knew. Interest turned to friendship turned to love. And there is nothing she would love more than for him to meet Oscar. Still, she’s nervous when he says that he wants to.

She tells him, “You have to understand, he’s different. He’s not like most children. Oscar can be distant. A little… callous. But he’s so smart, he really is.”

He reaches for her hand. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

And so Saturday arrives, and she spends the morning running around, tidying up the house, trying to make things look presentable. Oscar sits in the living room, curled up with a book by Stephen Hawking. The kitchen is clean, the clothes are out of the laundry room, the bookshelf is made to at least appear organized.

“Oscar?” she begins, when the work is finished. “Can I talk to you about something?” He looks up from his book, but does not close it. “I’ve asked someone to come over for lunch. Is that okay?”

“Miss Radhika?” he asks, referring to her closest friend and coworker. Radhika has come over a number of times, and her chocolate cake has won Oscar over to the point where he actually looks forward to seeing her.

Y/N sits down beside him on the couch, trying to seem completely calm. Tranquil. Not at all nervous that this will be a disaster. “No, not Miss Radhika. This is a… newer friend of mine. His name is Spencer. I’ve um, I’ve been seeing him for a little while.”

Now he closes the book, looking at once surprised and a little hurt. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t sure it would work out, sweetheart. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew. But he wants to meet you. He really wants to m-” The sound of knocking interrupts her, and she leaps up from the couch, startled by it. “That must be him! I’ll be right back!”

She makes a mad dash for the front door, before smoothing out her dress and opening it. There stands Spencer, looking as dapper as always, and wearing that grin of his that just takes her breath away. No matter how many times she sees it, it makes her heart beat just a little faster. Something she never felt with Oscar’s father. Jeffrey never looked at her that way. Another unprecedented act – Spencer reaches into the sleeve of his blazer, and pulls out of bouquet of cheerful yellow daffodils.

“For you,” he says.

She laughs and takes them, that grin of his becoming quite contagious. “You have to tell me how you do that someday.”

“A good magician never reveals his secrets,” he teases.

With a mock curtsy she says, “Well thank you anyways, good sir. Come in, come in.” Spencer follows her through the door, and she leads him into the kitchen as she searches for a vase to put the flowers in. Once they’re resting in water, she realizes that her son is no longer sitting in the living room. Twice she calls for him before he appears, evidently hiding away in his bedroom.

“Spencer, this is my son, Oscar. Oscar, this is Spencer.”

Oscar regards him with a cool, practiced indifference, but Spencer puts on a smile and approaches him. “Hi, Oscar. It’s really nice to meet you.” He offers his hand, which she knows is no small task for him. Her heart fills, knowing that he’s trying, trying so hard for her.

And then it empties, when Oscar crosses his arms. “I don’t shake hands.” It’s as though Spencer’s brain is incapable of processing the outright rejection, because he freezes for a moment before recovering, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, that’s okay! I usually don’t shake hands either.”

Silence hangs over them, heavy and thick, before she says, “Well, why don’t we go ahead and eat?”

Soup and bread have already been made, and they gather around the tiny kitchen table. It is more uncomfortable than she’d imagined. Several attempts are made on Spencer’s part to draw Oscar into conversation. Everything from school to movies to friends. Oscar shoots him down each time.

“I don’t have friends,” he snaps eventually. “Why does everyone always ask that?”

Hoping to make peace, she asks, “Why don’t you tell Spencer about the book you’re reading? A Brief History of Time?”

“Oh man, that’s one of my favorites!” Spencer says.

Oscar just rolls his eyes, assuming the enthusiasm is feigned. He doesn’t know enough of Spencer to tell he’s genuinely excited. “Yeah, sure. You must be so interested in theoretical physics.

“I mean, I do have PhDs in mathematics and engineering,” he offers. For the briefest of minutes, Oscar looks interested, before reassuming the mask of boredom and disdain.

Y/N is becoming more anxious with every word. Spencer is ceaseless in his efforts to connect with Oscar, and Oscar just as stubbornly refuses to accept. If Spencer is fazed by it, he’s doing his best not to let it show.

“Oscar is really smart,” she says. “He’s already taking middle school math, and they’re talking about having him skip a grade. His teacher thinks there’s a good chance he’ll win this year’s science fair, too. Right, Oscar?”

He shrugs, and doesn’t make eye contact.

“Of course, it goes right over my head. I can tell you about any book in the world, but all that math is just lost on me. But Spencer, you’re really good at it.”

“I might be a little out of practice,” he says, trying to act casual about it. “That must be pretty cool though, having a mom who owns a bookstore? I bet you’ve read all the classics.” She knows he’s speculating from his own experience, and she can’t help but be struck by the parallels between the two. So bright, so gifted. Both love words and numbers. Both have a hard time fitting in. And she loves both dearly. It hasn’t been until now that she’s realized just how much she loves Spencer, and how afraid she is that he’ll give up after today.

“Not really,” Oscar mutters. “I hate reading.” His voice goes up in the middle of the sentence, and Spencer’s eyes light up.

“You’re lying,” he declares. For the first time, Oscar looks at him – really looks at him – and the bewilderment at being called out is clear on his face. “You voice went higher there. Your mom does the exact same thing when she’s trying to lie about something.”

“H-how do you know that?” Oscar asks.

“I work for the FBI. I’m a criminal behavioral analyst. You know, a profiler? It’s my job to study behavior. And well, your mom is open book.”

As though to prove his point, her face turns red. Despite her embarrassment, she can’t help but be a little pleased that Spencer has finally caught his attention.

Then just as quickly, Oscar says, “I’m finished. I’m going to my room to work on homework.” Before she can respond, he hops down from the table and starts towards his bedroom door once more. At the last second, he turns around and adds, “I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I don’t really like you at all. You’re boring and you won’t last past the month. They never do.” With that, he slams the door, and tears spring to her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Spencer. “Really, I don’t know what’s gotten into him…” Except that she does. He always does this. Every time she brings someone around to meet him, he causes trouble. Some days it’s hurling insults. Others it’s ignoring them completely, and worse still is when he decides to assume a character and act out. Every potential boyfriend has been scared away in this manner, but she’s never cared for them like she cares for Spencer. Never has she been so desperate for something to work out, and the one person she loves as much could ruin it.

Maybe she’s just not allowed to be happy after all.

She braces herself for the inevitable end, for him running out the door and never calling her again. To her surprise, he just says, “There’s nothing to apologize for, Y/N.”

“No, this is my fault. I should’ve told him about you sooner. I’ll – I’ll try to go talk to him…”

An even greater shock: “Do mind if I try? I might be able to get through to him.” Not sure how else to react, she hesitantly agrees, and goes about putting dishes away in the sink.

Soap and water are poured into the basin, and the turns on the tap. In the quiet, echoes of the past drift in and out.

“He’s only five years old!” she shouted at him.

“And he’s already weird! Look, Y/N. I can’t do this. I’m not ready for a kid or a family. I’m sorry.” Jeffrey grabbed his suitcase, and without ever looking back, marched right out of the apartment. She stood, watching him go, before shutting the door as quietly as possible and retreating into the bedroom. Curled up beneath the covers, she sobbed and sobbed, until she heard someone calling out.

“Mommy? Mom? It’s time for breakfast!”

Oscar. He needed her. She had to be strong. Gathering her resolve, she stood, wiping her eyes and putting on a big smile, before opening the door to greet her son.

Water fills the bowls, washing away all traces of French onion soup. Washing away the past.

“Miss Y/L/N, there’s no easy way to say it. Oscar is… well, he’s always going to be different. The good news is that he’s exceptionally intelligent. The bad news is that he struggles with social cues.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s possible he’s on the autism spectrum. You may want to consider having him tested. Now, unfortunately, there’s no cure,” the doctor said, looking down on her with pity from behind round spectacles.

“No cure?” she hissed. “My son doesn’t need to be cured. He doesn’t need to be fixed. He just wants to be understood!”

It’s therapeutic, the sound of water over the ceramics. It overflows from the dishes and drains quietly down the sink.

It was nearly midnight, and she was crying again. It had been a year since he left, but the sting was still so fresh and so present. She tried dating again, but nothing seemed to go right. Everyone left. Everyone. Maybe it was her. Maybe there was something broken in her heart.

“Mom?” Oscar’s voice came from the other side of the bed, and she turned over quickly to see him there, looking worried. “Mom, why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart,” she assured him.

“You’re crying. People only cry when they’re sad or when they’re in pain.” He’s too smart, that kid.

“These are happy tears,” she lied. He hadn’t learned yet to pick up on the subtle change in pitch. “I was thinking about how you’re almost done with your first year of school, and I felt so proud of you. That made me happy. So happy, some of that happiness overflowed and I started crying.”

Oscar looked unconvinced, but he climbed into bed and lay with her anyways, not saying a word.

Leaving the dishes in the sink, she tiptoes, down the hallway, and stands outside of Oscar’s room, where she can hear them speaking.

“I get it,” Spencer says, his voice muffled by the wood of the door. “I know why you’re doing this. It’s okay. When I was ten years old, my dad left my mom. She was sick, and he didn’t know how to take care of her. So he just left us. It was really hard, and for a long time she was sad about it. I wanted to protect her. When my dad left, my mom called him weak. So I wanted to show her that I wasn’t weak. I would have done anything to keep my mom safe. I wanted her to be happy. I still do. I bet it’s the same for you.”

Neither of them says anything, and her heart aches. All of this is news to her. She knew his mother wasn’t well, but this is a story she has never heard before. Oh, she can imagine a young Spencer, trying desperately to take care of a mother he can’t help.

“I don’t want anybody else to hurt her,” Oscar says finally. “After he left, mom cried a lot. Like, every night. For almost a year. And she dates other guys, but they never stay with her for long. I think it’s because of me. So I thought that I could protect her by scaring them away. That way they can’t hurt her anymore. She’s the best mom in the whole world – she deserves to be happy.”

“She does,” Spencer agrees.

“How do I know you won’t hurt her too?”

“I give you my word,” Spencer says. “I really, really care about her. I love her.”

Love. He hasn’t told her that yet. Neither of them have used that word yet, though it proves to her that she isn’t the only one feeling this way. The oxygen in the hallway seems to dissipate, and she tries to catch her breath. He loves her. He loves her.

“You love her?” Oscar sounds skeptical.

“I do. And people like you and me, love doesn’t come easily to us. It takes work to be able to trust someone that much. So believe me when I say that I don’t intend to go anywhere, anytime soon. I’d like to stay with her, but you’re her son. You mean more to her than anything, so I’d like to make sure it’s okay with you first.”

“Do really like physics and stuff?”

The sound of Spencer’s laughter can be heard even in the hallway, and she tries not to laugh at the question herself.

“I really like physics. I’d love to talk to you about it. If you want, I could even tell you some stuff about the FBI.”

“Then, yeah I guess that would be okay. If you dated my mom. Besides, I think she really likes you too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that happy since my dad left. All I really want is for her to be happy.”

At that, she gives in, throwing open the door, much to the surprise of two inside. Oscar practically jumps off the bed, and seems momentarily at a loss for words.

“Mom, you’re crying. Is something wrong?” he asks.

 She shakes her head, running over to give him a hug. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”

His arms wrap around her. “Happy tears?”

“Happy tears. I love you, so so much, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too.” After a moment, she lets go, and when he sees how her gaze flickers over to Spencer, Oscar announces he’s going to go finish his book and slips out of the room, giving them privacy. He’s too perceptive for an eleven year-old, already mature beyond his years. And yet, he’s still a child. So young, so vulnerable.

“How long have you been standing there?” Spencer inquires, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Long enough,” she answers. She doesn’t say anything about his mother or his father, she’ll wait for him to tell him on his own terms, when he’s ready. That conversation was just for Oscar. “You, um, you love me?”

Pink colors his cheeks, and he too looks like a child for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath and meets her eyes. Bracing himself. “I love you. I love you, Y/N. More than I know how to say.”

Embracing him, she holds him close, wanting to feel the beat of his heart and be enveloped in his arms. How is it that a perfect stranger can come along and fit right into place in their home, when Jeffrey never did? As though all this time their family has been missing a piece – and not the one she thought was missing. One last puzzle piece waiting to be found, to belong as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you, too. I’ve been waiting so long to say that.” Then she stands on her toes to kiss him, thinking that Oscar was right. She hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

Out in the hall, Oscar turns away from the crack in the door, and quietly tiptoes back into the living room. He has always hated change, but he’s starting to think that this time, it might be for the better.

I hate slick and pretty things. I prefer mistakes and accidents. Which is why I like things like cuts and bruises - they’re like little flowers. I’ve always said that if you have a name for something, like ‘cut’ or 'bruise,’ people will automatically be disturbed by it. But when you see the same thing in nature, and you don’t know what it is, it can be very beautiful.
—  David Lynch
The Confident Surgeon

Surgery always makes me nervous. I don’t even like getting a tooth pulled. Call me weird, but something about getting sliced open with a scalpel and having your insides man handled is just deeply unsettling to me.

I’m certainly not looking forward to this surgeon putting me under to fix my busted knee. A shiver shot down my spine as I thought about what the inside of my knee looked like. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.

Suddenly the door swung open. “Good morning,” the doctor said with a cheery smile. “Ready to get this over with?”

“Yeah, as fast as possible.” I replied as I wiped my sweaty palms on my hospital gown.

He readied the sleeping gas and told me to lay down. “Don’t be nervous at all. I’ve done this procedure many times before and never failed.”

That made me feel a little better. He seemed very confident.

“Okay now count backwards from 100,” he said as he placed the mask over my face.

100 99 98 97 96 95 94 93 92 91…….wait this is weird, the last time I was put under I was unconscious before I got to 97. I went to raise my hand to let the surgeon know that something was wrong but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak either, but I could hear everything going on around me.

I heard the door open and the assistants enter the room.

“Angela, could you hand me the patients file. I just wanna look over it quick.” the surgeon said in a shaky voice.

“Sure. You nervous?”

“Yeah, very. I’ve never done a surgery like this before.”

Suddenly all the anxiety that was flushed away by his fake confidence came rushing back. I wanted to be knocked out so bad. I desperately tried moving again but no luck. I couldn’t even open an eyelid.

“I feel bad for Mr Wilkerson, his files as thick as a phone book.”

My heart felt like it was going to burst. Who the hell is Mr Wilkerson? Does he think that’s me?

“Alright let’s just get this lung out, it can’t be that hard….”

Lung?? Oh god he’s got the wrong file. I felt like I could jump out of my skin. I concentrated all my energy into trying to yell out STOP! It was no use, my body was sleeping but my mind was racing.

I could feel the scalpel sliding down my chest. The pain was excruciating. Then I felt him peel back my skin.

“Alright, this looks like the spot im supposed to cut first……”

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, followed by the most horrifying words ever spoken by a surgeon….

“Oh no……..”


Written by: Sage
short-horror-hits