just back up slowly and we'll all forget about your mistake

Cooking Problems

Short, quick oneshot for the Wholesome week thing. Not very refined, but wholesome. A little rushed, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to get anything out for today. Just enough trash for one day. Enjoy!

One would think that it shouldn’t be too hard for a princess to learn how to cook. After all, it only required some basic measuring skills, the ability to read and follow instructions, and some stirring and whisking and whatnot. Yet whenever Star tried to cook or bake anything, she made it seem like rocket science. She and Marco had been trying for the past hour to make a cake for Mrs. Diaz’s birthday. So far, they’d ruined two mixing bowls, broken five spatulas, covered the floor with flour, covered the ceiling with sugar, accidentally summoned an ancient cake monster from an era before mankind, and still had no cake to show for their efforts. Star sat down in a pile of flour, her spirits crushed.

“Ah, shucks, Marco,” she pouted, shoulders heavy, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m such a failure. I can’t even make a simple cake. How am I going to be queen?” She stuffed her face into her legs and curled up into a little ball. “I’m such a disappointment.”

Marco felt bad looking down at his bestie’s mood, as anyone would. He knelt down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Star, you aren’t useless and you know it. Could a useless person take on ten monsters on her own and come out without a scratch?”

Star shrugged unenthusiastically. “Eh, I guess.”

Marco sighed. Things had started out much better that day. He’d been working on a science project when his door had been slammed open.

“Marco, Marco, Marco!” Star shouted, almost literally bouncing off the walls.

Marco’s body had gone rigid at the raucous noise. He slowly unfroze and turned to face her. He gave her a mild glare. “Star,” his sarcasm had gotten better over the past few months, “Believe it or not, ‘knocking on the door’ is not a tradition lost to the past.”

Star waved her hands. “Forget about that, Marco. Do you know what today is?”


“Not ‘uhh’ day.” She rolled her eyes and gave him a sassy look. “Any you’re supposed to be the smart one.” Before Marco could make a quick retort, she continued. “It’s your mother’s birthday, dummy! We need to make her a cake.”

Marco blinked. “It’s my mom’s birthday? How did I forget?” Then he looked up, suddenly even more confused. “Wait, how did you know?”

Star brushed her hair out of her face with a mix of grace and ‘ha’. “I looked on the calendar.” Marco slapped himself in the face and mentally kicked himself in the butt. “Anyways, we need to bake a cake, and I have awful baking skills, soooooooooooo…”

“So, what?”

She gave him a saucy glance. “So, I need your help to make the cake!”

Marco sighed. On one hand, his science project was due in only a couple of more days and still needed a lot of work. He needed as much time as possible to make it worthy of an A. On the other hand, he hadn’t been able to hang out with Star much recently. He’d been hanging out with Jackie, working on a larger supply of homework, etc. He hadn’t seen Star in a mood this good for a while, and she’d probably bother him until he helped her out.

He sighed. “Alright, let’s go.”

Star burst with excitement. “Yay, thanks Marco.” She gave him a huge hug, one a little tighter than their previous hugs. Marco thought nothing of it. It had been a while.

Baking had started out simple enough. Getting the ingredients all together didn’t take long, although there was a short argument on whether glitter should be added. Star proudly proclaimed that glitter makes everything better, but Marco countered that they hadn’t made her brownies at the sleepover any better. Marco won the argument. Problems started to arise when instructions became involved. Star felt that any temperature under five hundred degrees Fahrenheit was too weak for her cake. While Marco tried to adjust the temperature, Star began adding in all the ingredients. She tried to mix the items together, but it didn’t take long for things to get out of hand. She tried using magic to stir faster, and soon a mess appeared. One thing led to another, and next thing you know, they’re facing off against an ancient being of tremendous power.

Having gone through all of that, Marco could understand why Star felt so distraught. He tapped her on the shoulder and softly whispered, “Star?”

She looked up at him miserably. “What?”

Marco gave her a sad, tiny smile. “If you’ve messed up, than I guess we’ve both messed up. And do you know what that makes us?”

“Useless? Trash? Mistakes?”

Marco shook his head and bopped her on the nose. “It makes us mess-up twins.”

Star’s face went blank for a second, and then her eyes brighten up. She let out a small giggle, followed by a snort. Marco joined in her laughter.

“Star,” Marco began, his words both warm and genial, “I won’t lie. You do tend to make messes from time to time. But I can’t say that I’ve never enjoyed a single one of them.”

Star’s cheeks blushed a deep red. “Thanks, Marco. You always know how to cheer me up.”

He smiled. Then he looked around the room and frowned. “Enjoyable or not, this mess has to go.”

Star’s smile wavered. “But I’m not sure if-“

Marco grabbed her hand that held her wand. “Yes you can. Just believe.”

Intense heat spread throughout all of Star’s body. Her red blush grew deeper. Her wand started to glow purple, even without her saying anything. A burst of light went throughout the room, and the mess was cleaned up and replaced with a shiny kitchen. A large chocolate cake lay on the counter. Star’s eyes went wide.

“How- how did you know that-“

Marco frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Know what?”

“Uh, know that it would clean up the mess?”

Marco looked around, then shrugged. “I didn’t know. All I know is that I’ve doubt you in the past, and that hasn’t gotten us very far.”

Star gave him a humble grin. “Well, I can be impulsive. Like the oven temperature and the magic stirring. Honestly, I’m surprised that I haven’t told you about my crush on you yet!” A half second later, panic jolted through her body.

Marco laughed. “I know, right?” Then he blinked. “Wait, what was-“ But as he looked back down to where Star had been, she was gone. Marco called out her name, but all he got back was:

“Can’t talk right now, busy!”

Marco frowned, and then shrugged. Star was Star. He was sure that if there was anything seriously important, he could count on Star to be open with him.

Mistakes, part 1. (Neymar imagine)

The only sound in the room is the tapping of my nails on the table in front of me. I didn’t even realize i was biting my lip till i tasted the blood in my mouth. I sigh, and try to relax. My whole body is tensed, and i feel a nagging pain on the left side of my head. I’m just not patient enough, i need some news by now. I need to know if he’s alright. I stand up, and walk towards the door where a nurse is talking to a doctor, taking notes while he’s talking. They don’t look at me when i stand next to them, so i tap the doctor’s shoulder.
‘Excuse me, i need to see him.’ The doctor is young, not much older than me and looks at me with what seems like compassion in his eyes.
'We just finished the operation, he’s in a really critical condition right now and he can’t handle any vis-’ 'Is he awake?!’ I rudely disturb him. He sighs, and shakes his head.
'As i said..’ He begins, but i turn around, grab my jacket and walk away from the doctor and the nurse. He’s not awake. He’s in a critical condition, but how critical? It just can’t end, not here, not like this.. Not when the last thing i said to him is how much i hate him, and how i’d rather die than see his face again. If he dies tonight, i’ll never forget the look on his face before i shut the door in his face. I run towards room 209 on the second floor, where he’s just been operated. When i reach the window of his room, i stop and try to peek through the blinds. I can barely make out what part of the mess on the bed is his face. I gasp for air, and reach for my mouth with my hand when i see how bruised his face is. Tears roll down my cheeks as i close my eyes and start praying. Praying for him to wake up, and make and end to this mess our lifes have become.

Two months earlier.

'You’re finally home!’ I say happily, as i bury my face in his chest. My arms are wrapped around him, and his around me. We just stand there, holding each other after being away from each other for weeks. 

'I’ve missed you so much baby.’ He breathes in my ear, before pulling back and reaching for my face with his hands. As always his strong hands hold my face like i’m the most precious thing in the world.
'Take off your jacket! I made us dinner.’ I bite my lip, and step back so he can take of his wet coat. He cocks his head to one side, smiling at me. I see how cold he is. He got used to the hot weather in Spain, forgetting the harsh winters in England.
'Ney, hurry! I’ve been cooking all day, and you know how much i hate it!’ He laughs, and takes his cap off. I gape at his brown hair. When he left me 6 weeks ago, he was blonde. This boy just can’t keep one hairstyle for more than 5 minutes.
'You like it?’ He says, and runs his hand through his hair. I nod, and bite my lip. I take his ahnd and lead him to the kitchen. I’m not exaggerating when i say i’ve been in the kitchen all day. I woke up at 6 a.m, took a shower and just started cooking us a nice dinner. Only taking a break to put on make up, and make myself look presentable. I wanted Neymar to have a warm welcome home gesture, and by the suprised look on his face when he sees the table, i succeeded.
'You didn’t have to do all this, just for me.’ He says.
'I know, aren’t i great?’ I say, giving him my sweetest smile. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him.
'I’m gonna shower, then we’ll eat your amazing dinner and i’ll pray that i won’t drop dead immediately.’ I swat his arm, and he laughs before running upstairs. I sit down at the table, and grab my phone. I instagram a picture of our thanksgiving dinner, and tag Neymar in it. Fortunately for me, i haven’t really received any hate from his fans. He told me everyone who even gets rumoured of dating him receives hate on a daily base. Literally five minutes after he ran upstairs, Neymar finally comes down in his grey sweatpants and a white shirt. His hair is wet and he looks amazing.
He sits down and rubs his hands. We have a little small talk while eating, when i tell him i got a role in the movie i’ve been talking about for months now. I frown when his only reaction is: ‘When do you start shooting?’
'Uhm, somewhere next month.’ I get kinda annoyed when he picks up his phone and starts going through his instagram. I’m the one who keeps trying to get the conversation going, while he’s been on his phone the whole time.
'You know, i already know my opponent in the movie.’ I say, trying to sound casual.
'Yeah?’ He answers, taking a bite from the chicken.
'Yes, he’s kinda cute.’ He stops chewing and slowly looks up to me, not saying anything.
I take a bite, and innocently play with my hair. I squeel when he suddenly stands up, and runs towards me. I try to run away, but he is too quick. He lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder, while i try to get down. Neymar isn’t really big, but i’m still way smaller than him so he easily carries me upstairs. He walks us into our bedroom and throws me on the bed, before yanking of his shirt.
'What are y-’ He disrupts me by kissing me, his body hovering over mine. I wrap my legs around his waist and try to pull him closer to me. He lets go of the kiss, and looks at me in a way that instantly makes me blush.
'I bet your 'cute’ opponent doesn’t make you feel as good as i do.’ He grins at me.

Waking up next to Neymar is one of my favourite things in the world. That’s why i’m dissapointed when i wake up, only to see the empty side next to me. He already got up? I put on my robe, and just as i walk towards the stairs when i hear a phone buzzing. I quickly walk back to the room, thinking it’s my phone. I just got the role in the new movie, so my agent has been constantly calling me. But it isn’t my phone. The buzzing comes from under Neymar’s pillow. I lift it up and pick up his phone. Someone called ‘Michael’ is calling Neymar, and i decide to not pick up. He’s probably taking a shower, and i don’t feel comfortable picking up his phone. I walk downstairs, to the kitchen and pour myself some orange juice. I get startled when my thoughts are disturbed by Neymars hands wrapping around my waist from behind me.
'Goodmornign beautiful.’ He says, kissing my head. I sigh and lean back to him.

'Who is Michael?’ I suprise myself, and apparently Neymar when i ask this question and he lets go of me, so i can turn around.
'I saw him calling you a few minutes ago. I don’t recall you mentioning his name?’ I take a sip from my juice and Neymar just stares at me for a second.
'Michael is just an old friend. I ran into him at a party a while ago, so we started talking again.’ I nod, but there’s something about his voice what makes me think abaout 1. I really never heard Neymar talking about this Michael dude and 2. how does he randomly run into him in a foreign country? But i decide not to push it by asking any more questions.
'I need to do some shopping today, do you wanna come with me?’ I ask. He doesn’t look at me, but somewhere behind me when he answers.
'No i’ve got some work to do.’ With a voice that sounds distant.
'Alright, i’m gonna get ready.’ I say, and give him a quick peck on the lips before going back upstairs.

When i get home, with multiple shopping bags there’s a weird atmosphere in the house. Neymar didn’t clean up the house, and i hear him talking to someone upstairs. Something tells me i shouldn’t call his name to make him aware of me being home. I take off my jacket, and walk upstairs on my tiptoes. His voice sounds soft and i can mentally imagine his smiling face, because of his tone. Before i realize what i’m doing i press my ear to the door. I wonder if i had done that if i knew what was coming. 


So this wasn’t requested, but i got inspired so here’s part one of the mistakes series :)

feeling nothing || michael

where michael leaves her and takes her emotions with him

Originally posted by cliffordstralia

Summary: when you meet your true love, you finally gain all the emotions you haven’t had in life, the ones you’ve been told about but could never have without meeting your soul mate. but nobody told you what happens when you stop loving.

It’s the easiest thing to feel.

Emotions have a presence unmatched by anything else. They overwhelm so quickly, from nothing to everything, replacing what was there before with something unknown and new. They cause sparks, and storms, and wars, and fire, and earthquakes within, without control, without anyway to stop. They are present at the snap of a finger, and disappear with it’s echo.

It’s the hardest thing to stop feeling.

In this day and age, you don’t feel. You spend your life waiting for emotions to arrive, being told fairy stories of how and when, continually aware of what you don’t have, and what everyone else does. Your emotions aren’t present until their catalyst is found. True love. When a person meets their soul mate, true love is found, eternally, and with that, emotions are formed. That’s how it works, how it’s always worked. You gain feelings you never knew existed, and they are in your possession as long as you are in love - forever.

That is, until you fall out of love.

Michael Clifford was your soul mate.

He was your soul mate, and the only one you ever wanted. He was the one who allowed you to feel. He gave you love and happiness and desire that you couldn’t have even imagined: emotions that made your body burn and your mind run in a cloud of haze.

He was everything you’d dreamed a soul mate would be.

You were desperately in love with a musician and his dopey smile and his lame jokes. The pair of you married young, fitting the ceremony before one of Michael’s world tours, wanting something more solid to prove your love while he was so far away. You’d sworn you’d never have children when you first met, but while he was gone, you endured 9 months of growth and ended up with a baby boy called Kaleb. It was small, and dysfunctional, and hardly ever whole, but it was family. Your family.

There was only love and sheer joy pulsing through your veins, so pure it was painfully overwhelming to process.

Michael always recited how he loved you more than the sun loved the moon before he hung up the phone, from some far flung country, whilst on increasingly longer tours. His crackling voice a million miles away made you deteriorate. The pride you once felt for his worldwide adventures diminished into an ache of loneliness nothing could fulfill. Selfish anger, pain, sorrow. Love isn’t the same when it’s through a broken phone line.

Even the sun must give up on the moon eventually.

He left you a week after Kaleb’s second birthday.

It was months until your emotions left you. Michael left behind nothing but sorrow and pain and this aching numbness all over your surface that made you sob while Kaleb wasn’t looking. The remnants of love weren’t entirely flushed from your system, clinging to your insides and then being ripped out with hands like claws, tearing away the emotions with a deliberate slowness. It was one night after Michael had picked up Kaleb for the weekend, a sly comment about a girlfriend, a careful wink and your wedding ring thrown back in his face.

Your emotions were gone in the morning.

Michael Clifford was just Michael Clifford, the father to your child, the man who came to your house on a Friday, took his son, and left again, the face you vaguely remembered but couldn’t quite think how. You knew him, but without the love, he wasn’t the man you knew. He was nothing more than a stranger.

It was another Friday.

The rain drummed endlessly on the roof of your apartment, the clicking of the keys of your laptop matching it’s pace, the snores of your son laid by you on the couch soothing. You watched him.

You felt nothing.

You knew you’d loved Kaleb once. He was your son, and you recognised the emotions that should have been connected to that, but nothing discarded within you could produce those feelings. Michael had taken everything, and left nothing behind for your son.

You felt the fringes of emotions, on occasion. An old photo of you and Michael at the back of a drawer, or when Kaleb took his first steps, or the smell of Michael’s cologne. Love and pride and disgust had sparked somewhere within you. They burnt with this instant need to be felt, slivers of yellow light on your skin and in the pit of your stomach, but they weren’t enough. They didn’t create a fire. They were dull, and burnt out just as quickly as they had come around.

Michael was late.

You should have felt angry, but even without the ability to do so, you knew the fury would be doused by something like empathy. Michael was never himself anymore. He picked up Kaleb and said nothing, his face without his smile, his tongue without his jokes. You missed that part of him.

You missed most of Michael.

Three clean raps on the door awoke your senses. The sound stirred Kaleb from his slumber, and you padded over to the door. It was half past 8, almost two hours after the pick up time Michael himself had designated.

“Michael, you’re late.” You opened the door roughly, and you were wholly aware your voice was rough and gritty. You sounded angry, but you felt nothing like that in your body, nothing but nothing.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Michael Clifford looked like a wreck. His hair was darker than it had been the week before, and it was slightly matted to his skin after the rain coated distance from his car to the door. His eyes were drooping, but the pupils were alive, and his lips were half curled into a smile.

“I…I don’t…” You breathed slowly.

“Tell me you’re feeling something right now. Tell me you can feel what I can.” He said, monotonous, but there was a ring of emotion in his throat.

It had taken years worth of practice to hone yourself when Michael was around. Years of pretending there was no spark of something when his lopsided smirk showed up at your door, asking for the boy who reminded you so deeply of him. Years of ignoring his texts and calls and pleas of finding a way to forgive him, because he was sorry, and he made a mistake. Years of forgetting how to feel.

Years that had gone to waste at Michael’s words.

“Feel? You can…you can feel?”

“I never stopped. I never stopped loving you, Y/N, and I never lost my feelings. I still had these emotions, and I didn’t know what to do with them, because I didn’t have you.“ Michael was breathless, clutching the side of the door frame to keep himself upright, his emotions so strong that his bodily system couldn’t cope. “I don’t know what happened, but I can’t do this anymore.”

The emotions so overwhelming as they all flood at once, years of inability to create falling away, pools of feeling leaking into you. Years of resistance splintering and cracking and breaking into forever broken pieces.

“If you feel nothing, I’ll go, and I won’t ever speak of this or us ever again. Just, please.” Michael pleaded, his eyes wide as you stood, numb, expressionless, silent.

Michael Clifford wasn’t Michael Clifford.

Not to you.

Please, Y/N.”

He was your soul mate. Your everything you’d dreamed he’d be. The missing piece to your broken family. Your true love.

I feel it.”