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So Much (For) Starters.

All starters are lyrics taken from the album So Much (For) Stardust by the band Fall Out Boy, released March 24, 2023. Please feel free to change as you see fit. ( Seeing as I’ve made this meme the day this album came out, some lyrics may be incorrect. My apologies! )

Love From The Other Side

“You know I’m dying out here.”

“What would you trade the pain for?”

“You were the sunshine of my lifetime.”

“I’d never go, I just want to be invited.”

“Sending my love from the other side of the apocalypse.”

“Every lover’s got a little dagger in their hand.”

“Nowhere left for us to go but Heaven.”

“Give up what you love before it does you in…”

Heartbreak Feels So Good

“No matter what they tell you, the future’s up for grabs.”

“Is there a word for bad miracle?”

“Nobody said the road was endless.”

“Could we please pretend this won’t end?”

“We could cry a little? Cry a lot?”

“We could dance our tears away, emancipate ourselves.”

Hold Me Like A Grudge

“When you ask how I’ve been, I know you mean well.”

“I guess I’m getting older ‘cause I’m less pissed.”

“Silent killers are these years coming like waves.”

“You put the ‘fun’ into dysfunction.”

“Hold me like a grudge.”

“The world is always spinning, and I can’t keep up.”

“Part-time soulmate, full-time problem.”

“I guess, somehow, we made it back.”

“I am a diamond on the inside, just add the pressure!”

“I thought I knew better, I thought it would get better.”

“I figured somehow by now, I would have got it together.”

“We’ll do more than just get by.”

Fake Out

“Make no plans and none can be broken.”

“Do you laugh about me whenever I leave?”

“Do I just need more therapy?”

“Love is in the air, I just gotta figure out a window to break out.”

“My mood board is just pictures of you.”

“I’m not sad anymore.”

“We did it for futures that never came and for pasts that we’re never gonna change.”

Heaven, Iowa

“Kiss my cheek, baby, please.”

“Would you read my eulogy?”

“I will never ask you for anything — except to dream sweet of me.”

“I will never ask you for anything.”

“Tell me when the party ends.”

“Will you still love who I am?”

“They don’t know how much they’ll miss.”

“Save your breath; half your life you’ve been hooked on death!”

“Be careful what you bottle up.”

“I’m saving this all for later.”

So Good Right Now

“We’ll drive until the engine just gives up.”

“I know I’ve made mistakes, but at least they were mine to make.”

“I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

“I cut myself down to whatever you need me to be.”

The Pink Seashell

“There’s no point to any of this, it’s all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes.”

“I take pleasure in the detail, you know, a, a Quarter Pounder with cheese? Those are good.”

I Am My Own Muse

“I like playing dumb, letting you figure me out.”

“I was faded, in my own defense.”

“We got to throw this year away.”

“The trumpets bring the angels, but they never came.”

“I know I keep my feelings so tucked away.”

“Just another day spent hoping we don’t fall apart.”

“Let’s twist the knife again like we did last summer.”

Flu Game

“I guess to you now, I’m just a face in the crowd.”

“Oh, God, kindly please, would you kill me now?”

“Carved out a place in this world for two, but it’s empty without you.”

“I’ve got all this love I’ve got to keep to myself.”

“All this effort to make it look effortless.”

“I can’t be who you need me to be.”

“Every candle’s gotta run out of wax.”

Baby Annihilation

“Time is luck, and I wish ours overlapped more.”

“The first time I took the mask off, just had another one on underneath.”

“I’m just melted wax on a birthday cake, another year fades away.”

“If you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

“What is there between us, if not a little annihilation?”

The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)

“I’m pretty sure, as far as humans go, I am a hard pill to swallow.”

“I spent ten years ten years in a bit of chemical haze and I miss the way that I felt nothing.”

“Passed my old street, the house I grew up in. It breaks your heart.”

“Four of the Ramones are dead.”

“And I miss the way that I felt nothing.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

What A Time To Be Alive

“That’s the way the world used to be before our dreams started bursting at the seams.”

“I don’t care if it’s pretty.”

“The view’s so pretty from the deck of a sinking ship.”

“Everything is lit except my serotonin.”

“Please, I just need someone to hold me.”

“Oh, what a time to be alive.”

“They say that I should try meditation, but I don’t want to be with my own thoughts.”

“I just want to be your cherry on top.”

“when I said ‘leave me alone’ this isn’t quite what I meant.”

So Much (For) Stardust

“I feel like something that’s been stretched out, over and over again.”

“I don’t have the guts to keep it together.”

“Life is just a game, maybe.”

“I’m stuck in a lonely loop.”

“I need the sound of crowds, or I can’t fall asleep at night.”

“Another year of possibilities left unwrapped like gifts the day right after Christmas passed.”

“I’m pretty positive my pain isn’t cool enough.”

“I think I’ve been going through it.”

“In another life, you were the sunshine of my lifetime.”

“I used to be a real go-getter.”

“I used to think it’d all get better.”

“We thought we had it all.”

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STARTER CALL!

like this bad boy for a starter <3

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She’s gone from escaping the Daleks in her Type 58 TARDIS -- to being interrogated by some pretty boy with pointed ears. And he wasn’t even being nice about it. He was certain that she had “many queries”, but more certain that his were more important. Ah, so men were just like that wherever one traveled. ( She certainly hoped she’d never be like this if she regenerated into one. ) Wait. Pointed ears. Think, think, think. Oh! He was a Vulcan -- or at least partially Vulcan. That at least explained away the rudeness. How presumptuous she had been -- although, she was sure her last point did stand. It just wasn’t applicable ... yet.

              ❝ Alright, pretty boy. Don’t get your garments in a twist. ❞ She folds her arms, eyes scanning him to see if he was any immediate threat to her. This body was still new to her, having only regenerated a few weeks prior. She was still getting used to the sudden cheekiness and the sheer volume of hair she had to tame. Now she had to converse with someone stern and quite annoying to save her skin. She needed to hide; to assume a new identity until the Daleks were off her trail ... or to make new allies, which already seemed much harder to accomplish on this ship than faking her death. ❝ I’m a Time Lord. I’m sure your libraries have research on my kind, we are... we were a very noble race. Quite intelligent, if I do say so myself. ❞

The pause, followed by the change in tense speaks volumes. While it only took a moment to correct herself, she felt every millisecond. To correct one’s speech was to admit that she was the last living Time Lord... for as far as she knew, she was. Unless someone was just as lucky, quick, and clever as she was ... which she didn’t doubt, but if hope was thinking there was only one other left alive? She was better off not hoping. 

She clears her throat.

              ❝ I escaped during the final moments of The Last Great Time War. ❞ She utilizes her folded arms to sneak in a bit of self soothing, rubbing her right index finger along her left arm as they remained folded in place. ❝ I believe I got caught in your transporter’s beam -- I didn’t attempt to travel here, but I clearly have nowhere to return to. As for my means of travel, I’d appreciate a bit more respect. She isn’t an escape pod, pretty boy. She’s a Type 58 TARDIS; the best of her kind. Thank you very much. She’s currently chameleoned to mimic a telephone box since I was planning to travel somewhere specific. I’d be happy to show you the inside if you agree not to go rummaging around in there. For all I know, you’re an ally to the Daleks. ❞

If he didn’t want a title, he really ought to have begun with his name. She refused to tell him his first -- and if that was considered childish, then she’d be the queen of the playground. She’d cooperate with his queries, but she refused to give away her personal information to a stranger with demands.

              ❝ Oh, and if you find it clashes with your decor -- I can adjust her appearance. ❞

plotted starter for mara ! @cadencecursed

It's quite curious. An unexpected presence in the ship's transporter room sends the ship into another red alert as the crew attempts to assess the situation following the escape of what had just happened. For a planet had just been decimated, despite their efforts to try and prevent such a tragedy -- they just seemed to have arrived far too late in the struggle to be able to do much. The logical conclusion Spock comes to is that whoever, or whatever is in the strange craft that has appeared before them, is a survivor. Whether or not they are a threat is yet to be seen, so he approaches with caution as they emerge from what he identifies as ... a structure once used by Earth humans to make phone calls. Somehow, the individual has managed to travel via telephone booth. He nods a short greeting before promptly skipping ahead to more meaningful matters -- the time for small talk is not now, not in the aftermath of destruction. "I am sure you have many queries, concerns, fears. Much the same as we do given the circumstances. Seeing as you are the one who has managed to bypass the transwarp field control buffers, it is the queries I have that will be taking priority." A look back towards the booth still sitting behind her on the transporter pad, the raise of his brow and the return of his attention to the woman stood before it. "I believe I would first like to know how you were able to engineer that into an escape pod. The logistics of such a feat will aid in the assessment of your character."

[cadencecursed]

Writing on her body between calls had become a past time. It helped her to regulate her emotions and become a blank slate for every call. What good would an operator be if she was also on the brink of an emotional break due to the amount of calls-? She couldn’t begin a call feeling like life was some sort of survival horror-! No, she’d joined this line of work because she knew how life could be -- how it had been before she found the right therapist, got her emotional support animal, and worked consistently on self-tolerance. Dissociation and derealization still happened once in a while, but it was manageable. And sometimes, she was even having good days. Maybe the people calling in would get that she wasn’t some well-meaning, but out of touch person who had never even experienced the cliff-like lows of mental illness. Maybe they’d see that she made it out -- and so could they.

The phone rang. And after a deep breath and a second ring, she picked up.

              ❝ Hey, what’s up? ❞ She began. While her coworkers didn’t like it, she always felt the casual tone was something she preferred. Something more authentic -- and less like she was professionally programmed to be kind, yet unfeeling. Nobody wanted to make a business-like call in this environment -- she wanted the person on the other line to be comfortable, even if it did make the start of these calls a little awkward. ❝ Sorry for the wait, I uh... I was trying not to get ink on the phone. ❞

@cadencecursed ( lexi ... :) )

It’s 11 PM, and Jacob Cook has just. Fully parked his car halfway across the Manhattan bridge. It’s surprisingly empty, granting him more peace than panic that an angry mob of New York drivers WON’T be disturbing his … well, total freak out. It’s a wonder he found enough peace to put the car in park, despite the broken record scratching in his mind : GO 85, DRIVE OFF THIS BRIDGE AND DIE ! Because his life is not what he planned, not in the slightest. For every day, Jacob goes to work — cashier at so and so grocery store. Monotonous and unrewarding, but it pays the bills. — And every day, he wonders what is happening to him. His plan was easy enough, he’d once thought, but he hadn’t considered that failure was even easier. Drop out of college : check! Relocate from his home of South Dakota to New York City : check! Succeed at following his dreams : ... hm. Not quite. It's been five years now, and he's no closer to getting that great big Netflix comedy special than he was when he first got here. Hell, he's not even really getting the laughs he once used to. Maybe it's his attitude, how all the light seems to have been drained from his spirit as it dies a little more with each passing moment, with each gallon of milk and pack of strawberries he has to scan paired with the forced smile and rehearsed 'Have a great rest of your day!' that passes through his lips under the cursed fluorescent lights. So now, all he can do is furiously wipe the tears welling at the corners of his eyes as it seems he's reached his breaking point. You can only hold it together for so long before you start to burst apart at the seams. He expels a deep, shaky sigh as he stares out the window before finally taking the advice he so vehemently opposed from his older sister : for even as he was sure he was not going to do it, even passing thoughts of it are cause for concern, so he reaches for his phone and calls that suicide hotline number that sat in an unopened text from her for months now.

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consider an open starter? 👀💕

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🍃🌺🌙If you receive this you make somebody happy. Go and send this to ten of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get it back even better🌙🌺

I adore you !! :') Thank you for thinking of me -- and for being such a lovely human being! I'm so glad we're friends, Thrash!! 🥺💕

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i want a doctor who thread with mara so bad :’)

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tragedienes​:

“well… whatever you’re willing to tell me.” warren shrugged, a hint of pink flush to his cheeks. he had always been a lightweight, no matter how many parties he attended in school (which, granted, weren’t many). he had been able to legally drink for years now, and though he tried to force himself to enjoy a glass of whiskey at night, warren found that was enough to get him too tipsy to drive. despite his persistent thinking that he was a non-conformist, he did a lot of things because he thought it would make him see more serious as a writer, like a nightly glass of whiskey. besides, miranda was hard to keep up with. he was determined to try, afraid she’d see him as boring, no longer allowing him to tag after her. “i would, um, like to know everything.” warren already privately claimed her as his muse. several poems, half-finished, littered his bedroom, all having to do with her in some way. already feeling incredibly warm, warren pushed his hair off his neck, grimacing slightly as miranda poured him another shot. he wished he could toss it over his shoulder, but he knew she would see, and probably chastise him for wasting it. quickly, he flung his head back and downed the shot with a full body shiver. “we, uh, don’t have to go.” warren suggested nervously as he set the shot glass back down, biting his bottom lip. he feared she might ditch him at the party, when all he wanted was to be right next to her.

Well, damn. He actually drank it -- shiver and all. She found it so endearing, even if she missed the actual source for all his awkward choices. She knew he wanted to impress her, but didn’t quite get the memo on why. She figured it was a writer’s need to feel interesting, important, and far from basic. She’d never have guessed she was some source of inspiration to him. Ah, and then came this desire to stay home from the party. Perhaps he was simply too hipster -- or potentially pretentious -- to be seen at such a big event? He'd been game last time ... perhaps he couldn’t be seen at the same parties every time? Always a stranger; always a mystery, but never to her. He said he’d like to know everything, and Miranda couldn’t help but crack a smile. Perhaps they could stay in this once, but she was still going to make a party out of it. There was no point in losing the night, even if the venue was changing.

              ❝ Fine, but only because I have a soft spot for you. ❞ She places her elbows on the table; her face gently resting in the palm of her hands. ❝ We’re still making the most of this night though -- I don’t want us getting bored, you know? ❞

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              ❝ Then let’s get a bandaid; what’ll make you feel better: fresh air, or someone who isn’t afraid to embarrass herself to make you look good? ❞ They’re in a quiet corner within the Madrigal’s latest extravaganza. Whether they meant to or not, she could always tell her friend felt left out. She’d sympathize as much as she could, but she didn’t even have a family who could exclude her. It wasn’t a trauma battle, though, and she kept her sense of envy to herself. This wasn’t an ideal situation -- but they could get out of here if she wanted. They could go anywhere she wanted; Mirabel just had to say the word. ❝ Because I will do something embarrassing if you want me to. Just say the word. Otherwise, there’s a super bloom two miles out from here. A walk might clear your head -- and they’d be flowers that nature created, not a relative. Do you think that’d help? We can always come back to the party once you’re feeling better -- I don’t see this thing winding down any time soon. ❞

@cadencecursed​ asked: 90 - mirabel & (younger verse) mara

“It’s hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound.” // this is me trying, taylor swift.

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spotify unwrapped starter. @tragedienes

song: slow down x chase atlantic ( i put my unwrapped on shuffle ! )

             ❝ Tell me what it is you wanna know. ❞ Miranda rolled her eyes. She’d recently found that hanging out with writers was big fun when they were in their beatnik-bohemian era and wanted to party until they found something to write about -- but a real drag nearly every other time. She wanted to get out of here -- or to at least get crossed tonight. She wanted to tell him to save the interrogation for AFTER the party. Instead, she chose to offer him a smile and filled his shot glass so they could finish up their pre-gaming. Warren could ask her whatever he wanted once they were already in the Uber. She’d be more than happy to answer. Besides, she was almost out of tequila. Putting the bottle away when there were only two shots left was just ridiculous.  ❝ Finish up the bottle, then we’ll go. ❞

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mara. recently reformed gallifreyan. open starter. open to: doctors, companions, members of torchwood, strangers, acquaintances, MUTUALS AND NON-MUTUALS ALIKE !

              It was all a lie. The human life she had led since the 1990′s had all been a divine fabrication -- sure, she had lived through every moment, but none of it had been real. The whispers from her pocket watch had finally reached her; biodata returned as one heart painfully returned to its natural state of two. She had merely masqueraded as a human all this time; memories of war and cowardice returning to the young Time Lord’s mind. She’d keep the name she’d adopted -- this was decided. Whoever she had been on Gallifrey had died in the Last Great Time War. She was certain she had to be the only one left of her kind. It was a lonely thought; one shoved out of her mind with a passion. 

But where could she go from here?

              The chameleon arch wouldn’t serve her now; she’d been human long enough -- and hadn’t heard the word “Dalek” in twice that time. Yes, it seemed to her that she was the last remaining relic to a time gone by. The surviving coward, ready to stand up for what was right ... far too late. She supposed she could do a bit of traveling; helping here and there when she could. It’d be better than sulking in New York. It was only upon bumping right into a stranger that she realized just how lost in thought she had become.

              ❝ Oh my stars, I’m so sorry. Are you-?! ❞ she shuffles to help collect the other’s things. ❝ Are you alright? I’m, shit, I’m so sorry. ❞

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miranda in a nut shell: - “i mean” - “like” - “and all that”

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              ❝ I mean, I think I’m totally in the same boat as you -- minus the whole color coded side of things. I mean, like, Tommy used to totally protect me from playground bullies when we were nine so I stuck to him like glue. Now that we’re grown, I’m used to hanging around him -- like a brother, or a cousin, or something like that. So, I kinda just watch him and Carol talk mad shit from the side lines. It’s, like, grody to the max, but there isn’t much I can do about it. It’s better to be static than a former somebody, you know -- and I’d actually rather die than be a nobody, I think. I mean, it isn’t quite very, pretending I don’t hear them ... but the parties? The unparalleled euphoria of being alive that comes with keggers with Carol? I don’t know what I’d do without it. And, like, Steve’s not so bad? We don’t talk much. ❞

She stops. So they’d reached the therapy session portion of their sleepover before it was ever 10pm. How sexy of them; half of her guy friends would probably be fantasizing about a Miranda-Heather pillow fighting extravaganza. This was because she hung around some village idiots masquerading as the popular crowd. She almost wished she could go to Heather’s high school instead. She could totally see herself as in all pink. Or even grey, or black. She was flexible. Probably not white, though. White pants were terrifying.

              ❝ Wow, fuck. I totally talked way more about that than I thought I would. What is this? Hot Probs? Save it for the radio, Randi. ❞ She wraps her arms around a flower shaped throw pillow and leans forward slightly, finding the sensation slightly soothing. ❝ Is that like the Heathers at all? I mean, are they shallow like that? Like, I guess -- you have Veronica, and she seems amazing, and all that. But like, are the Christmas coded Heathers at least good to you? Like, cool parties and all that? ❞

( @horrifiez​ - mc.)

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Miranda. small town dreamer. open starter. open to: friends, lovers, kindred spirits, etc.

              ❝ I mean c’mon! Think about it! ❞ Miranda gently squeezes the other’s hands to emphasize her thoughts. ❝ There’s got to be so much more to life than what this town has to offer. Please, please! Just consider a little trip. Just a little one! It doesn’t have to be very far -- or for very long, even! I just want to escape for a day. I don’t want to stay and play ‘Big Fish, Small Pond’ anymore. I want to find a place that suits me. And if I can’t have that, I’d like to at least go to a party somewhere unfamiliar. Can we please do that? Please? ❞

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horrifiez​:

“Of course. Small t — oh. Thanks.” She obliges no question, with full trust in the most kindred spirit she could hope to encounter in all of Hawkins. How lucky they’d found each other, she’d thought : then, how obvious they would. The way people who didn’t exactly conform were forced to the outskirts of whatever perfect world had existed in their heads, it only makes sense that everyone outside of that bubble would wind up drawn together.

“Small town, smaller minds.” She finishes her thought as eyes flutter back open. “It’s so … frustrating, I guess, yeah.” For as similar as the two may be, they had opposite ways of facing their equal share of the adversity. Rhiannon, she’d observed, seemed to opt for a more aggressive … or, deflective might be the better term, route. ‘Screw ‘em,’ she had just said. A sarcastic quip, too. It felt like it bothered her more than she tried to let on … felt like the attitude came from trying to pretend it didn’t at all. “Hey, I don’t want to overstep, ever, so can I offer you some advice?”

              ❝ ? ? ? ❞ Rhiannon stops dead in her tracks. Had she misspoke or offended her friend somehow? She hides it well, but a quiet panic resides just beneath her skin; it threatens to bubble up to the surface like boiling water, but resigns to its silent simmer as she begins to speak to Morgue. ❝ Of course, yeah, what’s up? ❞

All the frustration; all the annoyance; all the irritation -- it all stemmed from a place of hurt. Didn’t everyone desire to be understood? Why was it that small minded people were allowed to express themselves however they wished, but when she did the same: it was wrong. Why couldn’t she be herself without ridicule? The odd and gentle inner child became hardened; she went from a cat in the dark to darkness itself. Her confidence was painted on each morning after she had breakfast and brushed her teeth; if she could only just convince everyone else that she didn’t care what they thought of her, then maybe eventually it’d be true. Maybe she could take pride in being peculiar. It was moments like this, however, when someone treated her with kindness, that she was terrified. A kind face distorting into one of disgust or loathing was far worse than any empty minded remark. She didn’t think Morgue would say anything rude -- or be disgusted by her, but the fear lingered.

It felt silly.

              ❝ Can’t promise I’ll take it, but I’m happy to listen. ❞ She smiles. ❝ Offer away. ❞

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PSA: IF WE’RE IN A MUTUAL AND YOU WANT TO THROW A STARTER AT ME BECAUSE YOUR MUSE WANTS MINE OR YOU JUST WANT TO ROLEPLAY IN GENERAL —- JUST DO IT. I PROMISE, I’LL SCREAM WITH HAPPINESS IF YOU DO. YOU’RE NOT BOTHERING ME ; I WANT TO ROLEPLAY WITH ALL OF THE PEOPLE I FOLLOW. OKAY, YOU’RE ALL WONDERFUL. PCE.

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              ❝ Well, hot damn. Don’t get your panties in a twist. ❞ Bennie grins. ❝ Just wanted to show I noticed. I won’t even mention it next time. In, what, three and a half weeks, you said? Wait. You plan out the seemingly spontaneous looks? Gotta say, I kinda respect it. ❞ She pauses, grabbing some orange juice from the fridge. ❝ Well? You coming in or what, delivery girl? Grab some breakfast before you skate off. Pulp-free OJ is about to be on the counter. Plus, I got waffles and hash browns about to come into the world -- you just delivered my waffle iron. Oh shit, I gotta sign for it, right? You got a pen? ❞

@cadencecursed​‘s bennie asked ramona :

“did you do something different with your hair?”

“Yeah dude, I change it every three and a half weeks.” The statement came out so naturally she felt like a broken record : this stage always came with everyone she ever met. The secret for such fickle nature? Being stagnant for too long is suffocating … and, well, she just moved here, so there’s no reason to get up and run off again. Not yet. “Are you gonna ask every time?”