pulitzerlost!

hi!! i realize it’s been a very very very long time (3 years!) & that everybody i interacted with on here has probably either deleted or archived, but i’ve decided to pop on just to see if anybody i used to talk to is still around.

i’ve been thinking abt making a new rp blog (or maybe reviving this one? idk if you want to follow feel free but i can’t promise interaction) & wanted to talk to somebody who has been on here in the past few years abt what rping on tumblr is like now...i also had a lot of friends on here that i really miss!! i would be open to sharing social media with ppl i was mutuals with on here so if you would like to chat send me a message!! please don’t be shy idc if we barely interacted or if you just remember joan from ur dash I wanna talk <3

sorry for clogging up the tags but because i’ve been inactive for so long a lot of ppl i was mutuals with have obviously remade & i'd like for them to see this post! 

uhhhh   consider   this   a   plotting   call?

another uhhhhh fantastic plot is greek god/mortal au because joan is awful but awful in the way that is attractive to ancient anarchistic deities

it’s   not   a   statement,   not   a   command,   nothing   more   than   a   faint   affirmation,   spoken   to   nobody   but   herself.   tone   hovering   thick,   infantile,   like   an   adult   speaking   to   a   child.   she   holds   an   image   in   her   mind,   of   a   day   much   like   this,   a   description   on   a   page   -   the   click-clack   of   typewriter   keys   spelling   out   sharp   cheekbones,   barren   words,   something   inaccessible,   something   freudian,   something   that   holds   itself   much   like   the   figure   before   her   now.   (   joan   hill   wonders,   not   for   the   first   time   today,   if   perhaps   the   pills   she   took   earlier   are   coming   on   a   bit   stronger   than   expected.   )

she’s   having   difficulty   articulating   herself,   forming   words,   but   that   can   be   accounted   for,   qualified.   so,   so,   unlike   the   thing   here,   speaking   to   her.   like   a   human,   like   a   mirage,   like   something   to   be   trusted.   she   glares   at   it,   stiffens,   but   cannot   stop   her   knees   from   wobbling,   shivering   under   a dark,   sterile   gaze.   cannot   stifle   the   hallucinatory   effect   of   those   words,   the   idea   of   what   it   would feel   like,   knees   against   the   ground.

‘   who   are   you?  ’   margarethe?   who   are   you,   margarethe?

i   sort   of   want   to   do   an   arc   which   is   like   just   as   a   concept   the   last   month   of   joan’s   life   but   idk

verse   where   your   muse   is   a   young   &   newly   famous   author   who   buys   joan’s   old   house   &   she   haunts   them