welcome to desolation sound.

"the people come here to look for aliens, ghosts, and cults, and gateways to hell, secret military bases looking into other dimensions. i think, if there is something, it is not none of these things - or perhaps all of them." START HERE written by billie. est 2023.

[somethinginthedirt]

SOMETHINGINTHEDIRT : an independent and selective multimuse rp blog for original characters from desolation sound, a small town in the middle of the desert. southwestern gothic, cosmic horror vibes. inspired by the works of justin benson & aaron moorhead.  low activity, nsfw & 21+ only.  

loved by billie. est 2023.

| caard | board |

[somethinginthedirt]

i think i may? delete this blog?

[nogoodwitches]

@somethinginthedirt

it's been three days since she woke up in the desert. or well, her house was in the desert. cathryn has no phone services, the television screens blank and no idea really if she was still on the earthly plane.

for the last three days she's only looked out her window, a town in the distance with very little sign of life. she had casted spells, preformed rituals but nothing. even the magic was strange here.

on the third day she had decided that sitting in her home would solve nothing, so she threw on a long skirt, a tank top and some dirty converse and left her front porch. the air was dry and hot, only a few minutes and her tattooed skin was covered in a sheen of sweat.

beside her cleo followed, also bored of their home.

the town was fairly empty and outdated. for a moment cathryn wondered if she had somehow been transported back in time.

cathryn was about to start knocking on doors when she caught a figure at the corner of her eye. it was a man---tall, around her age---walking not too far from her. his back was turned to her, so all she could see was a mop of long black hair.

quickly and quietly, she came up behind him, tugging his shirt and whipping to stand in front of him. "where the hell am i?"

[somethinginthedirt]

@nogoodwtch

Charlie lacked a certain amount of situational awareness. 

It was still morning—just barely—and he’d slept very little the night before despite the too-big edible he had the night before for the semi-permanent ache that sat behind his eyes. He was half a block from the diner, half a block from a cold, cold iced coffee when a cat appeared at his feet. Stray cats were an unusual sight and Charlie was delighted. 

“Hey, bud—Ohholyshit.” 

He reached out to pet the cat, but was instead met with the face of a woman he’d never seen before, startling him. For a brief moment, he thought she was the cat, suddenly transformed. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’d ever seen. Heart thundering in his chest, he puts a hand over top to catch his breath and tries to rewind her words, which are a little weird. Visitors are uncommon, even more so when they have no idea where they are. People don’t usually come out to this little slice of heaven unless they have a reason. As much as he wished it was, Desolation Sound was far from a resort town. 

“Um, Desolation Sound.” He peered around her, looking for a car or a truck or an RV, but it was just her. And him. “Are you—lost? And the cat. "Is the cat yours?”

[nevver]

Day of dread, Tye Martinez

[vitalphenomena]

@somethinginthedirt // charlie

"Charlie? Charlie?"

Juniper knocks — and, in rare form, it is not a polite, subdued knock. It is a heavy, aggressive thing that rattles the door, threatens to rattle the windows.

She should have come sooner. She should have come when Charlie bailed on their coffee-and-antiquing frate (frate — noun — meaning, friend date, a term that Juniper thinks she has coined) and offered a flimsy text apology. She should have been more aware after the shadows around him at home started looming (and she knew it wasn't just a trick of the light). She shouldn't have waited two full weeks to check on her friend.

"I know you have to be in here, so just let me in! — Please."

He could be dead already, having choked on black bile, and now decomposing on the kitchen floor.

So Juniper knocks and knocks, unrelenting. She's already been to Charlie's house once before, so she knows, despite its size, she doesn't have to worry about upsetting housemates. It is just him.

Or is there someone — something — else inside?

[somethinginthedirt]

He loses time.

Days, weeks, gone in the blink of an eye. If he's lucky, he gets blurry, half-formed recollections of things that happened, snippets of short conversations he's been a part of. He remembers, vaguely, cancelling plans with Juniper, hands trembling as he typed out a short message and poor apology from the cocoon of his bed. After that, he gave in, too exhausted to keep both hands on the driving wheel. Sometimes all he can manage is a single hand, weakly trying to steer himself in the right direction.

The right direction being keeping himself secluded behind the four walls of his too big house.

In his hazy waking life, he sees his reflection bleeding from the eyes, bleeding black, bleeding red. The whites disappearing into obsidian. His bones crack and twist in their sockets, bending in directions they shouldn't. Charlie screams his throat raw in agony and pulls them all back into place. One by one. It's a slow and arduous task. It goes like this for two weeks. Fighting for control, fighting for himself, against something he cannot comprehend.

When Juniper knocks, Charlie is in his bedroom upstairs. He's sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor, eyes rolled into the back of his head. He only vaguely registers the loud knocking. It sounds so distant. Too distant to care about.

The thing inside Charlie hears the knocking. Loud and irritating. It senses Juniper and it senses her urgency. It's curious.

Downstairs, the door swings open, inviting her in.

[fairweathermyth]

RUSSIAN DOLL 1.01 Nothing in This World is Easy + 2.01 Nowhen

[zanephillips]

AVAN JOGIA as Johnny Johnny & Clyde (2023)

[inrovina]

well, that worked out better than he expected. a pleased grin stretches out before reality slaps him in the face again and he wipes his expression clean, sobering up at the sight of all the blood inside stevie's place.

his gaze lingers on it, following the trail from the front door all the way to the kitchen, glass sprayed among the red. it's a gruesome sight, even without the presence of a body. stevie's body, he realises, grimacing at her correction. she buried her own body.

what the fuck is going on in this place?

"i've been killed before," xeno says without even thinking about it, the words tumbling out of his mouth. his poor attempt at consoling continues: "it sucks. sorry."

a second later, he forces his legs into action, obediently following her command. he grabs the bucket and mop from the closet, noting how perfectly prepared stevie is for this and again wondering what the hell is happening, side-stepping the blood on his way to the bathroom.

he emerges with a bucket full of water and a mouth full of questions. "this isn't the first time, right? you've done this before? you're — shit, sorry, this is just — i can deal with weird shit, you know, so, i mean, what i'm tryna say is — fuck's going on here?"

[somethinginthedirt]

stevie puts down the cleaning products and starts shuffling her things around to make room for the cleanup. she puts everything with splattered blood on it into a separate pile.

her head whips up when xeno casually drops oh i've been killed before before he disappears into the washroom and she stares instead at the space he just occupied. thirty-six years and she's never met anybody else who has been killed before and came back to tell the tale. it's always just been her.

when he returns, she blinks, snapping out of her thoughts. the blood, the floor. the floor. the last thing she needs is the blood getting in between the floorboards.

"no. yeah. this is a regular thing. it's really more annoying than anything else at this point." she mixes a strongly scented product into the bucket of water, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, then stands, blowing out a breath.

"i was murdered. in 1987. like, murdered here. on shift. and then i woke up in the desert. it's been happening ever since. if you want to know why, that makes two of us." she presses the handle of the mop into his hands. "you mop, i'll scrub. blood likes to stick."

[ohlexa]

#for science

[realduality]

It doesn’t let me sleep… I don’t get tired-it just doesn’t let me dream. It does that so my mind never leaves this place… It uses space and time as its horse whip.

The Endless (Justin Benson & Aaron Moorhead)

[somethinginthedirt]

also debating adding dreamwalkers to desolation sound but hmmm

[somethinginthedirt]

oh charlie, sweet boy, soft boy. anxious child of mine

[vitalphenomena]

Juniper immediately feels sorry for asking. She doesn't mean to compel an answer that sounds so downright sad.

You know, Juniper was brought up in a pretty rotten place, and she's often wondered if there could possibly be anywhere worse to raise a child. She wonders now what Charlie's perspective would be on the worst places to be born.

Juniper's gaze follows his pointed finger; she can see buildings up the street, streetlights, the skyline. She marvels at the beauty of the desert, how distinct it is from the beauty of the city. She doesn't see anything wrong with Charlie at all.

Her head whips around to face him, and she's smiling. "Oh, we're just visiting," she says, but she doesn't believe herself anymore. It doesn't help that she's wearing the work uniform for a local establishment.

"It can't be as bad as you say. My sister really likes it here, actually."

[somethinginthedirt]

Just visiting?

In his twenty-nine years living here, he's never once heard someone say they're just visiting. The term he's heard most often is passing through. But it doesn't look like Juniper is doing either of those things anyway, not with the work uniform she has on. He's about to ask about it when she mentions her sister.

"She does?" That's new to him, too. Most people passing through don't like to linger. Something about the feeling of being watched in a town so small. He can't blame them. He'd leave if he could. "Why?" He blurts out the question before he can stop himself and a wave of embarrassment washes over him.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Not to be nosy or anythin'." Then he adds, "—Sorry. I'm gonna make you late for work. If I haven't already." What with the black bile on her white shoes.

[somethinginthedirt]

i'm not supposed to be talking like this. marisol rose

@vitalphenomena

she smiles, a patient little thing, hands clasped around a warm cup of herbal tea. served warm, of course, despite the blistering heat. they're tucked away from the sun, though; stealing a pocket of shade underneath the tall, thin trees.

a quiet busyness surrounds them. a few people steal glances in their direction, but never linger. marisol pays them no mind.

"nobody is listening. you can speak your mind freely with me."

[westernlimits]

Source: Taylor Hoover

[somethinginthedirt]

do you wanna interact with this blog? are you not sure how to fit your character here outside of Just Showing Up? well, great news, i'm happy for anyone to make their character a resident of desolation sound or whatever. i'd be honoured even. i'm happy to plot and worldbuild with y'all!

[vitalphenomena]

That sense of foreboding Sam had the first time he came out here — yeah, Juniper has that, too. But it's accompanying a nearly-constant feeling of dread, of sick anticipation, that Juniper's carried with her veer since she and Lila left Poughkeepsie. It's the feeling of being found out, of being hunted while on the run. And she doesn't know how likely it is that her fears become actualized, but it doesn't make them feel any less real than this canon, than its inevitable bottom.

Juniper inhales and exhales deeply, bringing in the secondhand smoke with her. It comforts her, that smell. It reminds her of the alleyway back home, the one next to the diner. It even reminds her a little bit of her sister. She can almost smell the lingering scent of her perfume, of vodka on her breath.

Juniper wonders what Sprit would think of a place like this. She quickly decides she doesn't want to know. Ghosts are better off remaining unknown to the people who can keep their ignorance intact.

"You curse a lot," she murmurs, feeling emboldened enough on her journey out west to accost a stranger instead of letting vulgarity slide the way she always have. "It's not super necessary to get your point across. In fact, it detracts — see, I can hardly tell what you were saying. I'm all caught up on —"

She looks up from her shoes and meets his haggard eyes. She thinks about the canyon. It puts a stop to her tangent.

"—sorry. I scold my little sister all the time, and she's pretty much the only person I talk to, so I just — habit."

[somethinginthedirt]

Sam actually barks out a laugh, a genuine one. For a moment, his tired eyes are bright and his sharp edges round out. He's used to being scolded, but he's not used to be scolded so... politely. He waves off her apology, cigarette between his fingers.

"You're not the first person to tell me that." Scolding is her habit, swearing is his. It's as hard to shake as the dope he loves so much.

She was endearing, though, this mystery stranger. She seemed more out of place here than he felt—and that made him feel a little better about his predicament. He taps ash from the end of his cigarette and watches it disappear into the dark, rocky depths below. He likes to think of this as a minor act of disrespect, but if the thing, the entity, the God(?) cares remains to be seen. The canyon remains still and silent, overwhelmingly so. For a giant hole in the ground, Sam sure felt like it was looming over him, large and opposing.

Sam turns his back to the canyon again and steps away from the fence. He doesn't really want to spend anymore time here than he has to.

"You and your sister on a road trip?"