Original writing sideblog for tousled-birdmad-girl. Organic stories and sustainably sourced daydreams. No GMO, no AI. We grow and harvest them ourselves, because we care.
Hiya! My name is Echo (@tousled-birdmad-girl is my main for those who care about such things) and I'm a writer. I've been writing in some form or another since I was about ten years old, but only recently plucked up the gumption and drive to attempt anything original, much less put it out for the world to see. Time will tell how this goes...
I love horror, tho I wouldn't consider myself a "genre" author, as I think horror, surrealism, fantasy and magic can be found everywhere if you know where to look, and the presence of fantasy elements does not necessarily mean you're writing a "fantasy" book. So, we'll call what I do "fiction" and leave it at that for now :D
Inspiration-wise, I draw from the works of Stephen King, everything Mike Flanagan ever put to Netflix and beyond, Paul Shapera and his ever-growing Shaperaverse, Guillermo Del Toro, Chuck Palahniuk, and the Cthulhu Mythos as a whole (with a particular liking for taking the worlds, entities and themes first created by Lovecraft and using them to create something that'd make him spin in his grave.)
Below the cut: a list of my current WIPs and some general housekeeping information. If you see something that sparks your interest, please come sit by my hearth and pour yourself a drink <3
Original Works:
The Lost Souls' Revival: After a series of personal crises, struggling creative Amari Walker stumbles across a flyer advertising a strange carnival, offering "a total restoration of spirit" for the cryptic asking price of "3Y". With nothing left to lose, she attends, quickly becoming enthralled by the Revival and its colourful cast of performers, in particular its eccentric, nameless ringmaster. When her night of fun and escapism is over, she finds herself wanting more, and embarks on a one-woman quest to follow the ever-moving carnival wherever it goes, a quest that will drive her to the edge of sanity, and possibly beyond the reach of reality itself.
(vibes: steampunk, dark carnival, mythology/folklore mishmash, fantasy horror, the Fair Folk, whatever the goblins were selling in Rosetti's Goblin Market)
Better To Reign In Hell: It's 1897. The world is changing too fast. Pastor Nathaniel Lawrence is dying, for all that he's trying to hide it. His daughter, Susannah, too old for rebellion and too young for spinsterhood, is content to follow in her mother's footsteps as the town's herbalist, but a bombshell marriage proposal seems set to destroy those plans. A chance encounter with a badly wounded man may offer her the escape she seeks, but at a price: Merritt Caine is not all he appears to be, and his dark past has an unbreakable grip.
(vibes: southern gothic HEAVY on the gothic, small town horror, witchcraft (fictitious and real), Satanism (fictitious and real), corruption but in a good way, religious horror, the cycle of abuse, eventual murder (of the good kind) )
The Order of The Pallid Mask: In the corpse of a city at the centre of a dying world, a benevolent cult is working to restore their world to its fabled former glory by appealing to its retreated god, The King in Yellow. Sariann, the cult's High Priestess, is willing to sacrifice whatever she must to ensure a brighter future for the city's refugees; her body, her soul, her mind. Virgil, a lower-ranking member of the Order, her confidant, attendant and trusted friend, is willing to defy the Order and his faith to keep her alive. And the Yellow King has plans and desires of his own...
(vibes: Cosmic horror, Lovecraftian but make it romantic, the beauty of the unknown, rituals, creating a religion from the ashes of an old world, post-apocalypse, ancient civilization (not of Earth), Eldritch love triangle)
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Fan Works/Other:
As far as fanfics go, I don't have any long-form WIPs on the stove, more like a series of short (well, short-ish) form drabbles, headcanons and other assorted bits, which I might as well post here when I have them as proof that I do have a creative output that extends beyond Spotify playlists and Pinterest boards.
Fandoms include:
Fallout (mainly New Vegas and the Prime series so far, but encompassing this universe as a whole)
Red Dead Redemption (particularly the second game as I haven't played the first one yet, Ā£35 for a port of a PS2 game my *ass*)
the Flanaverse (Hill House, Bly Manor, TFOTHOU, Midnight Mass... basically everything bar The Midnight Club, which I have not watched)
the Cthulhu Mythos (if you can call that a fandom :D I was working on a queer retelling of Dreams in the Witch-House at one point, if I can *find* the notes I wrote I might bring that one out of retirement...)
plus one or two fandoms the content crucibles of which I would not subject myself to if you held me at gunpoint (iykyk)
I've also amassed a small collection of OCs from various TTRPGs I've been part of, a couple of whom still haunt my mind and may or may not be written about from time to time... (no DnD tho, I think it's safe to say we've reached saturation point with DnD-centric/derivative works) ;)
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General housekeeping + other info: I am an adult and this is an adult writing blog by default. I will be writing smut/other sexual content and dealing with mature and dark themes throughout these listed works (and anything else I may write to post here.) I will tag for "main" triggers and give general content warnings where applicable, but I cannot guarantee to cover every single trigger a person may have, therefore, you read and interact here at your own risk. If requested, I will add more trigger warnings, but again, I can't fully guarantee to get everything.
I kindly ask that you refrain from reposting anything from this blog: excerpts, character profiles, moodboards (if I make them) etc. I also ask that you do not take anything for your personal use under any circumstances.
My inbox is open, so send me an ask if you have any questions or simply want to chat! But for now, I've rambled for quite long enough, so I'm gonna wrap this post here. See you! <3
gawd I really need to whip up a proper timeline for BTRIH (and think of a better title, fuck), because at the moment it just looks like:
something something filler something Drama something filler filler DRAMA something something BIG DRAMA filler CLIMACTIC DRAMA... aftermath
at the heart of most of the drama is poor ol' Merritt. really putting that leggy Goth scarecrow in the Torment Nexus with this one
Last Series: rewatching Heroes!!! Watched this when I was like 8 and now I'm 28 like dang, i watched this as a kid š¤Ø
Sweet or Salty: Sweet, then salty. Like some chocolate then follow it up with some idk cheese to blanace it out ya know š®āšØ
Coffee or Tea: Bothā¦ I don't do caffeine so decaf all around but I have done deep dives into finding the best decaf out there bc I like the taste of coffee so much and gotta get them antioxidants from the green tea so
Working on: Editing ch 3 and drawing banner art for Something About a Flower, personal zine I'm making with a friend to sell at a con in August, fursona art for another friend, and about 10 thousand hansry art and writing wips. (there's not enough time in a day fr fr)
šReading: Eaters of the Dead - Michael Crichton (re-reading)
š§Last Song: Adieu - Rammstein
šæLast Film: Evil Dead: Army of Darkness (it's a comfort movie š)
šŗLast Series: Rewatching NBCs Hannibal
š¤Sweet or Salty: Salty
āCoffee or Tea: Tea all the way
āļøWorking on: A few figure studies and portrait practices (currently all revolving around kcd2, Hansry and the lads as individuals and one random Arthur Morgan studyš )
Tagging (feel free to ignore, I just admire y'all ā¤ļø) : @mad-bird-writes @cheesiestart-redux @rowsofviolets @stelladonie @nitaelwy @olli-ii @rebvilla @meanbossart
Last Film: The People Under The Stairs (it was.... interesting, put it that way!)
Last Series: uhhhh probably my fourth rewatch of Mike Flanagan's Fall of the House of Usher
Sweet or Salty: bit of both tbh
Coffee or Tea: tea! all the teas!
Working On: still desperately trying to get my New Vegas Benny/Six Black Widow fic in working order, but my motivation is very much in the toilet right now... Aside from that, I'm planning some big plot points for BTRIH (which mostly consist of subjecting Merritt to The Horrors, ehehe) but no idea if/when any of that will see the light of day.
I'm no good at tagging folks, so if you see this, consider yourself tagged! <3
When a little girl calling herself Eleven escapes from her Vault, she is picked up by a bounty hunter. The Ghoul reluctantly becomes a father again in his journey to find his Janey. Feelings grow after Miss Lucy joins along, and soon he finds himself with his own ice cream and apple pie in the form of a woman, a kid, and a dog.
The surface was hot. Little jolts of pain shot through her bare feet as she walked. Partially from the scorching desert sand, partially from the tiredness bogging her down. She paused for the first time in days, finally confident that none of the bad people were behind her.
She tugged at her filthy Vault suit. No longer a smooth bright blue-and-yellow after being on the run. The colors were muted, the fabric was torn, and dried blood was fusing the jumpsuit to her skin in some paces. Most of the blood wasnāt hers. Her hands didnāt look like hers, either. They were too dirty.
A whine of discomfort rose in her chest and little radroaches scurried past her feet. She hopped a little to shoo them off before one of them could bite. Not that it mattered, the uncomfortable heat under her skin meant she was past the point of radiation exposure. And while her eyes were focused on the ground, a tall shadow emerged from behind.
āLong ways from home, Vaultie,ā a manās voice drawled. There was a click of a finger brushing over the trigger of a gun. Danger.
She turned slowly to look up at the stranger. Her shoulders were hunched and every muscle wound tight like springs about to break. Sheād never seen anyone like him before back home. His skin was leathery and tanned like a shoe that had been peeled apart. Sunken dark eyes glittered with a mixture of curiosity and malice, made scarier by the caved in hole where his nose should be.
But one aspect of his character was recognizable. She and Eight used to hide behind the filing cabinets in the storage room, where the cameras didnāt work. Her sister always had pre-war magazines that sheād smuggled from the employee room, and she always had Cooper Howard ones.
āCowboy,ā she whispered, remembering the word Eight had read off the cover. Her throat was dry and her lips were peeling, making her voice harder to understand.
The man huffed with amusement, his hand moving away from his gun. It seemed at least some people in the Wasteland had qualms about shooting children. āThatās right, sweetheart. āM as ābout as cowboy as you can find āround here.ā
She took a minute step back when he started to move. Spurs clinked on the heels of his boots as he came to a stop right in front of her. Her fingers twitched at her sides but ultimately remained where they were. Sheād already run into a couple hostile people in her travels, but in her panic sheād crumpled most of them on sight. She could do that here, it wouldnāt be hard.Ā
But she was so tired. And she didnāt want to hurt people anymore.
His eyes had found the large 120 on her Vault suit. āNow listen āere, Missy. Thereās a hefty bounty on yer head, and I intend to collect it.ā
Her face scrunched in bewilderment. āBoun..ty?ā
āBut,ā he carried on as if she hadnāt spoken, āthe posters neglected tāmention that you were a little girl. So Iāll be a gentleman and stick āround before droppinā you in the next town.ā
When she didnāt immediately answer, he raised one brow. At least it looked like it, she couldnāt see any eyebrows. With one last wary look, she nodded faintly. The mutated man whistled a low note before reaching into his pack. A round canteen was shoved in her hands.
āDrink,ā he said firmly. She didnāt wait for him to tell her twice. After three god gulps the container was snatched from her.
āDonāt waste, Vaultie.ā
There was a hint of resentment in his voice, hidden under the barbs. Annoyance towards the Vault-Dwellers that had lived such isolated, bubbly lives that they didnāt think twice about gulping down a whole canteen. They didnāt have to worry when theyād find clean water next. Their water didnāt taste of chemicals and metal.
āEleven.ā
The small voice caught him off-guard. He grunted out a āWhat?ā
āEleven,ā she repeated a little louder. She pointed at herself.
The realization set in that she was giving him her name. Except her name wasnāt really a name, at least not in the proper sense. But when has anything been proper in the Wasteland? He tipped his hat back thoughtfully.
people on here are always saying āwe NEED a story where the art of storytelling is abandonedā like ugh literary devices are soo annoying like that wouldnāt happen in real life that only happened to further the story (why is there story in my story) why would orpheus turn around when he was explicitly told not to why would icarus fly so close to the sun romeo&juliet catcher in the rye why are they so earnest why pour your heart and soul into anything why bother why cant all art be quippy logical monotony like my marvel movies thereās a void in my heart bc i refused to fill it and the curtains were blue
āi hate poetry its so pretentiousā but then you reblog a quote or a throwaway line and say āwhy does this go so hardā you are desperate for poetry you are starved for it and u dont even realise youāre hungry
This might be unpopular but Iām not going to use simpler vocabulary in my writing if itās out of character for the narrator. If my POV character is a botanist, heās going to call a plant by its name. If you donāt know what it is you can either Google it or move on just knowing itās a plant of some sort.
I donāt like this trend of readers being angry that not everything is 100% understandable for them. I want my characters to be believable as people and sometimes people use words people outside of their field will not understand. Thatās not a bad thing.
You donāt have to understand every word to get the gist of whatās happening. Iām not going to slow down an action scene to describe every weapon because someone might not know them by name. They can just assume itās a weapon because that makes sense in the context of the scene.
I just had a debate with myself over using the word mezzanine, wondering if I should describe it instead. Ultimately I decided the character would call it a mezzanine, and therefore readers could look up a new word if they didn't know.
It's how I learned words like myriad as a seven year old reading Lord of the Rings for the first time, why would I steal that experiance from someone else by simplifying language?
I can't even imagine wanting to write a book for people too uncurious to learn new words. I don't even want to be reminded people like that exist, let alone cater to them.
had the potentially not-terrible idea of reframing everything I've got for the Lost Souls' Revival (aside from Amari actually *attending* the carnival, that still feels like its own thing) as a kind of around-the-campfire story-trading session between the Lost Souls and Amari as a new arrival? a way of using the existing lore without having to sweat about what the STORY is.....
I'm not doing well atm (am I ever?) but it's an idea at least
ALSO I have a few character models I've been making in HeroForge if anyone's interested to see the gang in 3D :D
in short, this stands a chance of actually happening! no deadlines, no ETAs (I never meet them anyway), and I'm not about to jinx myself by saying I'm back on my grind, but... ;)
Across the endless, junk-strewn grey plains of The Space Between All Worlds treks a circus caravan, drawn by a team of tarnished clockwork horses. The journey, lacking a destination, is endless, and only continues because stasis invites insanity.
Anyone who finds themselves here only does so because they have been forgotten. By the world, or by themselves.
The caravan is inhabited by a ragtag group of Lost Souls: a Poet, flung out of time and sanity in the name of love; an all-seeing, eyeless Goddess from a forgotten realm; a Kelpie trapped in human form; a fire-scarred Magician, saved from certain death by a stroke of mercy; a dead Child in smiling clown's makeup; and a murdered Ballerina, bound to a clockwork shell.
Their ringleader? A melancholic, undying being who only ever wanted to create something beautiful. But to do so, he had to fight his nature; Fae are predators, and they only take.
Once again, you can be an English major. a seasoned journalist. an established author. a famed literary critic...and you will still scratch your head over the junk that makes it big. Public opinion has no worth. Just write what you want.
"But I don't want to share something that isn't perfect" why not? everyone else does.
