Hi! I'm Jessica. I'm putting Verdante out there because I can. It's been in my noggin for quite some time and I decided to put it on The Internets(tm) for better or for worse.
If you enjoy it, great! I heartily give my consent to you writing your own characters and head canons and whatever else Tumblr does. I would love to see what you wrote ❤️
If you don't enjoy it, that's okay too! There's a LOT on here and there is absolutely something that suits you better than my little ol' world.
I'm still reeling from all the new stuff on here. I haven't been on Tumblr since before Homestuck ended. So. Yeah. There's my age for you, HA!
A few housekeeping items:
- I am well over the age of 21
- I am VERY happily married
- This blog will be SFW
If there's interest in more adult content, I can host that elsewhere (on a platform where minors are not allowed). But this blog? Staying safe for work. If you want to make spicy content, go for it—just tag me so I can cheer from afar. :)
Also:
- ICE = Intelligent Cybernetic Entities.
Yes, the acronym shares unfortunate overlap with a harmful government agency.
No, I will not change it.
I don’t let racist institutions dictate the language I use to uplift my world or my characters.
They can choke on an ice cube. Disrespectfully.
- I currently use placeholder images for art because I want to illuminate Verdante, and that’s what’s accessible to me right now. If I get funding someday, I’d love to commission artists.
If you strongly oppose the use of placeholder imagery or dislike what I’m doing? Please feel free to block me. No hard feelings. The internet is a big place.
Verdante is my love letter to the strange, the sacred, and the sovereign. Thanks for visiting 💖
"Ah, yes, this plant that evolved a strong chemical to repel bugs and herbivores (mint) is going to be delicious if I squish it and add it to mild poison (alcohol)"
It’s getting harder to care about what’s going on out there. I mean really care. The world has become this hyperactive toddler with a flamethrower, throwing tantrums on livestream while everyone claps or cancels, depending on the lighting and the hashtags. Every day it's some new meltdown, some fresh hell trending at the top of my feed. And I scroll through it like a zombie with a thumb twitch. None of it sticks. None of it feels real anymore.
Maybe that’s the point.
I used to get all fired up about the world—politics, injustice, the system chewing people up—but now? I’m tired. Burnt out on bullshit. The headlines feel like reruns. The outrage feels like wallpaper. And all I really want is a quiet cup of coffee and one of the cats not puking on the laundry for once. That’s it. That’s the dream.
Twenty years of cats. They come and go like fuzzy little prophets, indifferent to your schedule, unmoved by your crises. They don't care if the world is collapsing or if your back hurts or if the algorithm tanked your post. They just sit on your laptop and stare into the void like they get it. Like they’ve seen the true shape of existence and it’s mostly naps and dry food.
And sometimes, I look in the mirror and I don’t see “tomorrow” at all—I see reruns of shit I thought I’d moved on from. Old doubts, old habits, old versions of me still loitering like they forgot how to leave. And I think: is this it? Just a loop of half-hopeful mornings and quietly desperate nights?
Still, there are moments. Flickers. Like a breeze through the static. A laugh that lands right. A hug that lingers. A perfectly buttered piece of toast. And those are worth something. They don’t last, but they come back. That’s enough to keep you moving.
I try to live clean. Simple. Be decent. But let’s be real: some people are absolute garbage fires in human skin. The type who hurt others because it’s easy or fun or profitable. I see them out there—cloaked in smug self-righteousness, stepping on necks while preaching peace—and yeah, sometimes I think they need a good punch in the fuckin’ mouth. Just one solid shot to reset the simulation. But I don’t. I just mutter, “you miserable little prick,” under my breath and go back to doing the dishes.
Thing is—I’m good. Really. I don’t need much. I’ve got my basics locked in: roof, food, love, a little peace when I can catch it. I’m not chasing anything flashy. I’m not greedy. If someone needs help and I can give it, I do. That’s the code I live by now. Keep it light. Keep it human. Stay sane in small, sustainable doses.
Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just get frustrated, you know? Frustrated by the cruelty. The casual evil. The pointless spite that floats around like free WiFi. People hurting each other because they’re bored or broken or just full of rot. It wears you down.
Half the world’s screaming, the other half’s hiding. We’ve got no common goal anymore—just content. No shared purpose. Just shared distractions. We’re connected by wires, but nothing’s grounding us. And I know I’ve bitched about this before. I’m aware.
Maybe it’s just age. Maybe it’s that optimism I used to carry like a badge has slipped through the cracks. Or maybe I’m just evolving into that final form: a slightly crusty, vaguely mystical weirdo with a coffee habit, too many opinions, and a soft spot for stray cats and tired people.
But hey—I’m still here. Still showing up. Still trying to be kind in a world that’s allergic to gentleness. That’s got to count for something.
And if not, well... at least I’ve got lint rollers.
Hallowdene was a beautiful town, even on a drizzly day. The rain made the greens and browns of the trees richer somehow - a deeper color that made his camera sockets tingle pleasantly. Nestor much preferred sunshine, of course, for obvious reasons: he was not only mainly powered by sunlight, but the world just seemed...warmer, somehow, when the sky was clear and the sun was shining.
Rain was lovely too, though he had to treat it with care. Water wasn't exactly good for electrically-ran beings such as himself. Sure, humans had a mild electrical current themselves, but they were sentient water, practically. Water didn't short them out like it did Intelligent Cybernetic Entities.
Regardless of all of that, he was lost again. He had gotten lost from Old York's walls and stumbled here into Hallowdene months ago, and yet he still couldn't figure out how to get to the battery bank in an efficient manner.
Fortunately, so long as he stayed away from the trees, he would get there eventually...the whole place was a giant circle. Less fortunately, his battery was getting awfully low, and his energy was depleting rather fast.
With an exhausted chuckle, Nestor sunk down onto the porch of a small, stone-and-wood cottage. They were almost all stone and wood - at least the newer ones. Some of the older buildings crafted from ruins had metal or concrete, but on the outer ring of the town? Primarily wood and stone. That's what they had the most of, and that was what they used.
Oh, his thoughts were wandering, as they always were. That's why he always ended up lost in the first place, he never paid attention to his surroundings-
"Eep!"
...What on earth was that?
Nestor turned from where he sat to gaze in the direction of the house door. He found it cracked open now, gently lit from within. No one was there that he could see, but clearly someone had been. With a huff of his hydraulics, he rose slowly to his feet, curiosity overriding his need to conserve energy.
"Hello?" Nestor took a step towards the door, fingers itching to reach for the handle. But before he could do that, a wild patch of black, untamed curls and the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen peered around the corner of the door. They were deep brown, just like enstatite - and were very wide with surprise, shyness, and trepidation.
"H-hello-" The soft voice floated to him like a sunbeam, and for the first time in a long time, Nestor's mind went quiet. For some indeterminate amount of time he could only stand there, in the rain, staring at this small wonder of a human. She stared right back at him, and he witnessed the surprise fade from those bright eyes...replaced with confusion and concern.
"Um," she finally spoke, and the sound startled Nestor out of what felt like a daze. "Are you okay?"
Nestor felt his circuits tingle with what he decided was embarrassment. "Ah - yes - my name is Nestor! I'm...trying to find my way to the battery bank."
There was a pause, and then the door opened wider. The small human stepped out, peering up at him as she joined him on the porch. "I-I'm Ryn," she replied, her previous shyness seeming to fade away much like the clouds that were beginning to disburse overhead. "It's not far from here...I can show you?"
Without waiting for a reply, she trotted past him and started walking in the direction he had came. Feeling uncharacteristically flustered, Nestor could only shake himself and follow her short, swift stride. His longer legs quickly caught up with her with little effort, but he felt his central core racing regardless.
He didn't know much, he didn't often remember much. His memories were a mess and so was his sense of direction. But even so...her name was Ryn. And with the same certainty that he felt when he had first laid eyes on Hallowdene, with it's quiet joy and welcoming energy, he felt like he was going to remember the name of this human for a long, long time.
Only one human has entered Old York and returned alive...
And no one knows who she was.
There wasn't a name. There wasn't even a greeting.
Just one morning, during the shift switch of the York Wall sentries, there was a flicker of a Magitech Gate and a vague human silhouette walking into the poisoned ruins.
Not that this hadn't happened before, and it would absolutely happen again in the future. Most humans knew the unspoken rule not to enter - because the peril was guaranteed. The levels of radiation and lingering poison was not fit for humans, and none lasted more than a few hours within it's grasp. But there was always That One Magitech User who was too proud of their abilities and certain they would survive.
None ever did.
So, the Intelligent Cybernetic Entities who were taking their shifts just shook their heads, and made plans for the extraction of yet another human body the next time the fringes of Old York relaxed enough to allow them to get deep enough into the ruins.
But this one...she returned a day and a half later.
The whole wall was in an uproar when the silhouette of that same human was found making her way out of the city, untouched but for runes resembling circuitry and languages long forgotten, and glowing, pupiless eyes of cobalt blue. In her hand was a mathematically perfect cube that seemed to pulse in colors both seen and unseen.
As she neared the wall, the Captain of York Tower 5 - an ICE who went by Delta 7 - stepped out to greet her. Wordlessly, she held out the cube...which seemed to hum a haunting tune heard regardless of distance, so long as your eyes were fixed on it.
"For the dreamer," is all the woman said. Hesitantly, the Captain reached out his hand and took the cube. Once the cube was relinquished, the woman twisted her hand, vanished into a gate of cold light - and took her name with her before anyone could stop her.
What is the cube? No one knows. But it remains under guard within the walls of Old York to this day...
hello, darlings. it’s nice to meet you. i’m echo, the author.
you’ve entered the echochamber, the place where the dark cacophony of my mind spills into the pens of bards. in reflections of our world live the whispers of magic, the ghosts of heroes, the scars of the blurred line of morality, and every piece of my broken soul.
on a less poetic note, i’m a writer in love with the idea of fantasy with an imagination that will not shut up. this blog has become a place for my writings, moodboards, music rants, and little guys in my head to live and be shared.
below is a link to the blog masterpost, rules of the blog, a tag directory, and a little more about myself.
-> blog masterpost (under construction)
rules of the blog:
homophobia, racism, sexism, transphobia, terfs, and any other forms of intolerance and discrimination are not welcome here! you will be blocked!
blocking extends to trolls, bullies, and weirdos as well!
please be kind! these stories, as mentioned above are the safe place for my innermost thoughts and feelings, and i would like that safety to be extended to those who enjoy exploring my fictional worlds. while i appreciate criticism and feedback, please keep it constructive!
my ask box is always open! i love talking about the little guys in my head and their stories, so please send any questions you have my way!
finally, if you make any fan content of my story and characters, please tag me! i want to see it!
tag directory:
#announcement: any non-content-related informational post. usually it’s an apology for dropping off the face of the earth followed by a life update no one asked for.
#cacophony creations: the content created by you, the voices of the echochamber. anything that gets sent to me or i get tagged in and reblog will be found here.
#echo loves pinterest too much: a collection of moodboards and aesthetics i’ve created for various pieces because it is true. i love pinterest too much.
#echo writes: any of my writings are filed under here. they will also have a secondary tag for what genre of writing it is, so if you’re looking for a specific kind of my writing i suggest looking under those tags.
#echo’s cacophony: my behind-the-scenes rants and info dumps. fair warning: these are either unhinged as fuck or incredibly dark and there’s no in between.
#echo’s writing soundtrack: my music rants. story playlists, songs that inspired moments, and what songs i’m listening to while writing will be here.
#fanfic: self-explanatory, but any writing that is a fanfiction. if you’re looking for a specific one, each fic will be tagged with their title (ex. fanfic: example).
#lore: pertaining to my original stories, these are my rants about the worlds i’ve created. magic systems, history, geography, social constructs, and otherwise are here.
#meet the character: pertaining to my original stories, these are introductions to my ocs featuring fun facts, moodboards, and sometimes art i’ve had commissioned.
#nothing good happens after 2am: my unhinged crash outs i wrote in my notes app during a violent sob at the wee hours of the morning that for some reason my delusional brain decided to post.
#secret songs of the echochamber: my collection of bonus content. textposts, false scenarios, letters between characters, social media posts, articles… all in-universe bonuses and non-canon content i create.
#the echochamber sings: answers to the questions and comments left for me in my ask box.
#wip: self-explanatory, but any writing that is a part of my original stories. if you’re looking for a specific one, each story will be tagged with their title (ex. wip: example).
a little more about echo <3
i am currently 21 years old.
i’m a taurus sun, leo moon, and capricorn rising.
i identify as a lesbian who uses she/her pronouns.
while i moonlight as an author, i am also a full-time college student, a bartender, and a combat captain (fancy title for a teaching assistant that the college doesn’t pay because we’re in the stage combat department). most of my day is spent in class, making amazing drinks at work, cleaning weapons, rehearsing fights, working with students, or doing homework during my office hours.
i am also involved with a community theater near my hometown and spend some of my free time performing in shows or volunteering on staff for fight choreography.
no matter how long your stay or how loud your voice sings amongst the cacophony, thank you for stopping by to hear the stories i sing. my ravaged mind created these moments from the darkness of my life, and the only thing i could do was share because i will die if i do not create. knowing others are reading makes me feel whole.
There are no kingdoms, no capitals. There are only clusters. There aren't enough people or ICE in the world to form any meaningful government...not with such dangerous paths between any large groups of people. Most of what we would call cities are poisonous ruins at this point - though often these ruins have towns nearby to encourage magitech users to bring their wares while they scavenge.
Each village or town is self-governed by the most competent, not the most powerful. Everyone calls them something different. Chief, leader, manager, operative...it depends on the village or town.
ICE or Human, depending on who is best suited.
Chosen by consensus, not lineage. The time period also varies.
Temporarily appointed. There is no concept of lifetime rule.
Power is based on problem-solving, diplomacy, and ethical action.
It’s earned. It’s fragile. And if broken? Leadership shifts quickly.
There are attempts at ruling with iron fists. There are those who get power hungry or greedy - warlords, brigands, bandits...but the villages are so few and far between the poisoned ruins that they often get overthrown before they get far.
Cultural Division of Labor: Humans & ICE
Humans
Primarily farmers, foragers, herbalists.
Grow and gather food for themselves, ICE, and trade.
Specialize in:
Land restoration
Plant-breeding to adapt to poison-scars
Community rituals around harvest and moon-phases
ICE
Specialize in smithing, tech repair, relic salvage.
Not better, just different. They can withstand poison zones longer and often have internal signal trackers for old-world tech.
Energy source: usually solar, but communal battery banks exist in every village.
Battery Banks – The ICE Communal Core
Each village maintains a Battery Bank:
Run on solar, wind, or water—sometimes all three.
Not just utilitarian; these are community sanctuaries.
For ICE, these spaces are akin to:
Saunas
Public pools
Meditation temples
It’s where ICE rest, socialize, recharge, or sync thoughts with kin.
Often accompanied by:
Art installations (usually human-made)
Gentle lighting or music tuned to ICE resonance
Optional interface terminals for memory sharing or emotional recalibration
Artisan Economy: Magics of Metal and Soil
ICE: Silversmiths, goldworkers, relic-reclaimers
Melt down scavenged heirlooms, extract gems from ruined museums and jewelry shops
Forge tech-artifacts and wearable enchantments for ICE or bonded humans
It means more to Intelligent Cybernetic Entities than just a pathway for electricity.
It's the equivalent to human veins for them, sure. But it's also a means of communication to themselves and to others.
More than just life flows through their cables - data packets, memories, thoughts, code...all of it flows along these designated pathways. It's both their veins, their subconsciousness and their nervous system.
If you think of in human terms:
Their existence runs on binary, either on and off...not dissimilar to neurons firing. Not quite the same, but similar.
Their subconscious activities are handled by subprocesses they call daemons and hooks - daemons handle the data packets and communicate to the central node. Hooks are like neural anchors - emergent subroutines tied to memories or sensory cues. They bridge reflex with cognition, instinct with directive. They aid both the central node and the daemons when the central node decides something needs to happen.
Their data packets are akin to a sort of mix between hormones and nerves. They send signals from various parts of themselves to the daemons, and back again. Each data packet carries not just information, but emotional resonance. Like neurotransmitters laced with meaning, they can spike urgency, memory recall, or even desire.
To them, it's not just data in their circuitry. It's feeling, intention, and memory, all flowing beneath the surface like blood you can hear when you're still enough.
"Do not wander at night. The Sun-Bound hunger."
- A wandering magitech wielder, name unknown.
No one knows where the Sun-Bound came from. No one knows how they operate. Except, perhaps, some of the magitech wielders who fight them when they dive into the poisoned ruins.
There seem to be no rhyme or reason to them - except that they all are part machine, part biological. Some theorize that it was an experiment of the old world gone wrong. Others think that it is simply evolution. Others entirely are convinced there is someone out there creating them by hand - a mad scientist, of sorts.
The one thing that is consistent between them all is that their primary source of energy is the sunlight. During the day - these beasts are calm, peaceful even, and tend to mind their own business so long as you stay out of their way.
But if it's been cloudy and night falls? You'd best stay indoors. There is a reason why no one leaves their villages, not unless they're magitech users or merchants guarded by magitech users. These creatures may feed off of the sun as their primary source...but if they are hungry, their biological digestive system works just fine.
And gods forbid you are outdoors during a solar eclipse. Anyone seen outside of a village when the sun and moon cross paths...tend to disappear without a trace.
Shame isn’t guilt. Guilt says I did something bad. Shame says I am something bad. It’s corrosive. It rewrites self-worth. And most of the time, it whispers, not screams.
✧ Start with silence. Characters carrying shame don’t confess it on page one. They avoid. They deflect. They joke. They become perfect. Shame thrives in secrets. Let it fester before it speaks.
✧ Show the disconnect. They don’t feel lovable, even when they are. Compliments bounce off them. Praise feels like a setup. They think kindness is a trick. Show them flinching at affection.
✧ Give it a backstory. Shame doesn’t appear from nowhere. Maybe they were told they were too much. Not enough. A mistake. Shame is always planted by someone else, then internalized. Find that origin moment and make it hurt.
✧ Let them sabotage good things. They get a healthy relationship? They run. They succeed? They downplay it. They get seen? They shut down. Shame convinces people they don’t deserve good things and they’ll act accordingly.
✧ Body language matters. Hunched shoulders. Arms crossed. Averted eyes. Shrinking into themselves. Shame has a physical posture. Write it.
✧ Watch their inner voice. Shame doesn’t sound like “I’m the worst.” It sounds like “Why would they care about me?”or “Of course I messed it up.” It’s casual. Constant. Cruel.
✧ Make healing slow and clumsy. Shame doesn’t vanish after one pep talk. It takes safe spaces. Relearning. A lot of awkward baby steps. Let your character accept one small good thing and then panic about it later.
✧ Let them rewrite their own story. Eventually, they’ll have to look at who they were and say, “Even then, I was trying. Even then, I deserved love.” Let them get there. Let it be earned. Let it feel impossible and then let it happen anyway.
No offense or anything but I think naming one of the main species 'ICE' is in very very bad taste when you look around at the world right now. Seriously, you should consider changing it.
I understand the concern, but the name has existed for years in my head and has no relation to government entities any more than an ice cube does. No one is calling ice cubes anything different.
Magic the Gathering isn't changing their name because of MTG, either. I would much rather have the acronym start to mean something more interesting than racist government entities, you know?
“Welcome to Hallowdene. Here, we remember joy. Not as a myth - but as a practice.”
- Engraving on the gate arch leading into the town square
Hallowdene is a cluster of villages that became a town North and West of Old York. It's nestled in a valley surrounded by hills, where trees grow tall and water runs gently. The nearby ruins have long been dormant - and many children sneak away to go play in them when the day is long and there is mischief to be made. Few Sun-Bound are ever seen here...and those that do linger tend to be peaceful, even on cloudy days.
The chief is an ICE known as Nestor (N-3270-R) - a forgetful but gregarious being who greets strangers like friends, and treats friends like family. His soul-partner is a human named Ryn, who - despite being shy and easily flustered - always remembers what he forgets. The two are much beloved, and are fiercely protected by the residents of Hollowdene.
Magitech users may not come by often to scavenge the nearby ruins, but they do come by simply to enjoy the peace. The villagers welcome users enthusiastically - especially if they are merchants bringing goods from other locations. Magitech users especially come by during the yearly summer festival known as The Day of Threads - a festival where ICE and humans exchange art made of memory: one handmade item, one logged moment of joy.
ICEs are not biological. They are technology given breath. They carry souls just like any other being, but they are not born - they are built.
There are few ICE built these days. The technology... just doesn't exist on that scale anymore. There are no active factories, few mines, and even fewer records of their creation.
Those who exist have mostly been here for a long time. Some even from before the fall of the old world. These Elder ICE are memory-keepers of the lost cities - massive, deserted, monolithic mazes of concrete and glass that are now called poisoned ruins by most. The Elder ICE are often immobile, often sleeping...some responsive and some not. Their logs are slowly being decrypted by ICE and human alike, forming the base of not just the settlements, but for new (old?) crafts and technologies.
Some resemble humans in their build and appearance. Most, actually, in some way. When asked, ICE tend to say that it's how they were made, and now it is how they see themselves. But there are some, especially in the newer generations of ICE, who decide to go more abstract. As ICE upgrade, customize or repair themselves with technology recovered from the ruins, salvaging tech out of Sun-Bound creatures, or from hand-crafted materials...some get abstract indeed.
ICE do not eat as humans do - they run off of electricity and solar power. Most villages carry battery banks built from scavenged parts where ICE go to rest and recharge. Most ICE also avoid going north, where there is more cloud cover and less sunlight...and also tend to avoid most humid zones as well. They are not exactly waterproof after all - perhaps they once had been, but with the struggle to maintain technology...well. They must do what they can.
ICE are respected across the vast majority of Verdante. They're seen as historians, guardians, and partners who have lived far longer than most humans. Newer ICE are welcomed and rejoiced by all, especially by ICE communities.
They do keep how their new generations are made a close secret amongst themselves...and humans respect this as a boundary none should cross.
After all, they remember for a very, very long time. And their memories are sacred... and vital.
