comorbid insomnia

I'm not a good writer just a good editor | video games & stories | I can't sleep | Blogs: Bruce Hawkins - @bigbadboybruce | Lizzie Hawkins - @elizabethhawkins | Corwin Bloodrose - @just-an-artifice | @suntwistscribbles and I's shared blog - @churchobones Avatar by @suntwistscribbles ❤️🌺

[comorbid-insomnia]

"It is my design to render it manifest that no one point in its composition is referrible either to accident or intuition — that the work proceeded, step by step, to its completion with the precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem."

~ Edgar Allan Poe, 'The Philosophy of Composition', referring to 'The Raven'

[pmamtraveller]

The Spectral Titans, by Anthony Machuca

[comorbid-insomnia]

@suntwists

[emmaklee]

Nishimoto Ryota

a piece of wood carved to fit perfectly into a zippered plastic bag

[pintsandparapets]

A scrapped illustration for Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” (1892).

[comorbid-insomnia]

@suntwists

[redlipstickresurrected]

Stasys Eidrigevičius (Lithuanian, b. 1949, Mediniškiai, Lithuania, based Warsaw, Poland) - Figur mit Drei Katzen (A Figure with Three Cats), Paintings: Gouache on black wove Paper

[viralfrog]

[plumslices]

JAR (Joel Arthur Rosenthal) sheep head hair clip

Pearl, sapphire, aluminum, silver, gold

[comorbid-insomnia]

@suntwists

[comorbid-insomnia]

Some of my favorite flower photos from my trip to Spain!

Still learning post processing. slowly.

[questions-about-blorbos]

Your Blorbo is forced into a bad choice, in a life-or-death situation. Which of these best describes their reaction?

Choose the greater good

Choose their person

Hesitate too long

Refuse to choose

Voting ended onJun 19

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[teddyrocker]

best feeling in the world is when you draw something and you’re so proud of it you have to stop and stare at it every few minutes to remind yourself of its beauty like narcissus with his reflection in the pond

[anxietyproblem]

[suntwists]

Cory and Hester Go to Vegas

I am so very happy and proud to have shared our story as part of the @daily-writing-challenge! It was likewise a pleasure to read all the great stories everyone else has shared! (I still have catching up to do myself and Greydawn wants you all to know she looks forward to reading through them all as well when she's back from her trip!)

I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to my co-writer, co-editor, pocket tank and best friend @comorbid-insomnia. Working closely with you has made me a better storyteller both technically and creatively. Thank you for your boundless support, your patience when I was down on my work, and your zeal for getting it "just right". I can't wait to see what we create together next!

PART 1: where we establish the scene and our players. PART 2: where star crossed lovers waltz across the floor. PART 3: where stakes are presented. PART 4: where old friendships finally perish. PART 5: where confessions are made. PART 6: where revenge cannot be slaked in blood. PART 7: where the whispers lead.

You can find other stories related to our characters and their world @churchobones (churchobones.tumblr.com) While a basic understanding of the Warcraft universe might be helpful, it is certainly not required.

And of course, thank you to our readers! Stay tuned for more! And now, presented without explanation, Cory and Hester Go to Vegas (if "Vegas" was just different video game titles)

[comorbid-insomnia]

💖💖💖

Thank you @suntwists

I'm so glad we're friends. You see art-- the games we've played, the stories we've read, the movies/shows we've watched-- in such a deep and incredibly admirable way. Your empathy and understanding for others is what makes you both an incredible writer and a great friend.

I'm so glad we get to share our writing and editing together. Your characters are the best characters I've ever had the pleasure of getting to know. Those troublemakers have truly inspired me to take my writing to the next level.

[churchobones]

June DWC Day 2: Disturbance || Vibrant

“Despite the grand distance, the door stood as an intimidating monolith that dwarfed me in size, as though I were still a child, wandering unchaperoned and unwelcome.

The silver plated handle twinkled enticingly within the blinding void.”

A week into her stay with Corwin Bloodrose, the waking world presented fresh horrors.

“Zelion intends to meet us at a party?  Oh, I–”

--hate parties. Dull questions, awkward answers, and no end of vicious judgment.

Hester looked down at her oversized, hooded sweater and slouched, fleece slipper boots. “I… suppose I’ll need something to wear, won’t I?”

Zelion’s haste to smuggle her out of Silvermoon hadn't left much room for formalwear.

“Not to worry!” replied her gracious host.

He promptly led her to a storage room full of family antiquities–mostly boxed and stacked and not all properly labeled, making some excuse about still moving in. He hesitated in the doorframe before leaving her to pick something from the clothing trunks and dusty armoires.

That night, she arrived in a robin’s egg chiffon dress, which flared out in layers of feather-light silk. Her boundless tracks of hair were pulled back behind her ears, pinned in place by white flowers and a forgotten joint. It was a demure, elegant look which hid how green she was about the gills.

She hated parties.

He awaited her in the Observatory in a rumpled suit, a book propped between lengthy fingers.

At the center of the Observatory was a massive dining table piled with books. At its head was the eyepiece of the telescope, whose massive tube extended out of the dome's split ceiling and dwarfed the figure sitting beside it. 

Morning in the shop had left pink goggle lines on his unshaven cheek. His feathery hair was worried on end and grease smudged the gold rim of his glasses.

On the dining table was a box with a blue bow atop, no bigger than her hand.

He didn't notice her entering, rapt as he was in his book.

For a moment, she observed his profile. 

His features each on their own would have been awkward-- a bony nose and thin mustache, for example-- but came together to make a charming ensemble. Even his scruffy appearance exuded intentionally-- there could be no doubt, he wore the identity of the eccentric inventor as a suit of armor.

She cleared her throat.

Not one thought escaped his spell-locked mind, but fortunately for her, each thought was painted upon his face.

Pale eyes tore from his book and skipped up and down the length of her dress--

Until his eyes landed upon the white flower he’d sent to her door that morning-- the daily ritual that now pinned her hair in place.

His lips curled with a boyish grin.

"I haven’t seen that dress since I was a boy--” he began, then quickly corrected. “Where are my manners? You look beautiful. Stunning, really.”

Her pink rimmed eyes fluttered down to her skirt at the compliment, where her fingers played with the layers of fabric–lifting them up before releasing them to waft down like leaves on the wind.

“Sorry–”  she smoothed her hands fastidiously down the front of her dress.  “--where are my manners? Thank you.”

An awkward silence threatened to drag, but he split it with an abrupt question--

"Can you dance?" he asked.

“Dance?” Hester blanched, white as the paper of the forgotten spliff still tucked behind her ear.

Asking his too tall wife for a turn around the dance floor was an embarrassment the Mournvalor heir always spared the pair of them.  He spoke to who he needed to while she held up the ashtray stand in the patio gardens, catching glimpses of the other lady’s twirling skirts through the windows.

“I, ah–I usually just watch…?”

"When I was young, I used to sneak a book into these things," Cory confessed with a self-aware glint in his eye, offering his hand nevertheless.

“You too?” Hester laughed, taking it hesitantly.

"Put your feet on mine," he guided, his fingertips brushing her back. She stiffened, warmth radiating off his touch.

She perched her peekaboo heels atop his scuffed shoes, her chipped gold pedicure a bright contrast against the dark leather. She felt as light and hollow-boned as a bird.

Cory smiled softly. "My mother said that girls like a man who can dance. They'll think you're romantic. And as a young man with a bit of a crush, I decided maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to learn."

The first step is always the hardest.

“Oop–!”  One hand gripped a fistful of his waistcoat at his spine, the other clapped his shoulder, tugging herself closer before she could fall.

His palm flattened reassuringly. A few inches taller than her yet, his awkward, lengthy frame proved sturdy. Up close, she felt his chest swell and the faint thunderous beat of the heart within.

“She was right…!” At least her tongue was loose when her eyes found his. “Did it work?  On your crush, that is.”

His palm served to direct her just as much as the overlapping shoes. He drew her forward as he stepped back, and led her gently round in a circle. Once her stiff body began to melt with each of his confident steps, his pace picked up with a smooth sway of hips.

"Truth be told she never knew I existed," he admitted with a hint of shame. “My imagination was always running away like that.”

Another quick step. “Keep your back straight,” he instructed, before descending into a graceful dip, chest pressed to hers. His cologne was overpowered by the smell of engine grease and scrap metal.

"Never would have worked out between us anyway--" he murmured as her hair swept the floor. “--too many papercuts.” 

Her moon-wide eyes caught his. She must have looked confused, because they snapped up straight and he finished with a grin: “She was a book character.”

A sharp inhale did little for her dizziness.  The arch of her back could pass for graceful, but the delirious little laugh that eked out of her came with an embarrassing snort.

Could her face get any pinker?

“It was the squire boy in the Hidden Staircase series for me,” she admitted.  “Oliver Ward: a scrappy squire with a kind heart. Probably for the best, too-- I doubt I could have kept up with him, papercuts or no.”

"I think you'd be surprised what you can keep up with," he murmured, holding their laced hands high above their heads.

He twirled her in a pirouette. The soft skirt flared like a blossoming flower, a flash of impossibly long legs finding their stride under his careful hand.  He was right; she was surprised when she landed the twirl balanced on her heels.

When their eyes met, she found herself holding her breath, unable to speak a word further from gently parted lips.

She tried gently to pull away. The hand on the small of her back didn't move-- if anything, it turned greedy and reluctant to let go, lingering until she could feel his heat radiating through her clothes.

Hester’s heart skipped. Her eyes flicked down to their laced hands, where her wedding ring caught the dim Observatory light.  She hastily stepped back, her gaze dropping to the points of her shoes.

Her hand slipped from his effortlessly.  Her cheeks flared as she chastised herself for the wildly inappropriate, wicked thoughts–worse still that hers were the only ones to admonish.

It wasn’t fair!

“Cory–” she began.  “There’s something that has been bothering me since I arrived… not that you haven’t been a marvelous host, but–”

She fidgeted with her ring.

“By the Light, this is probably going to sound crazy…” she mumbled more to herself than to him before blurting out.  “Why can’t I read your mind?”

He tipped his head, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “So the rumors are true?” he confirmed, skepticism in the gentle arch of his brow. “You’re clairvoyant?”

“Usually,” she replied with a wry smile.  “Its more a curse than a blessing, I find, but it was excellent for police work,” she paused to consider her words, looking to him in earnest.  “I’ve never met anyone whose mind wasn’t bombarding mine with their first impressions, unspoken judgments…” It had truly been the most relaxing week of her life… nightmares aside.  “How is it possible?”

“I had to take certain precautions for my research,” he admitted, scooping up the blue box on the table. He flaunted his teeth. “I’m glad to hear that it works. If you’d been privy to my thoughts, you’d have ‘I Am Murloc’ stuck in your head too.”

“Well, you are more than a fish…” she laughed.

"Oh, don't get it started again-- ” he grinned, holding out the box for her to take. “Here, this is for you.”

“For me?” Hester’s face was a hot pink mess as she accepted the little package, wide-eyed. “Really, you shouldn’t have–”

Within the box was a brooch forged in bronze and plated by gold, nestled on a silken pillow.

“I–”

Spindly fingers brushed the surface. A bouquet of flowers at first glance-- Plaguebloom and Arthas' Tears cozied with dreamfoil, all with a backdrop of Sungrass stalks. On close inspection, however, each squared blossom spun as a cogwheel, parting like a curtain to reveal a greater detail beneath: a permanent match.

"I wasn't sure what your favorite flowers were, so I picked all of the ones that remind me of you-- and the sungrass, of course.”

It was a delicate marvel: The brooch and her softened expression both. Any uncertainty twitching in her smile melted to laughter.

“It’s remarkable!” She swept him up in a tight, fleeting embrace. “I love it–”

A dumb, pleased expression lingered on his face. “I made it as-- well, as a bit of a thank-you for your company this past week.  I might have never finished that puzzle of Lake Elrender otherwise."

Upon drawing back, she turned her attention down to the front of her dress, fussing indecisively with just where to pin it. “It reminds me of Nimblebrook Novelties, were you familiar?”

"The toy shop? I did my metalworking apprenticeship there," he grinned, and gently cupped her hand in his. He lifted a curtain of gossamer threads away from her bust, while the other hand popped open the brooch's tricky clasp. “Such clever hands, you would have never known that doddering old Nimblebrook had arthritis.”

He gently pinched the fabric of her dress, brows furrowed as he considered his task, and speared it with a needle's tip. The clasp clicked into place, just over her heart. He hesitated-- one quick glance up to meet her eyes-- then he took a step back to admire her portrait.

When their eyes met, she smiled kindly, a somber chuckle muted in her throat.  “He was always quite kind–” Not a mean thought in his jumbled head.  “My sister had his entire mechanical knight collection.  He made one especially for her.”

“I think I remember seeing her. Your sister-- Jerralynn, right? She was the one with short hair and the scar over her lip?”

“--and stubborn as the day is long, yes,” she confirmed with a wry twist of her lips, however fleeting.  “She was devastated by Nimblebrook’s passing… I imagine you must have been too.”

“I never did get to say goodbye," he admitted.

“--I’m sure he’d be proud of your work.”

“I hope so. He was like a father to me, when my father wasn't.” His eyes drifted toward the telescope, a distant look overtaking them. “His death reminded me how fragile our essence truly is. I wish I could have preserved his memory.”

A beat lapsed in silence. Cory’s eyes lingered on the ground, and his lips pursed in thought. Then, his lips curved with a grateful smile. “I’ll miss having you around here.”

“Then I’ll just have to visit again, shall I?”  Hester pinned a cheerful dimple to her cheeks with how tightly she smiled, lest she cry.  “And I’ll be sure to write often… I want to know how your Delves & Dracthyr campaign ends.”

“I look forward to it,” he said genuinely, offering his elbow for her to take.

On the other side of an unassuming door was a series of empty portal stands, each one attuned to a different location. Only the Silvermoon portal was opened, men in hose and fine jackets, women in long, sashaying dresses on the other side.

Cory adjusted a brass dial on the metal arch, squinting as the portal’s edges hummed to life. Satisfied, he hesitated before the yawning maw. Up close faint, jumbled conversations drifted through, distorted as if spoken underwater.

The confessor similarly faltered, her grip tightening at his bicep.

It’s just a few hours of your life, Hester.  The same reasoning a beleaguered father tried time and again to instill in his inconsolable youngest.  Even now she heard it in his voice and not her own.

And it was only going to get louder.

They watched as a lady curtsied to a formal man, the chain of state catching the Silvermoon glow.

Hester tipped up her chin and mimed adjusting a monocle over her eye in fastidious fashion.

“Shall we, Dame Lady Admiral Mournvalor?” he grinned.

“Surely, Sir Lieutenant Captain Bloodrose.”

@daily-writing-challenge

The scene is set! Join us tomorrow for when it all begins to unravel!

[churchobones]

With Greydawn (@comorbid-insomnia) out of the country this week, we were a little cheeky and did our own spin with a daily editing challenge!

This is a seven part series adapted from months of roleplay featuring Corwin Bloodrose and Hesterlynn Mournvalor. It begins prior to the events of Bruce's confrontation with Zelion and the removal of Kallarel's mournstone by Caelia . We hope you enjoy what we created! ~ GD & ST

MAY DWC DAY 1: GLOOM || ALLURE

White roses decorated the altar in the center of the courtyard. A dozen pews scored the grass, half-empty. Hushed conversations paused when Hesterlynn passed, bridal veil and salt obscuring her vision.

It felt like a funeral.

The reception was held in the great room of the mansion which would become her new home; an unfamiliar and cold place, devoid of laughter and gaiety.

The first to approach the honorary table were her parents.

“Light bless you both,” her mother, a hierophant of Belore’s principles, greeted with a condemning glare,  “--since this union wasn’t properly blessed in the church.”  

“Traditionally our weddings are chapel affairs,” Hesterlynn’s father quickly interjected, “but marriage means embracing new traditions. Isn’t that right, son--?”

Hester winced as though she’d been pinched. She looked to her newly wedded husband’s cold, narrowed eyes as her father cleared his throat.

“--Zelion,” he corrected.

“Yes,”  Hesterlynn found her voice, unraveling it from the lump in her throat.   “This has been–”

Sterile?  Joyless?  Loveless–

“--wonderful,” was the brazen lie she plucked from the air.

“Wonderful!” her father parroted.  “And a welcome addition to the family.”

The second to approach the honorary table was Zelion’s sister.

“Zels, darling~!”

A gaggle of fancifully dressed women made up her private court of sycophants.  She gestured with her crystal champagne flute as though it were a regal scepter, sheathed in a violently red dress that clung to every curve.

“It was a lovely ceremony,” her tone was a sweetly goading coo,  “I daresay, when the priestess said ‘you may kiss the bride’ I almost believed you liked her when you pecked her cheek!”

A wash of merrily cruel titters erupted from the ladies. A deflated hiss whizzed through Hester’s teeth.

“Mummy and daddy would be so proud.  Should make producing an heir a little easier for you,” Jasara went on, leaving little room to speak or breathe.  “Wouldn’t want to lose the Council position you put on this… charming little affair for.”

“Don’t end your sentences with a preposition,” Zelion admonished cooly even as Hester cowered.  “You sound poor.”

“Try this, Jasara,” came a chipper correction from the last to approach the honorary table, “-- wouldn't want you to lose the Council position you put on this charming little affair for-- asshole.”

Corwin Bloodrose, heir to the Bloodrose fortune and son of a diplomat of dizzying rank within the Silvermoon elite, wore a sharp tux to match his jet black hair and a baby pink bowtie. An inventor in his own right-- known for the The Bloodrose Theorem of Magical Adhesion-- the unbothered way he carried himself made him stand out among the mismatched cousins.

That and--

“I'm surprised you came,” Zelion remarked as Jasara flounced off in a huff.

He had a faint pink around his cheeks, but carried himself with dignity regardless. Sorrow shone in his pale blue eyes as he regarded her groom too long, but Hesterlynn was at a loss to whatever wine-steeped thoughts lurked behind them.

His mind was completely silent.

“I'm surprised too, but I knew how miserable you'd be. I couldn't pass up the chance to see that myself,” Cory delivered with an easy grin.

Zelion laughed quietly-- a rare sound from his porcelain throat. Hesterlynn worried the old lace of her grandmother’s wedding gown between her spidery fingers.

He came before her next.

She straightened in her seat with a cautious smile. His silent gaze drew a vexing blush to her pale cheeks. Her sungold eyes flickered upward sheepishly to meet him.

“Congratulations,” he managed, a smile hitching awkwardly at the corners of his mouth.

“...thank you?” Hester replied with a tilt of her head.

His smile turned a touch warmer, then he murmured a ‘welcome’ and left. 

For the rest of the night, Corwin Bloodrose lavished a distant Sunstylar relative with attention. She was a wide-faced, mousey woman-- much like Hesterlynn, but over a head shorter-- with dreams of a luxurious life afforded to her by a handsome bachelor. Cory left with his bowtie unfurled and his stagger steadied by the twice-removed cousin beneath his arm.

“And your father? What is he like?” she spoke as they passed, while Hesterlynn wished her stone-faced mother and doting father farewell.

"My father?" Cory replied.  A beat passed as he mulled it over.

When the truth came spilling forth from his lips, Hester squeezed her father's hand tightly.

"I can't wait until the old bat finally dies."

Nestled in the center of a red sand and sungrass valley was no ordinary estate; it was, in fact, an observatory foremost. The building's left wing was rounded and split by a telescope so massive, it seemed an eye peering into the heavens. Sin'dorei filigree lined the dome's lip, painted red against traditional cream-colored clay. The right wing seemed modest in comparison, with curved roof, seaport windows and more traditional markings of elven architecture. The path deposited her on grandiose steps, lined by latticework rails.

The reticent inventor lived alone in a remote villa, deep in the Eastern Plaguelands and away from the prying eyes of the Silvermoon elite.

A cacophony noise rose the closer she drew to the grand front door.  The Bloodrose estate must have a busy household staff, she figured, filled with gossiping busy-bodies...

Except...

Even in the Mournvalor estate, the worries of the staff were audible from the courtyard.

The staff of the Bloodrose estate sounded muffled, as though her head had been dunked under water, distant and indecipherable.

A voice slipped the noise, stronger than the rest. Even when the word was audible, she was scarcely sure she heard it-- and even then she couldn't have heard it right. It sounded distinctly as though someone begged: “... help...”

Hesterlynn froze, hand hovering over the heavy brass knocker.

Before she could process the icy fear in the pit of her stomach, the door swung open.

The world went utterly silent. For a moment, Hesterlynn lost herself in the lunacy.

Corwin's lower half may well have been made of steel. Clunky boots shaped like the hoof of a clydesdale wrapped either foot. Plate reinforced each thigh, thicker than the armor of a Horde War Machine. The belt, which swallowed up to his midsection, had a litany of tools-- a screwdriver, a flat knife, clamps, fabric cutters and a gyroscopic stabilizer chiefly among them.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was working--”

Hesterlynn blinked, her eyes sweeping back up from his shoes to his goggles. “On becoming a golem?”

She regretted it immediately, clapping a hand over her mouth… though it was more to cage a braying laugh as his toe tapped the tile, leaving a spidery crack. He grinned fiercely. “Laugh all you want, but the next Hallow’s End party I attend, my costume will be a great excuse to get out of conversations.”

After their initial exchange, he gave her a brief tour.

His home was a far cry from what had she expected when Zelion sent her away the morning after the Silvermoon guard pounded on the door with an interrogation about a missing officer on their minds.

His well-meaning, civil servant wife, had gone through old court records as a wedding present.  What had come of it: a slap-dash legal cover-up, a dead body, and the wrong magisterial eyes squarely on his work.

“You’re far too important for me to lose now. You’ll be going to stay with my--” Zelion had hesitated, the word not coming naturally to his tongue, then he decided on: “-- with someone I can trust, until I have this investigation settled.”

The mansion proved utterly empty. With no bustling household staff to attend to their needs, a creeping dread rose from her gut as she stood in the center of the dusty guest room he offered. The question begged to rise in her mind: Who had she heard?

In lieu of staff, robotic arms sat dismembered on various surfaces, capable of performing basic tasks in only thrice the time which Hester could do it herself.

Hord-e-o’s for dinner aside, she found the accommodation of the Bloodrose estate to her liking, if sterile.  The bed was soft, the white linen luxurious and the view from the window to the back garden rather charming.

As for Corwin-- he seemed to relish the occasional disruption to his work, and on more than one occasion requested she join him for board games by firelight in the study. Despite the initial, callous impression, he turned out to be quite well-mannered and engaging-- when he wanted to be-- and a bit scatterbrained and day dreamy, even when he didn't.

It was blessedly quiet.

There was one rule Cory requested she keep: across from his workshop was a plain white door never to be opened.

But that first night, when she went to sleep, she dreamt of the door and felt a curious draw.

Dreams plagued her-- dreams featuring seeping black fester leaking from every window sill and wall corner, pooling under doors and rising to her ankles, her knees… The cries for help smothered by an ominous drone brought a cold sweat to her brow. @daily-writing-challenge Join us tomorrow when Hester gets to know Cory in a more intimate setting.

[daphrona]

what the fuck are you saying. did the jailer smooth your brain out.

[daphrona]

[suntwists]

Also, why the fuck is Silvermoon allowing alliance and Arathi paladins to detain people???

[comorbid-insomnia]

Magister Umbric is an Alliance military official. Foreign troops are usually given immunity from local law enforcement under condition that they're subject to their own nation's wartime laws, and Lor'themar would not have authority in the matter.

IDK why he still has the title of Magister. Maybe it's similar to how we still call him President Nixon, even though he was impeached?

[suntwists]

Its that time again...

[yuyuuyuyuu-deactivated20230726]

i am FULLY against the sentiment that we don’t owe anybody anything. we owe people common decency. we owe people respect if it has been given to us. we owe people apologies & explanations when we hurt them. i don’t care.