#best tinnitus sound

[justhereforthesherlock]

Showing some love for a website that deserves to be more widely known. MyNoise has been good to me for YEARS. Free for limited use, pay $10 (or more if you want) for full use forever. This guy does his own high-quality recording on location and each of hundreds of soundscapes has sliders to tweak to your liking, plus you can layer them, save settings, etc. The phone app is also awesome.

Good for studying, sleeping, tinnitus, writing/art inspo, you have no idea how much good stuff there is on this site.

I post now b/c this creator has been holding out against the awfulization of the internet by keeping costs low and resisting commercialization. Please check it out, use it, contribute if you can/want to, and reblog/share this post!

[lorenzlund]

In Hannovers Straßenbild fehlen seit Tagen überdeutlich und für jeden gut herauserkennbar die über 40-jährigen unter den Männern zuhauf schon auch auf den Bürgersteigen nahezu überall und in wirklich allen Vierteln, bei frühmorgendlichen Spaziergängen erneut von mir gemachten, so wie ich einer auch bin (Mit selber schon 61)!

Frauen überwiegen dabei klar!

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[inkskinned]

the car broke down by the denny's where you used to work and therefore could never return to. i am trying to pick out the satisfying parts of my life, one-by-one, like i am 12 and in a frog dissection. everything in my life all viscera and formaldehyde. if i can sort the good things from the bad things, i will have a nice clean pile.

i call you and make it sound like i am happy and hangin' in there! when really i am kicking a rock and i am outside without a jacket and i am so in love with you it makes the little bones in my ear shake. someone called my tinnitus an angel choir. i like that it means i carry the echo of every concert.

this isn't the right setting for love. this is a roadside, and a denny's, and i am nauseous and ashamed i never escaped the town where i grew up. the clouds here are this strange yellow, like spilled sour milk. "someone once told me that the orange coating on the teeth of a beaver is due to the particularly high rate of iron in their enamel," i tell you. "the beaver is the largest rodent native to north america."

your voice is crackly on the other end. i'm going into a garage soon, i might lose you.

what i should be doing is calling the tow truck and explaining that my brother's car (that i'm borrowing) (that i broke now, i guess) needs to be lifted by another, bigger, stronger car (which is love too, i guess).

i shouldn't say so much. i should wait, and let you ask about my mom, and ask if i ever got over that cold, or how it's going at work. i should let you lead the conversation, for once, so the love doesn't leak out of me into the gravel. i open my mouth anyway. "if you had to choose between being a beaver with very few trees or being a tree around a bunch of beavers, which would it be?"

i don't know. your voice always has this warm cast to it when you talk to me, but maybe i am just imagining that - i am a poet, though, so i imagine things sort of chronically. through the static, you sound like you're laughing. are you the beaver?

i know, like, logically, not to fall in love with a girl-that-is-your-best-friend. like, who would i even call if we broke up? you're my best friend, you're the person i'd want to speak to. so what if these last few months we keep sleeping over at each other's houses, calling each other for hours, sending each other poems. so what if you keep wrapping your fingers into mine. no best friends. that is the first rule. what you are supposed to do in that situation is leave the situation.

but my car broke down, so. where exactly am i going to go? the car is a very-old chevvy and also where i almost-but-not-quite kissed you after you'd raised one shoulder and looked up at me and said i don't know, i think i'm straight, but for the right person - i'd try anything. the music had been good and it had been raining and your thick eyelashes had made me feel god crawling up my throat like a spider. and i didn't kiss you, because i am a coward.

anyway on the chevy the whole exhaust pipe fell out, and is now scraping on the ground like one silver finger stroking the back of the highway. recently we were watching netflix in my bed and you pushed my hair back from my face like you were making the slowest, most desperate prayer, and then your boyfriend called. i remember us both jumping. i couldn't look at you in the eyes for like a week after. i kept feeling the heat of your fingerprint; computer science, you'd unlocked something dark in me.

google says the closest tow (joe's pick up) is 50 minutes away and also closed permanently. so that's not great. you live in another state and i should be calling my insurance company. i should be calling anybody else. this is not helping. i need an uber. i need to get moving. instead i say: "i need three words for a poem."

yesterday i said love you, goodnight after our 2 hour call like always and then you just, like. paused. all i could hear was your breathing. and then you'd said what a pretty three-word poem. i love you too, sweet thing. the words made my tinnitus act up again, and i must have some kind of synesthesia, because the sound travelled into my mind until it became the shape wedding rings.

orange, you say. the static is now chewing through most of your words and i only catch - borrowing the chevy -

the call dies. i have 12% battery. i never get the 3rd word, but i know you're still going to get a poem from me. actually this rest stop is kind of pretty, and so is the exhaust pipe, and so is joe's pick up, and so are the clouds. the light here is the color of a glue trap. before you worked at the denny's, we used to get milkshakes every wednesday and called it a friend date. you said you'd wanted to work there because it reminded you of me.

the sign's gone dim. the letters now spell out deny. and isn't that something.

[jjsgirly]

please, baby? promise i'll play nice … needy!bsf!jj maybank ! 18+, mdni. ༄.°

"baby, pleaseeee?" the blond above you whined as you stared at your phone, his large frame tucked between your legs that were spread to accommodate his size.

you lifted your gaze from your phone screen to the ocean-colored eyes of your best friend, narrowing them as you saw his bottom lip jutted out into a small pout, puppy-eyed and looking down at you with a pleading expression.

"no, jay. 'm too sore." you stated, going back to your phone, and heard an audible whine push past his lips along with an incoherent mumble that you were sure was protesting your answer.

jj had a tendency to get... rough. very rough. like a dog. he deemed it "cuteness aggression, but, like, for your pussy," and boy, was it fucking aggressive. he didn't mean to be so hard and mean with the way he bullied his cock into your soft, puffy pussy, watching as it swallowed every inch of it and the way it weeped around him, but he couldn't exactly help himself, either.

"please, ma? pretty please? 'm dyin' here. want you s'bad, please?" he continued in his pursuit to make you fold and give him what he wanted, and you knew he wanted it bad; you could feel his ache pressing against the thin fabric of your shorts, right up against your heat.

you shook your head, clearly not relenting, scrolling through your phone nonchalantly as if jj wasn't even there, which only made him pout and whine more, beginning to rut his hips forward like a dog in heat, and you still remained deadpan.

"please, please, please—god—please? need it, ma, want your pussy s'bad. so, so, so fuckin' bad," he groaned out, bringing his body down and leaned in closer, his large hands stabilizing himself by grasping your thighs, his fingers pushing into your skin, bucking his hips a bit faster against your clothed cunt, drawing out whines from the back of his throat. "need her, baby. please, please? pretty please?"

it was getting a lot harder to act like nothing was happening as you felt your panties becoming dampened with your slick and jj's incessant begging ringing in your ears like tinnitus. you tried, though, to pretend as if it wasn't affecting you, as you had already given him your answer: a big, fat, firm no.

he was getting a bit impatient, frustrated with the fact you weren't letting up and giving him what he so desperately needed. couldn't you see how badly he needed you wrapped around his cock? feel how badly he needed you clenching around him and pulling load after load from him? god, he needed it like he needed air. to say he was desperate was an understatement, but he didn't like how it sounded, as he often got teased by both jb and pope for being a clingy dog around you, so throwing desperate in front of it made him feel a bit pathetic—needy worked just fine though. he was needy for you.

"c'mon, baby doll. please? please, baby? promise i'll play nice. won't be mean. i'll be nice n' gentle; treat you like a princess. please, please, please?" he countered this time, leaning in even closer and lowering your phone out of the way with his chin, now looking at you in the eyes, humping you like it'd be the last time he got to, pouting still.

as you gazed up at him, feeling the way his cock nudged against your warm, drippy pussy through the fabric of your shorts, barely separating the two of you, the longer it went on, the more you started to falter. you put your phone aside and leaned back against your pillows more, your once soured expression twisting with a hint of pleasure, and jj noticed, a smirk edging at his lips.

"i'll be good, promise. cross my heart n' hope to die, princess. just need to feel you squeezin' the fuckin' life out of my dick with this pretty pussy of yours. she wants me too, don't she?" he crooned wantonly, his gaze dropping to between your legs, a wet spot having been formed on your shorts, soaking a bit into his cargos, and he sucked in a sharp breath, followed by a low chuckle.

"yeah she fuckin' does. so, please?" he asked again, for the final time, and peered up through his blond bangs, directly into your eyes with his signature smirk, and you felt all of your resolve crumble away, rolling your eyes and groaning quietly, yielding.

as soon as that "fine" left those sweet lips of yours, jj wasted no time in shedding both of your guys' clothes and plunging his cock into your soaked cunt, lolling his head back like he had just seen god and groaned loudly.

and no. he didn't play nice.

© jjsgirly on tumblr ! do not copy or transfer my work onto any other platform, please.

likes, comments, & reblogs are very much appreciated. ♡

[writingmochi]

! "10 on repeat shuffles" tag game !

rules: shuffle your on repeat playlist and post the first 10 tracks, then tag 10 people

tagged by: no one but started by @galaxycunt when i saw the post on my dashboard. thank u hellsite algorithm~

will include a little excerpt of explanation on why it could be in my on-repeat playlist + not include an artist repeat

obstacles - syd matters (last song from the sub homesick alien playlist + notable time wave vibe songs cause it is also in the life is strange game)

tinnitus - txt (part of my audiophiles' eargasm playlist where i wanna hear a godly-produced song with my best headphones)

duvet - boa (i think it has been in my on repeat since 2021 when i watched serial experiments lain and has never left. a notable song for terra incognita)

this is why - paramore (just heard the whole album last month and every time i listen to this song, i'm in a state of catharsis cause I CAN RELATE)

tom sawyer - rush (having been particularly obsessed with the iron claw movie, this song is stuck in my head and i swear i love prog rock even more + i'll be learning the bass line of this song hopefully)

euphor - novo amor, lowswimmer (heard this for the novo amor concert i went to last week (even though they didn't perform it). part of the beomgyu time wave's spinoff playlist)

solsbury hill - peter gabriel (another addition to my audiophiles' eargasm playlist cause it sounds so odd that it's so interesting)

weird fishes/arpeggi - radiohead (the song that embodies me as a person + have been putting it on repeat during my bday because it's the day that i just embraced my self of being a pisces which includes hearing this playing in the car and a solo date to the aquarium)

follow you follow me - genesis (the song that reminds me of soobin idk why. it's also in my sub homesick alien playlist)

do hot girls like chords? - knower (heard this from micthesnare and it's my introduction to indietronica and jazz-funk (cause i've already know acid jazz from jamiroquai)

tagging: (based on the last 10 moots that show up on my dash) @boba-beom @stardragongalaxy @lovejoshua @txt-yaomi @euphor1a @junniieesbby @itz-yerin @pyeonghongrie @dido-of-the-endless @robin-obsessed and anyone who wants to join! (new songs to listen to yes pls)

[revalition]

OCT 23 - PERCEPTION See, hear and smell everything. Let no detail go unnoticed.

perception my beloveds. my lovelies. my darlings. this one is pretty different from what we usually do, idk I wasn't feeling super excited about drawing their design multiple times so just let Conceptualization do whatever they wanted... :)

one thing that was important to me was they don't! get to have hands! because there is no Perception (Touch)! That is Interfacing's job, Interfacing is the fingers (and H/E coordination is the rest of the hands I guess)

anyway lots of quotes and rambly thoughts under the cut!

Okay I have to share this quote from a ted talk we (primarily Logic) watched:

"Imagine being a brain. You're locked inside a bony skull, trying to figure what's out there in the world. There's no lights inside the skull. There's no sound either. All you've got to go on is streams of electrical impulses which are only indirectly related to things in the world, whatever they may be. So perception -- figuring out what's there -- has to be a process of informed guesswork in which the brain combines these sensory signals with its prior expectations or beliefs about the way the world is to form its best guess of what caused those signals. The brain doesn't hear sound or see light. What we perceive is its best guess of what's out there in the world." - Anil Seth

and I was like oughhh this really makes me reconsider how I see Perception's role. There's other evidence that Perception's existence is more "in" the brain than many of the other skills... like, the physical brain, not the mind. Perception (Smell) even directly communicates with the Limbic System, who refers to them as the olfactory system. I touched on it a bit in my electrochemistry post but the olfactory system and limbic system share pathways in the brain which might be why those two are more connected. Of note -- the olfactory system is *only* smell, not any of the other senses.

limbic system even acknowledges it's unhealthy of perception to linger on the apricot smell so much. which is true -- you can even get the thought "Apricot Chewing Gum Scented One" which gives +2 to Perception upon completion.

It also raises the question of if perception observes all the senses and simply labels for you which one they are using to make the observation, or if each of the 5 senses is independent. bet you can't guess what our headcanon is on that :) (subsystem perception and drama my most beloveds)

is this making any sense?? are you seeing my vision here

anyway look how silly they are now <333

thank you perception (sight) it's a trivial check but I like that you could still fail it and just... not be able to see what the lieutenant is showing you

on the same vein I remember something from a while ago where someone had 0 perception and couldn't interact with any doors? My first playthrough I had 1 motorics and I feel like I remember putting something on that dropped my perception to 0 and I couldn't get into my room at the whirling... but I could be completely misremembering both these things. If this rings a bell please tell us haha

perception in the dream :(((

perception (smell)'s comment here is so funny to me. they are *so* excited to sneeze

your nose denying rhetoric's claims to smelling communism never stops being hilarious. it did *not* tell you that and it is not taking responsibility!

WHY is this perception (hearing) ????

nooo detective hyperopia go get reading glasses. Also harry can go find the prescription lenses and put them on and perception is like no! -1 perception! nausea-inducing hell glasses! which -- fair, they're the wrong prescription and probably for nearsightedness. but harry probably is like what do you waaant

yes yes I love this one

hghh perception fail nooo

does our harry have tinnitus? :(

thank you for the clarification on the speaker quantity

they get so excited when they get to smell something!!

perc (sight) calling you sir?

they like the well laid pallet <3

🥺

hggh perc (smell) is so funny

this whole thing, of you sniffing your nasty toilet ledger, is *so* funny. "Quelle fuckin' surprise" lives in my head and has been integrated into our vocabulary

a few more for the alternate dialogue choices!

Love this one... it's so cool.

super trustworthy perc (hearing) over here

rare wonderful perc (taste) !!!

thank you for the insight. this is a medium difficulty check btw

ty perception (sight) ily

description of how evrart's container smells if you were wondering...

though the perception passive fails are also always delightful --

PERCEPTION (SMELL) - ... an office? Something officious? Is that a word? There's a bit of dust in the air that may be triggering your allergies.

that is a word, but that's not what it means love. Authority is officious, not the shipping container

ough this one is such a cool quote. and it upsets you.

I just suffered volition damage from another perception quote (not included here) dammit. this game. Ily perception but also why you gotta perceive so much

love this one. love that perc (sight) is able to read the headline on a scrap of newspaper drifting by (legendary difficulty check)

lastly including this one... one of only two difficulty 20 passives in the game. The electrochemistry check is difficulty 14 -- he can pick up on it long before your nose has a chance to. the smell will haunt you forever.

there are also a few instances of Perception having dialogue without the sense being specified. I picked through my DE screenshots but didn't have any instances so I'm unsure if it's a fayde quirk or not. I feel like I remember seeing it happen in game but... not certain. It is interesting though, might happen when you're using multiple senses at once. Also seems to happen in instances where the touch sense would usually come in (there is no perception (touch)).

I assumed for ages that perception was the 5 senses, so realizing there's only sight, hearing, smell and taste was surprising. Interfacing takes over the touch aspect pretty much entirely. And the inland is your 6th sense ofc <3

also our Logic is the neuroscience nerd so if our amateur insights are wrong go ahead and call him out :)

Ok! that's it for perception!! not gonna finish skilltober by end of october but that's okay, it'll trail into early november a little

[thearunadragon]

Elven senses must have been so overwhelming.

After the Agaetí Blödhren, Eragon possessed elven senses. I theorize (and headcannon) that this was immensely overwhelming. Suddenly, without warning, he could count every hair on a leaf with a brush of his skin.

By extension, he could probably sense every fiber of the tunics he wore, the dust in the air, and the smallest of things against his skin. Being sweaty or dirty probably felt 100x worse after that, almost unbearably.

The elves, who have lived with this their whole lives, can probably handle it very well, but Eragon has a difficult time adjusting. There is major sensory overload, especially in the beginning, and it never fully goes away. It’s just the way his brain works. He doesn’t like it.

And it’s not just touch. He can smell things incredibly well—good or bad, which probably made being in the caves of Helgrind fighting the Ra’zac something legitimately nauseating to handle. It would have smelled awful just to Roran, and Eragon gets super senses.

And he can hear immensely well also. We see multiple scenes where he’s forced to cover his ears due to his heightened senses hurting him, but I imagine certain sounds, especially high pitched ones, would have been physically painful to hear. He can probably hear a bat’s echolocation, or the peals of a bell long after it is inaudible to others—just the high-pitched ringing. This probably would also make tinnitus a hellish experience.

And what about taste? Certain things that might have been enjoyably strong in the past might be inedible. He would probably be able to detect poisons much more easily by taste though if he ever forgot to check with spells.

And then there’s sight. Though helpful in dark situations, a normal sunny day would be a lot more uncomfortable than before. It would probably leave him with headaches. I imagine he wove spells to help with the sun’s glare to help with this, but he still would have been very sensitive to it.

I imagine Arya would have caught on to his discomfort at some point, perhaps grabbing his arm or something and realizing he reacted more than he ought to, and would have questioned it, but I am not sure if she would have been able to supply a way to help. His senses would be extremely helpful in battle and for his own safety, so numbing them wouldn’t be an option. His discomfort would concern her though. Nasuada would try to be conscious of it, and Orik does his best—though he can be a little forgetful—not to be too loud when he gets riled up or anything. Roran would constantly forget, but would be good-natured and nice about it. He does tease him though for being “sensitive.”

But imagine how overwhelming that would have been. Just waking up and suddenly being able to feel every single individual thread of your blanket, hear the bugs inside the trees, smell the tea three treehouses away, and be blinding by nothing more than a lantern. He probably would have been terrified at first, or at least once his mind cleared up and he realized this wasn’t just a temporary side effect of his unconsciousness.

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - seventy-eight | sharing screens and secrets

“Hello?” Quack asked as you clicked the ‘Answer’ button on the screen.

“Can you hear me?”

“I can.”

You didn’t talk to Quack much via voice, but every time you did you thought she sounded so youthful. You were pretty sure you were around the same age, considering when she started modding for you, but she always sounded so much more cute than her business-like demeanor in texts would have you think.

“Okay, so I’ll share my screen now.”

You clicked over to what she was showing you.

“So, my friend did a bunch of digging, a little hacking, a little asking favors, and this is what she found. Well, the stuff we can legally use in court, anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess we can’t use hacked content as evidence, since hacking is illegal.”

“Mhm.” Quack pulled up a Twitch vod channel that seemed devoted to you.

“What the fuck?”

“This guy is… forget head over heels, he might just be spinning ass over tea kettle down a rabbit hole of love for you.”

There were videos with titles like ‘JGG is the best!’ ‘I’d lick JGGs boots clean if I could AND say thank you!’ ‘JGG loves me?’. 

You noticed the dates of the videos. “--Wait, is this the bottom of the page?”

“Yeah, this is all his old shit. If we scroll up, you can see here…” Quack scrolled up and stopped, her mouse hovering over the upload date of a video. “This is the day you had Morn guest the first time.”

The title was ‘JGG CHEATING ON ME???’ 

Quack clicked on it and clicked to about the halfway point of the video. The background of the video was the stream where you and Morn played together for the first time and he made you play Minecraft with him after everyone left, accompanied by a voice over by the channel owner.

“I just don’t understand-- I’ve been supporting her all this time and then she has this guy on to stream?” His voice broke as he sobbed. “I have spent so much money in her chat, she owes it to me to not invite another man on! I was lenient with Keeho, because they knew each other since they were in high school, but who the fuck is this-- this-- MorningStar? She could invite me-- or anyone else in the chat to play and she invites this man she just met! Whoring herself out for him while he simps after her like a beta cuck with no balls! She’s a--”

Quack stopped it. “I already listened to it once and it doesn’t get better.”

Your hand had been over your mouth in shock as you listened to his rant. You pulled it away. “No, uh… yeah-- I…” You trailed off.

“Are you okay?”

“...What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And he’s the one who’s been leaving all the comments?”

“Yeah, he’s been using a bot farm to do it. My friend shut it down.”

“Tell her I said thank you.”

“I will.”

You were quiet for a few moments as the words you just heard rang in your head like the tinnitus from hearing loss. “Wait… he said he’s been supporting me all this time...”

“If you’re about to ask if I know who he is, I do. Are you ready to see?”

“No, but, yeah.”

Quack clicked a link in the description of his About Me which led to some kind of affiliate link farm page you didn’t understand, then a link on that page, and another, and another, until she opened two in new tabs.

“Okay… I think I need you to take a deep breath before I show you this.”

“Is it that bad? It’s not Morn, is it?”

Quack chuckled. “No, it’s not Morn. But you’ve met the guy before.”

“What?” You whispered.

“Please take a breath.”

You did as she asked, exaggerating it so the microphone would pick it up and she could hear.

“Okay… this is who he is online.” She opened the first tab.

‘TheNicestGuy’ was the channel username that stared you in the face.

“What?” You whispered again. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“But… he’s been in my chat for forever and never said anything shitty before… has he?”

“Mmm…”

“Has he done something and you didn’t tell me?”

“Normally he engages about as much as most people. Maybe not excited as other chatters like Yuta or Tree, but now I’m thinking that he might have been doing that to mask how he really felt.”

“Wearing sheep’s clothing.”

“Basically. Ever since Morn showed up he’s been doing a lot of ‘dot dot dot’-ing, and I thought it was weird but I don’t talk to him so I wasn’t sure what it meant.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

You thought for a few moments. He never seemed weird or out of sorts at all to you. He seemed about as normal as any of your other chat members, like Namhae. 

“Are you ready for the next one?”

“Now I really am scared.”

“It’s…” Quack trailed off.

You sat in silence for a few moments.

“I’m not going to lie. It’s going to be scary.”

“Great...” you said, voice shaking.

“But I have to show you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Are you ready?”

“Just do it.”

“This is who he is offline.” She clicked the second link. It was a LinkedIn page. His profile was him smiling brightly in front of a mottled light blue background, the kind of picture a professional takes so they can use it on their social media.

You knew the face.

You knew you knew it.

It was the face of the man who had been showing up to the café for the past few months, and who chased you and San through the downtown area.

Of course you knew his face.

The stalker.

Tears pricked at your eyes as your brain spat out every time he had shown up in the café like a search engine finding every instance of a search term across the internet, and a torrent of anxiety and dread followed behind it all like a dam breaking old concrete and drowning everything in the valley below it. 

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Are you okay?”

“No… is that it?”

“No. This is his old account.”

She opened another tab and navigated to it: it was the page of the guy who took the picture outside of the café you used to work at.

“...Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god!”

“I know.”

“How are you so calm right now?! That’s my stalker! He followed me to Seoul!”

“Because when my friend sent me the CCTV footage I got a good look at him, and when she sent me this last night, I recognized him immediately. …I spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to tell you.”

You stood up from your chair and went to pace, but your head was yanked back by the headset wire. 

“Are you okay?”

“I-- I-- I just--”

“I know.”

Tears rolled hot over your cheeks. “What the fuck, Quack? What the fuck?”

“I know.”

“I just… I… I’m sorry for crying.” You fell back into your chair, your legs weak from how the information shook you. You sobbed loudly and inhaled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for crying.”

“Don’t apologize. Please don't apologize.”

“I just… I can’t believe a person who’s been following me for forever in my chat has been following me in real life! I--”

“Please, Cat, breathe.”

“I-- I can’t! I’m freaking out!”

“Can you call someone? Morn, maybe?”

“No, I can’t…”

“Why not…”

“I just can’t!”

Quack was silent as you cried.

You shoved your headset off and screamed until your lungs exhausted, and you slumped over your desk. Pulling your arms over your head, you laid like that, cheekbone pressed into the desk's hard surface and held yourself, knees pulled up as high as they could go under you. Even if Quack said something to you, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

This was the worst possible thing that could be happening: he was the weird donor, the cafe picture, the influx of comments calling you a whore, the watching you in person, the chasing you in the dark-- he was all of it. He thought you were his, was that it? He thought he could own you - should own you - just because he donated sometimes? Streaming was a tip-based job; that's like saying that the waiter owes you sex because you tipped 30%. The dates on his page showed that he'd been fixated on you for a long time, but why the sudden ramping up? Was it because you refused his donation months ago? You could never take that much money from someone, it was the kind of amount that made you owe people... was that what he wanted? Did he want  you to owe him so... so what? So he could try to convince you to do something for him? Or...to him? You felt sick all over again.

You cried until the panic subsided and you could finally breathe normally, and when the feelings of terror and horror had finally finished washing over you, it was replaced with something else.

You sat up and grabbed the tissue box nearby and blew your nose. You grabbed another one and dried your eyes. You inhaled deeply and put your headset back on.

“You still there?” You asked.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“No.” Your voice was level now. You looked at his face on your screen. “I’m so mad.”

“Mad?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were freaking out.”

“I’m done freaking out… I’m mad now.” 

You looked at the picture for a few moments, Quack not saying anything. You weren’t sure what this feeling was, anger? Vengeance? Something in you congealed into a feeling that burned through your tired bones until they were ash, and what grew back in their place was so much more disconnected to the situation and the feelings of sorrow and hurt.

You knew what it was now.

Rage.

“This guy has been disrupting my life for what? Months now? At both of my jobs?” You asked.

“Mhm.”

“He followed me through a move and chased me and my friend around downtown.”

“Yeah.”

“I just feel so mad. I’m so angry, dude.”

“Yeah… that makes sense.”

“I’m just so fucking angry.”

“...What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know… I want him to suffer, because he’s been making me suffer this whole time.”

“Understandable.”

“And like… I want to know why, you know?”

“Yeah.”

You sat in silence.

“You’ve known me for a long time, right Quack?”

“I feel like this is going somewhere... yes.”

You chuckled. “You know I’m not a bitch, right?”

“You’re one of the nicest people I know. Definitely the best boss I’ve had so far.”

“Well thank you: You’re my best employee.”

“I’m your only employee.”

“There’s other mods now.”

“Yeah, but I’m basically their manager and you’re my boss.”

“Have they been working out well?”

“They’re great.”

“Have you heard from Namhae at all?”

“No. I should probably ping him and see what’s up.”

“I hope he’s okay.”

“Yeah, same.”

You nodded, looping your fingers in your headphone cord. “But like… this guy ‘NicestGuy’-- fucking ironic name; why do men who act like shit think they’re god’s gift to the world?”

“A-men.”

“But this guy… he makes me want to be a bitch, you know? All that unhinged, surprising rage that men act like women have but really it’s only surprising to them because they weren’t listening to us the first forty times we told them to leave us alone.”

“Relatable.”

“I… I want to talk to him.”

A beat of silence as she processed what you said. “Cat, are you sure about that?”

You thought, your eyes boring into the pixels that made up his picture on your screen. He looked like a perfectly normal guy, the kind of shmo you’d walk past down the street and never have a second thought about. And yet, all that surface-level normalcy was hiding something so terrible.

“Yeah. I need to ask why. And I want a confession out of him that he did it. I want something the police can’t ignore.”

“You want him to confess?”

“Yeah. I want him to fucking say he did all this and I want to record him and I want him to go to prison.”

She was silent for a moment. 

“Quack?”

“Yeah-- sorry. I was wondering if it would even be possible.”

“Do you think it is?”

“Yeah, I think it might be.”

You nodded, not that she could see.

“I'll tell you what: I’ll talk to my White Hat friend about it, and I’ll see if she has any advice, like, legally.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Oh and, don’t tell Morn about this at all.”

“Why not?”

“He might freak out.”

“Shouldn’t he? The guy was stalking you. What if he wants to help?”

“I have some other friends that can help.”

She sighed. “If you say so.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you know what she says.”

“Thanks. And Quack?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad we met all those years ago. You’re not just an invaluable employee, you're a really great friend as well.”

Quack chuckled. “You better stop that or I’ll ask for a raise.”

You laughed. “You’re actually overdue for a raise, I think.”

She laughed again. “We can talk about it when all this is over.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

She ended the call.

You stared at the picture of your stalker. ‘Seo Byungchul,’ his page said. You looked at the smile on his face and wondered when he took the picture. Was it before he was stalking you? It had to be after he started watching your stream, by the age he appeared to be and how long you could remember him being in your chat. You wondered what he was thinking about when he took the picture. You wondered if he thought he was a good person. You wondered if he went to work every day, safe in the knowledge that none of his coworkers knew he was stalking a streamer both on the internet and in real life. You wondered if he stalked anyone else.

Hey Nero,

(I’m not sure if I should call you Nero or not anymore lol)

I’m just letting you know that I’ll be sort of unavailable outside of streaming for a bit. I have some irl shit I need to take care of and it might get a little rocky for everything outside of streaming. 

I’ll definitely let you know when I’m available to edit again though.

See ya round,

Cat

  previous | main cast | masterlist | next

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🧋

@rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @dinossaurz​​ • @conwunder​ • @tinyelfperson​ • 

[14th-century-verona-queer]

SOME BACKGROUND INFO:

Heacannon that one day, somehow (don’t ask me how okay its late im running on no brain cells) a speaker in the apartment starts BLARING music

And nobody knows where it came from or how it started but what they DO know is that the speaker is blasting “While You Were Sleeping” by Laufey at full volume. On loop. For 10 or more minutes. But its so loud that you can’t really make out the lyrics that well (so it’s basically just the instrumental and the melody that laufey’s singing without any distinct words ig)

ON TO THE STORY:

“What the FUCK is that noise?? It’s been playing for the past 10 minutes, which one of you idiots put it on?”, Al says irritably.

Wade, being the himbo that he is, (hey! I am not a himbo, thank you very much!) yes you are Wade, the whole fandom agrees, now SHUSH IM TELLING A STORY (my bad) YES YOUR BAD NOW SHH

says, “How do we know YOU didn’t put it on, hmm Al?

Al shuffles over and whacks him upside the head, “I’M BLIND, MOTHERFUCKER. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT? I DON’T EVEN OWN A GOD DAMN PHONE.”

While..all that..is going on, Logan (who had just woken up from an alcohol-induced nap) stalks into the kitchen wearing a pair of Wade’s hot pink Hello Kitty pajamas, with his eyes reduced to slits (cause yk, hangover and stuff ig?) is like

“what the hell are you guys screaming about and what the fuck is that noi-“

And then he cuts off because Wade and Al just very slowly, very carefully, turn in his direction and stare at him (al kinda just turns in his general direction)

“What the fuck are you guys looking-?”

“I can’t see, honey”

“sorry Althea, facing my general direction, for?”

“..is that my phone, peanut?”

“….yes…what about it, bub” and Logan, bless his oblivious soul, crosses his arms and scrunches his nose up, confused.

“Is that my phone, open to SPOTIFY, CURRENTLY PLAYING THE SONG THAT HAS BEEN BLARING ON LOOP FOR THE PAST 10 FUCKING MINUTES? I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU GOT THE PASSWORD TO MY PHONE, BUT THAT IS A QUESTION FOR ANOTHER DAY CAN YOU PLEASE TURN THAT FUCKING THING OFF ITS GIVING ME TINNITUS.”

and Logan, now mostly awake, slowly pauses the song, and just stares at Wade, waiting for a reaction

“Uh…yes. This is your phone. And what about it?”

”Honey badger..did you put that song on..? See I could be wrong, (even though I never am *logan snorts* HEY!) and I couldn’t hear much, but it sounded a bit too classical and was a bit too jazz pop for the big bad Wolverine to listen to. But now I’m curious sooooo can I see? Pleeeease?”

And Logan, being down bad obviously reluctantly gives it to him cause who is he to not please Wade when he’s begging?? He can’t just NOT when Wade looks so pretty and earnest and is genuinely curious and he knows he won’t make fun of Logan no matter what and he’s pretty and HE’S JUST REALLY PRETTY WE GET IT SHUT UP NOW INNER MONOLOGUE.

Wade gently takes the phone from him and knits his, what would be eyebrows, together

“While you were sleeping?? Kitten (Logan almost chokes at that btw) are you stalking someone? Why didn’t you tell me I could’ve helped!” Wade jokes “Okay but actually, who’s Laufey?”

Logan’s eyes widen and his entire face turns red, not from a blush but from anger. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW WHO LAUFEY IS SHE’S AN AMAZING ARTIST AND ACTUALLY TALENTED HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW HER?? I’ve been alive for 200 years, bub, but she’s one of the best artists I’ve ever listened to in my god damn life! How DARE you insult her by not even knowing who she is.”

Wade, who was not paying attention, (Yes i was!) don’t lie to yourself Wade you literally weren’t.

I JUST wrote that you weren’t paying attention, now FOLLOW THE SCRIPT OMG (okay okay but keep going youre making the readers wait too damn long) SHUT YOUR YAP I KNOW ALREADY OH MY FUCKING GOD.

Anyways, Wade was looking at the lyrics instead of paying attention to Logan’s passionate rant (ooh I wish he was passionate with me) Wade actually shut up (okay sorry) you SHOULD BE.

“I'm dancing down streets, smiling to strangers Idiotic things?? I trace it all back, three-thirty AM, that night, something turned in my heart While you were sleeping, I fell in love??” He says confusedly

“Who’d you fall in love with, hmm Peanut?”

To be continued..

Thank you so much for reading!

This is pretty much the first little story that I’ve ever written, so apologies for anything that doesn’t make sense

Yea I’m splitting this into multiple parts because I’m actually kind of considering making this a small little story?

Not quite sure yet! (You better!! I wanna get to the good stuff! Like where Logan ***** while he *** and *****) Wade there will be NO smut in this story PLEASE do not get ahead of yourself. (Oh c’mon!) Sorry dude I’m ace I (personally) do not know how to write any kind of convincing smut, nor do I want to.

(Sorry to any readers who were hoping for that kind of content!)

I have no idea how it went from me just yapping to like actual story jargon, but I am quite aware that it’s weird and will be updating later! (If anyone wants a part 2 ofc)

If you all want a part 2 I’ll make it more “story-like” and won’t have it start off however the fuck it started off this time.

Thank you so much for all your love and support! It means the world

Sorry for the cliffhanger btw loves (not rlly hehe)

-Cori

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

I just found out that one of my favorite creators from Poland (who creates animations and shitposts) struggles with tinnitus and every sound causes her pain…

I am a person with ASD and hyperacusis (And I have tinnitus in my left ear…), so it hit me even harder because even in my case it is not that serious, this person from YouTube lives in torture and you know that because of this it won't work out (She wrote on Twitter that she wants euthanasia… It's so bad)

So not only is there not much going on in my private life, there is also genocide and wars in this world (about which people prefer to remain silent), and the situation on January 1, when one of my viewers on my YT channel wrote a farewell letter, and I couldn't do anything about it and it's possible that this person is not among the living), then there's this…

I just can't describe what I feel…

Now that I have your attention:

[sparklychaosandotherthings]

MORE headcanons for Jason Todd/red hood, that are true cause I say they are;

- he sleeps like a board, like a vampire in a coffin. People have stumbled across Jason sleeping and gotten freaked out from how still he is. (“You DIED once Jason, u cannot be mad at me for being worried!”) And he will sleep absolutely anywhere SO FAST.

- he used to be a lil insecure about his body type and fighting style. Red hoods not as graceful and lean as the other robins. He’s built like a brick wall and yeah, he trained in acrobatics like all the others, but a good punch to the jaw works better then a cartwheel when ur 225 pounds of pure rage. (Or at least that’s what he tells himself)

- he isn’t scared of bugs per say, but he doesn’t really care for them. HOWEVER, he goes OUT OF HIS WAY to avoid stepping on them, and if he finds them in his apartment he tries to shoo them out when he can

- he sleeps with some sort of nightlight, every night, usually the city lights outside the window are enough, (and he WILL lie and say he just likes looking out at “his city”) if he doesn’t have a good view of the lights tho, he will discreetly obtain a better source of light. (“It’s just so I don’t trip over myself when I’m goin to the bathroom!!!”)

- he doesn’t really have the best vision, between the torture, the pit, head injuries and just never really saying anything when he was robin; (he was worried Batman wouldn’t let him be robin anymore if he couldn’t see perfectly) he just never bothered to get his eyes checked out. He’s not even really aware of how bad his eyesight even is, cause to him not being able to read street signs is normal. (Jason’s lived in this city forever tho, he’s got all the streets memorized, so who cares if he can’t read them)

- he suffers from headaches, not constantly and not that bad, but just an ache right between his eyes sometimes. (He has the same habit Bruce has of pinching that area between his thumb and pointer.)

- he lowkey has tinnitus. (Batman and all of the other robins do too) but Jason’s is worse cause of the constant sound of guns firing, he only recently realized and added sound - proofing to his helmet.

- he keeps tabs on all of the other robins; not just locations, abilities, and allies, but also overall mental state. He claims it’s so he can defeat them should Batman ever send one of his “little birds,” to do his job for him. (Deep down it’s so that the second he even THINKS one of the robins might be feeling abandoned he can quickly take care of them)