Have you ever been listening to Rainymood and thought, “Yeah, this is good … but it would be nice if I could customize the sound more, or if there was a little more choice.
MyNoise is a customizable sounscape looper with so many options, even within each soundscape. So say, for instance, you really love rain sounds when you write or study or relax. Anything. I know I’m a big fan of rain sounds. They have a page for that.
But say you like really high, pattery rain, and LOTS of low thunder. Here’s where MyNoise really stands out: you can customize that. See those sliders with all the cute colors? That is your equalizer. You can adjust the levels based on what you want to hear more and less of. Here’s how it looks when you want high, pattery rain and low, rumbly thunder:
But say rain isn’t really your jam. Say you want something a little more ambient, a little more background noise-y. Something with people. Well, they have customizable coffee house chatter that even has the levels listed for things like “kitchen,” “babble,” and “table”:
Or say you miss the ocean.
Or say you miss your cat.
Or say you miss your spaceship.
Or say you miss the dungeon where you and your team of scalawag adventurers used to explore and face off against, say, dragons. In the dungeon.
This site is seriously so helpful, and those are just a fraction of every kind of sounscape the site has to offer. The best part is that if you want to layer it with music (for instance, I’ll layer a playlist + rain + coffee shop if the scene I’m writing takes place in a coffee shop), you can adjust the master volume, meaning all of your layers stay at their respective volumes, just louder or quieter.
Enjoy!
OH MY GOD
Y’ALL I JUST STARTED USING THIS TODAY BUT THIS HAS BROKEN THROUGH MY WRITER’S BLOCK LIKE NOTHING ELSE.
TRY IT. USE IT. LOVE IT.
Gonna try this later. Seems like an amazing great idea
After everything that happened, it was still awkward for Bryce to be around the members of Deadeye’s timelines. Yet his sisters intimate involvement with them dictated that he had to pay visits, at least occasionally. Frogmasisn’t a holiday familiar to Bryce, but he doesn’t at all spurn the traditions, standing in the eaves of a quaint soirée as he watches the attendees chatter, laugh, and exchange gifts.
Briory stays at Deadeye’s arms; they look beautiful together. Two complementary artworks, refined in the structure of their faces, the cut of their attire. Briory holds Deadeye’s hand. And Deadeye, keeping her fingers secure between his own, is someone worthy of Briory. Bryce feels that when he looks and sees that his little sister is well and truly loved.
This party is for Deadeye. His friends, his family, his quadrants. Bryce is their by strict virtue of his kinship with Briory, and… the thought is sad. He doesn’t belong at all, despite the kind hands that have passed eggnog to his own. With every sip, he—a lightweight—grows warmer, sinking into the deceitfully velvet embrace of melancholy.
Eventually, be it a few minutes or fifty, he finds his glass of eggnog empty again. Bryce shifts through the crowd, trying to return to the kitchen. Deadeye has separated from Briory to refill his glass and her own, and they meet beneath the archway connecting the den to the kitchen. Bryce offers Deadeye a meek smile, hoping to walk past him, but that’s not a comfort he’ll be afforded.
“Oh! You guys are under the mistletoe,” one reveler shouts, and a few nearby turn their attention to the two men. Bryce looks up, and sure enough, there is a sprig of greenery hung from the arch.
Embarrassed—should he be embarrassed?—Bryce looks to Deadeye. “What does that mean?”
“We’re supposed to kiss,” Deadeye explains.
“Oh.” Bryce’s cheeks take on a bold cerulean flush, blue flooding his cheeks as he takes a step closer to Deadeye. He can hardly ever look at the man without thinking about what Nemænon did to him, and the thought of kissing him? His lips deserve to be nowhere near Deadeye’s, and Bryce would that the gods should strike him down right then.
But they don’t, and Bryce isn’t stopped as he tilts his head just so, pressing a gentle peck to Deadeye’s lips. And then, embarrassed, pulls away with a quiet ‘excuse me’. Shoulders around his ears and eyes anxiously on his feet, he scurries away to the kitchen, pouring himself another eggnog.
Briory, waiting for her mate, grins when he returns. She takes her glass from his hand. Then she kisses him, a teasing reclamation. “Mm, was he as good as me?”
