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iamtheunicornprincess · 7 years

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Aight, folks. I think we can all agree on one thing: Audio gear is expensive. Unless you find it at a yard sale, sold by someone confusing a heavy duty multi-voiced monster for a kid’s toy (but hey, even a snot-covered Fisher Price xylophone from a Savers can be sampled into something beautiful), the chances of you finding a deal is going to be rare. If you are a sound person, then stories of such rarity buys will be over-told for decades to come; your audio friends will loudly resent you with a smile and ask you retell said legend again, and again. Usually, though, you’ll save up and look forward to the weekend you can finally spend together with your new, shiny, synth companion.

Lately, I find myself longing so badly for my own space. I want a home. I grew up in a family of eight with five siblings, and while my childhood reeked of copious amounts of people related to me going in my room while I was out and touching my shit, and blurting pieces of my diary over the dinner table, and picking up the other end of a landline to eavesdrop, living with roommates is different. I’ve had some INCREDIBLE roommates, and would continue to live with them if I didn’t have to leave Boston/they hadn’t moved. But, I dunno. Although I foresee a future of travels and while I’m a more “go with the wind” type of person, there is something really, really calming about not having all my shit stuffed into a 10′x10′ bedroom in the most boring section of Brooklyn (though I did have a package stolen from me yesterday [and I not-so-secretly hope said salt lamp that s/he stole falls on their foot]). My dream is to someday own a house, once the terrors of student loans have surpassed, and I want a backyard. But, most of all, I want a STUDIO. And today, I am going to leave a list of my dream gear that I currently do not own that I would love to have in my said future studio (NOTE: Many of you have probably seen pictures of me using some of these items. I am lucky enough to have worked in two recording facilities that housed them and, like a good studio person should do, I utilized them to the point where parting ways from some of them still makes me sad. However, they were not mine).

DREAM GEAR

Arturia Minibrute

Some people might kind of wonder why the Minibrute is here: It’s not super expensive for an analog synth (you could probably find it under $300 at this point). But you know what? I don't own it right now, because I had access to it for quite a while before I moved. You’ll hear a great deal of it on my upcoming record, so over the past year or so, I’ve been nonstop mixing tracks I created with it. Even though I *could* buy it right now, I am so frugal with my finances when it comes to buying anything for myself. But, anyway - the Minibrute is great. I love the Microbrute, as well, but the Minibrute has a special place in my heart because of the dirty, gritty noise channel you can add to the mix, along with a sub and three other oscillators. Pretty sweet, especially since it has MIDI, CV, and a straight 1/4″ output. Can’t go wrong. I just love the sound... Anything gritty will have my heart.

OTO Biscuit

I kind of need to just get one of these because of how rare they are. This is the best distortion/bitcrusher I’ve ever used. I love running vocals with it, I love how easily out of control-sensitive it is, and I will love lo-fi for life.

Roland Juno 106

Because, duh. This baybee is a classic. It has six voices. Despite it being fairly easy to track down, I’m well aware that the most common issue with this synth is voices dying (but you gotta remember that you’ll most likely purchase one that’s never had a voice replaced since, like, ever, and it’s from 1984). However, it’s EXPENSIVE to replace voices, and Roland does not create them anymore (it would be wishful thinking for them to, but as they don’t produce the 106s anymore...). BUT, there is someone who created a more functional voice IC replacement (check out Analogue Renaissance for more info on voice replacements. Just be wary that he will charge you for asking questions that have already be answered on his site, so read carefully). I’ve promised myself that I wouldn’t get a dog ‘till I have the time for one (duh?) AND money for any unexpected vet visits, so I’ll do the same for the Juno 106 (unless purchased with replacement voices).

ARP Odyssey 1978 MK III

VINTAGE. NOT THE REMAKE. NOT THE APP. NOT THE MINI OR FULL SIZE FROM KORG. NOT THE EBAY SELLER PRETENDING IT’S A VINTAGE WHEN IT’S A KORG. I SEE YOU. IT NEEDS TO BE THE VINTAGE MK III FROM 1978. Okay, let me explain: This synth holds a huge place in my heart. During the hardest parts of my life in late 2015 to mid 2016, I couldn’t sleep normal hours, or create. My anxiety was out of control and I had literally three full on attacks a day and I didn’t want anybody to know. So, even though I couldn’t do much to fix any of those issues at the time, I needed to do something. So, I would force myself to pour over the manual for this synth every time I felt a panic attack creeping up, and would press random keys and hit record. The old sound of it would distract me. I don’t know. I just associate this synth with comfort. Every time I was sad, I would have this synth in front of me. I’d leave my apartment at odd hours of the night to go sit with it and hope something good would be recorded out of it. So, yeah - when I buy this synth, it needs to be vintage. It’s just sentimental and if I could buy the same synth I used, I would. And, yes, I love how it gets out of tune. A whole track on Living Proof is totally in tune with the Odyssey, but out of tune with... everything else. You’ll see.

ARP 2600

Again - the original, not the TTSH clone. The first time I ever saw this synth, it did not fascinate me -- I was 19, and I was terrified. It was 2009, and I was enrolled in Michael Brigida’s class at Berklee College of Music (he was my modular synthesis & signal flow professor and he’s worked on every ARP machine ever and was one of the best teachers I have ever had). Back then, the synth was held in A59 in 150 Massachusetts Ave. The room had no windows and reeked of mildew, and on the first day of class, myself and my classmates trekked down the hall from our classroom and watched Michael calmly create different patches. I was the shortest in the class, and I was the only girl, and I was painfully shy. I wore a black fitted hoodie with spikes almost every day and I was fucking weird. Everyone in the class just seemed to understand what was going on and I just stood there, hardly able to see anything (because, well, I’m just shy of 5′3′’). Listening in awe, I felt like a total idiot. I had no idea what this modularapolis kajargen was and I was too afraid to ask for help. I clearly remember Brigida telling us to ‘not fear the synth!’ and to ‘make it fear you!', but everyone in the class just seemed at ease and I was, well, not! Fast forward four years -- I got a lot more experience in the game audio and synth hardware world, and I was hired by the department, and the more I worked there, the more I saw that, sure, some people DID just have a knack for that kind of stuff right off the bat, but a lot of times, people wore a concrete-made poker face. I had already been employed by AKAI at that point and had gotten over my insecurities a little bit. And it was ME that everyone was now asking for help, since, you know, that was my job (those days, I worked 80+ hours a week between there and AKAI). I felt a little less alienated that I was not the only person in fear of getting my ego hurt around the 2600, and I used this time to really learn it so I could help others understand it. Anyway, I’d go into work on days the facility was closed, and own it so I was more prepared to teach students it when class started back up. This synth taught me a lot about getting past insecurities, and guess what - I’m not so afraid of that synth anymore! Ha!

Yamaha CS15

This synth is so underrated and so cool. Made in 1979 for a few years onwards, it just sounds like how you think it would. Good luck finding one online that isn’t from Japan and doesn’t require a power converter. And if you find one and are feeling generous, my birthday is June 1st.

THE KLEE

Okay. I used modular eurorack systems quite a bit when I still lived in Boston. I do not own a system right now. However, The Klee. Is. A. Monster. I was immediately drawn to it because 1. it’s a sequencer and, um, I love sequencers and 2. it has green LEDs and buttons. I unapologetically love the color scheme of that thing, and it sounds fucking awesome. However, it will take up almost your entire rack case. Google it (sorry not sorry). You can build it from scratch for a little over $500 or buy it complete for a little less than $1,000.

Avalon 737sp

Coolest preamp & compressor ever. I always “got” EQs, but compressors used to confuse the crap out of me. Ratios? Math!? I wanna do MUSIC (...till you realize a music technologist is more mathematically inclined than you’d be willing to admit, ha!). However, the Avalon really helped me understand what was happening to sound while changing up parameters manually, as opposed to staring at a stock plugin in Pro Tools and visually trying to hear results, if that makes sense. I just understand tech better when hands on. Anyway, one of my favorite producers of all time, Mark Ronson, has used them in recordings and the second I learned that, bam. Look at me! I can make myself burp AND I can use compressors with my eyes closed!

Empirical Labs Distressor

Mostly because every studio I’ve worked in has them next to each other and I like the comparison. And it sounds good. I still prefer the 737 but I love this thang, too.

Moog Sub 37

SOUNDS GOOD. MY MAIN HOBBY INCLUDES GOING INTO SAM ASH AND WAITING FOR GOSPEL GROUPS TO FINISH THEIR SYNTH JAM SESH SO I CAN GO INTO THE ISOLATION ROOM AND ROCK OUT ON THIS MOOG.

Electro-Voice RE20

Just like the ‘wand chooses the wizard’ (and yes, I heard Ollivander’s voice when I wrote that), everyone will usually resonate to at least one mic that makes their non-traditional voice sound... okay. Heck, maybe it’ll even sound good! I really adore this microphone. I haven’t bought it because I have spent time in facilities over the past 4 years that have owned it everywhere I’ve went, but someday, it shall be mine. It’s mainly used in broadcasting, but, I dunno. I use it when recording my own voice singing because I just like how it makes it sound. I also like that Thom Yorke used it in a show once. Very coolio. Google ‘Radiohead RE20′ and I’m sure that basement show will pop up.

DSI Tempest

Um, coolest drum machine I’ve ever used. That thing is a beast. I love the weird sounds you can make, the sequences you can create, and I’m happy that DSI finally created a couple updates for it. Hell yizzzzzeah.

Crumar Bit-01

This synth came to my attention the other day and ohhhhhh my god, it sounds good. It’s so awesome. I played three seconds of a demo video and I said ‘gimme’.

Otari MTR12

Very cool tape machine I started to mess with at one of the studios I support. It looks like an oven. Everything just sounds better with tape.

And that is all I can think of, for now. May you all have a synth filled week.

Cheers!

x The Unicorn Princess

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1989dreamer · 7 years

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Chapter 4 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Please note: I am not a medical professional. I do basic research. If I got something wrong, don't hesitate to let me know. Thanks!

~ * ~

Derek wakes up when Stiles sets the cage on the kitchen floor before he goes back to get the supplies he bought at the pet store. As soon as Derek sees the bags of dog food, his stomach flips. On the one hand, what the vet gave him earlier was not enough and he’s hungry again. But on the other hand she used to feed him dog food when he’d been particularly misbehaving. He doesn’t think he’s done anything to piss off Stiles, but maybe not letting the deputy take pictures of him was a worthy offense of having to eat kibble.

Derek whines in discomfort, and suddenly Stiles stoops down next to him.

“I know, buddy,” he says, “but I can’t feed you on orders of the vet. I can ask him if you can have any water. I think you can but I forgot to ask. I’m sorry about that.”

Derek shrugs as best he can despite being in the shape of a wolf. Going without water is nothing new to him, and Stiles truly seems apologetic about forgetting to ask Scott before leaving the vet clinic.

He whines again, nosing at the door of the cage. He wants out, wants to follow Stiles around and explore the house. He doesn’t want to be stuck in this prison all night.

“No,” Stiles says, like that’s the end of it. He moves away, phone to his ear as he calls Scott. While he is preoccupied, Derek practices shifting back to human.

The cage is too small for him to shift fully, and it takes more energy than he has but he finds that if he concentrates hard enough he is able to maintain a human hand instead of a wolf paw. He lets it melt back to wolf and licks it.

Stiles taps the top of the cage, and Derek shoots him an unimpressed glare despite being startled. He should have heard him even with his dulled hearing.

“You can have water as long as I remember to take it away before your surgery at 10:00 tomorrow morning. Scott said you can be out of the carrier too as long as there’s nothing for you to eat. I’m thinking the bathroom would be a good place for you.”

He lugs the cage down a short hallway past a garish red couch and two closed doors before he backs into the bathroom. The first thing Derek sees is the toilet, and he stares at it, wrinkling his nose. The lid is down and it’s covered by a cushion that matches the same hideous red of the couch.

Derek whimpers to remind Stiles that he’s still in the cage. Stiles, of course, doesn’t understand him, and he moves away when his phone starts ringing.

“Stilinski.”

Derek can’t hear the person on the other side, but from Stiles’ clipped responses and the brisk way he said his name, it’s his workplace.

“Yeah, I can come in.” The look he gives Derek is sad. “No. I’m not doing anything too important. All right. I’ll be there in fifteen. Bye.”

Stiles shoves his phone in his pocket and kneels next to the cage. “So, buddy,” he says. “I’ve gotta go fill out some paperwork. Will you be okay by yourself?”

Derek huffs, nuzzling at the hand that Stiles sticks through the wire door.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Stiles opens the cage and Derek bounds out. He starts sniffing everything, starting with the toilet and Stiles’ hamper of dirty clothes. Stiles watches him amused.

“Okay, buddy, I have to go now. I’ll try to be home soon.” Stiles pats Derek’s head and leave the bathroom. He closes and locks the door behind him.

It would make Derek worry, but the door can only lock from the inside so he isn’t locked in, the world is locked out.

He waits until he hears Stiles’ vehicle pull away before he concentrates on shifting back to being fully human.

It’s a painful process that takes longer than Derek can afford, but when he’s done, he can stand up on his shaky legs. The food the vet gave him must be providing the energy he’s using now. With his even-shakier hands, Derek is able to pry up the lid to the toilet so that he can aim a stream into the bowl.

It doesn’t occur to him until he’s flushed and washed his hands that he should have pissed in a corner. Oh well. He’ll be here all night. He can do it later.

For now though, he wants to explore Stiles’ house. The door is easily unlocked and then he wanders from room to room, looking at the trinkets and artifacts of Stiles’ life.

In the room closest to the bathroom, Derek finds stacks of boxes that smell faintly of a woman’s perfume. Honestly, it feels like an un-set up shrine, and the dead-feel of it makes Derek’s skin crawl.

The next room is Stiles’ bedroom, and Derek spends some time tolling across the unmade bed, smelling Stiles’ strong, spicy scent. As humans go, it’s appealing. Derek wishes Stiles would let him sleep in here with him instead of in the bathroom.

Odds are good that he’ll have the dog bed in there with him.

First chance he gets, Derek is going to sleep on the couch—in wolf form or human.

By the time he recalls that Stiles will be home at some point this night, Derek has explored the whole house, returning to and relocking himself in the bathroom.

He would have eaten during his excursion since he’s still starving, but even an unobservant human would notice if his meager stash of microwavable Hot Pockets suddenly depleted. Especially if that human lives alone.

Instead, Derek decides to satiate his hunger with cold water.

The sink is a little tricky since neither handle is labeled and one sticks until he can exert a bit more strength than an average almost-sixteen year old would have. Eventually, though, he figures out which is the cold tap and drinks until his stomach distends from it and hurts a little bit. He can feel his intestines starting to cramp.

Maybe a hot bath would help?

It’s been almost a year since his last shower. No wonder Stiles wanted to give him a bath earlier.

Derek digs through the different bottles of soap lined up neatly on the edge of the tub. Nothing smells good enough to use, not even the mostly empty bottle of Irish Spring that Stiles obviously uses regularly.

Another cramp hits and he doubles over clutching at his roiling stomach. He imagines that deep in his bowels he can feel the worms Scott said he had bunching together and wriggling around. It hurts enough to rip a whimper from him.

Derek curls as tightly as he can, knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around his stomach. He lies on his side on the floor, crying in pain as a large mass travels through his bowels and splatters against the tiles when he can’t hold it in.

In the middle of another contraction, the bathroom door smashes open and Stiles, service weapon in hand, stares down at Derek’s naked, heaving body in horror.

“Who are you?” Stiles demands, anger and fear roughening his tone.

Derek doesn’t respond. To do so is not an option.

The last time he told someone his name, she abducted him and stole him away to the other side of the country.

Instead, stupidly, Derek begins shifting, hands turning to paws, nose lengthening into a muzzle. Fur sprouts over his body and his bones crack as they break apart and reform into something else. And through it all, his gut clenches and more mess spills out of him.

In the midst of the pain of the shift and the pain from the worms his body is expelling, Derek fails to notice Stiles lifting another weapon from his belt, aiming it at him, and pulling the trigger.

Fire burns against Derek’s skin, and he screams, completely human again. He sobs at the growing pain, tracking it to a trio of barbs stuck in his skin.

Electricity—taser—she’s back! She found him!

Derek curls tighter, crying harder from the pain and fear.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles says, soothingly, his hand coming to rest on Derek’s shoulder. At least he’s stopped the flow of electricity—even if Derek can still feel it twitching in his muscles. He’s still in pain, still cramping and shitting, but at least Stiles isn’t adding to his hurt anymore. “That’s it. Good boy.” A tiny pinprick registers, and Derek turns his head to see Stiles tossing away a used syringe.

Derek’s head swims, a heavy sensation pressing against his eyes, forcing his head back down.

He’s too disconnected, though, to be angry at Stiles’ second betrayal, but he vows to hate the man with his whole being when he’s himself again…if he survives this.

Whatever was in the syringe is making his whole body stiff and weighted down but it also makes his mind soar high, and Derek passes out between one breath and the next.

~ * ~

Stiles isn’t sure what to think. One minute he’s heading into his bathroom to check on Miguel because he can hear him whimpering in pain and the next he’s come face to face with a stranger who begins changing into another creature right before his eyes.

He paces, hands in his hair. Where is Miguel? And why did the boy, a teenager with overgrown hair and frail frame, look like he was turning into a wolf—a black wolf?

Using the toe of his boot, Stiles turns the boy onto his side. The stench of diarrhea makes Stiles grimace. It’s watery and icky and moving.

Wait, what?

Stiles leans closer, holding his breath. The crap smeared all over the boy’s lower half and the floor beneath him is definitely wriggling. Or rather, the worms in the crap are wriggling.

Stiles backs away, thinking.

“Miguel?” he whispers out loud. Predictably, the boy doesn’t respond. It fits, though, Stiles knows. The boy is in the bathroom where Stiles left Miguel. Miguel isn’t here anymore and instead the boy is.

Scott was right though, the wolf had worms. He’ll want a sample. Stiles makes a face but goes to grab one of the canning jars his dad gifted him a few Christmases back when Stiles went through a phase of preserving or pickling everything he could.

Using a disposable spoon, and double-gloved with latex-free single-use gloves, Stiles scoops some of the fecal matter into the jar, making sure to catch a few dozen worms for good measure.

Then, he bags the jar, with the lid sealed with clear packing tape, into a dozen or so t-shirt bags.

Scott will be so pleased to have this sample, Stiles thinks.

Through it all, the boy—Miguel really—still sleeps on. Stiles thinks it’s more from exhaustion than from the ketamine he injected the boy with.

No, ketamine isn’t standard issue (in fact, without Stiles’ prescription, it’s not legal at all), but after the number one incident on his list of weird things, Stiles has taken to carrying a tiny amount for emergencies.

Stiles really should call someone about the boy. His first instinct is to call his dad, after all, John was the sheriff for nearly fifteen years before he lost the last election to Michael Lahey, Isaac’s father. But, what would his dad know about shape-shifters, specifically lycanthropes?

Then, Stiles thinks of Animal Control. And immediately discards that thought because Miguel is still human. Boyd and Lahey might report him for ‘playing a prank.’

That just leaves Scott. Scott who just treated Miguel. Scott who closes his place of business in like fifteen minutes.

Stiles fumbles his phone from his pocket, dialing the number for the clinic quickly.

“Beacon Hills Vet Clinic,” Scott answers. Stiles sends a silent thank you skyward.

“Scot, Scotty. I know you’re closing but I have an emergency with Miguel. He took a shit and all these little worms—each one barely bigger than a fingernail clipping—came out of him. I’m freaking out here, man.”

“Did he eat anything after what I fed him?”

Stiles hasn’t had a chance to check that, but he doesn’t think so. He would have smelled anything Miguel nuked to eat unless he ate it frozen. The teeth, he recalls, would most likely make that not an issue. “No,” Stiles decides. Miguel probably would have thrown up too instead of just defecating all over the place.

“Are the worms moving?”

Stiles looks down at the mess that he still needs to clean up. “Yep,” he says. “They are definitely moving.”

“Okay. Was the…shit solid or—?”

“Liquid. Diarrhea, actually.”

“Okay, well, that’s a normal reaction to the medication I gave him. But if you’re still unsure, go ahead and bring him in. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, Scott, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Sure whatever. You say that now,” Scott jokes. “Just wait until I can’t do anything for Miguel because he just needs to wait it out.”

“You say that now,” Stiles parrots back. “Look, I’m going to clean him up a little, get him in the carrier, and head your way. It might take me half an hour.” Scott doesn’t answer, so Stiles hangs up.

Miguel stirs when Stiles moves closer to get a better look at him. Panicking, Stiles grabs his stun gun and shocks the boy again until he slumps back down, unconscious.

Stiles feels a lot guilty when he realizes Miguel can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. Albeit a fourteen or fifteen year old who can shape-shift into a wolf.

Stiles sighs and tugs on his hair again. Then, he rubs his face and mutters, “Aw crap, kid.”

~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #My Story/My Writing #LfaPtCH

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