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omegaremix · 22 days

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April 5, 2018.

A venture into New York City is always a good thing. Give me any reason - a doctor’s appointment, family, or a show in Greenpoint - and I’m there. This time it was a check-up on the pricier Lower East Side. I asked the team to give me an early time because I knew something else was going on behind the clinic. I know because my old man drove me home all the time and took a specific rote to do so.

The chilly 35* temperatures bit like any early April would. The sharp white sun constantly cut across the passing white clouds drifting through the dry blue sky. I stand at the Deer Park platform for a few minutes and anticipate its’ arrival. The iPod Classic (160GB) is still holding up. It’s been my only companion that comes with me for Christ knows how long, ever since it’s not-as-capable brother (30GB) took it’s first ride with me supplying Whitehouse’s Racket, Vincent Gallo’s When, and various Boards Of Canada and Roy Ayers cuts. That was another springtime trip where Cath- and I joined forces at Penn Station to go to the Brooklyn Museum and back home on the Ronkonkoma line for what was one of the most significant days ever lived. I loaded up the 400 or so finds to it of songs I never heard of before, songs then in the auditioning phase for Omega WUSB’s airplay. Train rides on the Deer Park line are usually prime-time to cycle through it all with no distractors around. My other companions? A Sony kit and a tripod.

I board and sit on the outer left aisle facing forward. No window seat this time. Public Image Ltd.’s “Poptones” couldn’t have come at a better time as the Deer Park line slowly rolled down through Farmingdale. None more fitting when those loopy dangling notes of Keith Levene’s Veleno moved perfectly with the slow floating crawl of the car. I’m not even paying attention to the motion blur of the graffiti or the industrial buildings usually experienced when looking out of the window. Another song plays, it’s The Plugz’ “Satisifed And Die”. It was a gift from Holly, a Brooklyn goth girl who followed me here. She’s made me roused and stimulated like no other. We been trading recommendations for a couple months based on our equivalencies of industrial, noise, punk, and other artists. I never heard of Plugz until she told me that “Hammy” from The Pee-Wee Herman Show was in the band.

The music still spun in my ears. Each song that played was saved to the day’s on-the-go playlist. No skips or fast-forwards. Eventually there’ll be seven or ten songs out of thirty that will follow me around forever out from the 400 chosen for April 5th. They kept going, and so was I on the way to Penn Station. Final track to end the ride? “Hold On To Your Genre” from Les Savy Fav, a band I’ve heard about over the years, and maybe a mention from former selector Xtina who used to run The All Ages Show before I took over her timeslot. Holly’s hits kept on parading through.

Penn Station here. I save my energy taking the A/C/E connecting me to the N/Q/R/W line to Lexington Av. and walk up 3rd St. to the clinic. Here I am! I’m directed to go upstairs and angle myself for some x-rays before heading downstairs to see the silver surgeon who saved my life eighteen months ago.

“Wow! What’s that?” excitingly ask Renee, the surgeon’s assistant. She saw my kit and tripod and told her I was going to shoot after our appointment. She was happy to see me. They’ve seen them all come and go during all their years in practice. It was a treat for them to see me have this new energy from when I was either blacked out on the hospital bed or frustrated and itching ready to go. But here I was. That’s the most important thing for all of us, right? Silver took his hand and pressed his tips on my shoulder to feel any changes. Looked over the film and saw no changes. Asked me how I was doing with this British / Irish roll and was pleased to hear that I was doing great. An hour later, I was good to go. Show’s over for now. See you in six months.

I haul my inventory out of the clinic and head towards where my old man would start our path home. It’s the Grand Army Plaza at the southeastern corner of Central Park. Look up and you’ll see the golden monument of William Tecumseh Sherman riding high on a stone pedestal with Victory guiding the way. I take several photos of all their heroic glory. A few horse-and-carriage jockeys were all around me with their furnishings dressed in white, red, and purple with gold trim. I see many overseas families make the best of their time taking photos for mementos forever to be remembered by, not knowing if and when they’ll have another opportunity to return again. But I don’t stop there.

Forward I go into Central Park, because I had all the time in the world to tread into uncharted territory. I walk past the disused zoo and end up at the Balto statue. How cute. I stop and snap away for more test shots before some former aspiring Aron Kay wanna-be rode his bike past me and said something about Balto being a liberal conspiracy, and self-declared it a debacle that was worse that seeing Oprah’s goatse. I walk away from his trailed stench of shit and dried blood and now here I am walking right down the middle of The Mall and Literary Walk. It literally welcomes you in with its pathway, where its generousity is measured by its wideness.

It was at that exact point where I started feeling euphoric again. I’ve beaten cancer to see my final benefits loaded into savings. Three paychecks in March, the tax refund hit, and our company gave us full-timers a surprise $1,000 bonus. Minimal and synthwave finds connected me with some of my best followers here, good times with me and twenty of my other co-workers at my neighborhood arcade, and the record-store victory tour just started. All of my on-going projects at Ω+, VMFX, and WUSB kept me going and proud. My nerves straightened themselves out and for once in my life I was on top of everything. There were no worries, no stress, no pressure. There was only hope. I hit the sweet spot that I been trying to acquire for so long and this was it. I felt like I was the person I always wanted to be. Keep going.

To my right is the Naumburg Bandshell where I did my best to preserve whatever dynamics it presented me with a press of a button. Further I go and I encounter the Besthesda Terrace, a dazzling array that’s been around for almost 175 years. Greeting me is its accompanying fountain where The Angel Of The Waters looks over all of us. A Danish family of four wanted their picture taken together so they asked me kindly to snap them with their camera, which I happily obliged.

It’s 5PM. Joggers and bikers are imminent. Young couples are sitting on the hills admiring the skyscrapers to the south and west side. I let myself get lost as I head north. I reach the Bow Bridge to see a young Filipine couple in their wedding threads have their photos taken. I continue to wander through all the winding pathways and steep hills to find myself at Belvedere Castle which was gated off and closed indefinitely. A few thousand feet later, I stop short at the 86th Street Transverse to catch my breath and pause to experience the current moment of clarity. Robert Viger’s “Limpidite” started to play. The sun’s about to set and it’s getting dimmer. Now was the time to head back.

I didn’t remember the path I took to get here, so what fun I had when I got lost and realized I had to walk the equivalent of thirty city blocks to even reach East 59th Street again which I returned to. I was exhausted and was tempted to take the N/Q/R/W line back to Penn Station, but no. It’s rare for me to be in the city, so why not make the best of it and walk it all back to Grand Central? My time was limitless because I didn’t have to be at work until 1PM the next day. Let’s reverse the process.

I take part in the crowded hustle and bustle of Manhattan. I walk 30 blocks south back to Penn Station for the ride home eastward, still bathing in the new euphoria and pending Spring renewal I just felt. I arrive five minutes to my train, but no big deal. I’m more than happy to re-hydrate with a $2.50 bottle of water and wait around until the Ronkonkoma line arrives. I have another relaxing 65-minute train ride back to Deer Park to cycle through more auditions and selections for the day’s forever soundtrack before it’s gone forever. I arrive on the Deer Park platform and step off the train. I step off the platform and walk through the aluminum overpass and steps onto the parking lot. I get in my car and drive away to sweep up the rest of the way home through the Brentwood streets. 10:30PM and I’m home for the night.

**********

There’s a message waiting for me after I walked in. It’s Holly. She asked how my day was and what I was up to. It was real nice for one of my all-time favorite followers to even ask. I had to reply to her before heading to bed. I also sent her the day’s photos and then asked to see if we could finally meet up. The momentum was stronger and now more essential than ever. I’m thriving for more.

Ghost Spell: “People On The Street”

This Is Hell: “Anarchy On The Atlantic”

Stars Are Insane, The: Versus

Ramleh: “Soundcheck Changeling 2”

Alan Shearer: “Dark Is The Color”

Public Image Ltd.: “Poptones”

Ghost Spell: “Tzz”

Plugz, The: “Red Eye #9″

Jan Jelinek: “They Their”

Pan Daijing: “Female”

Candy: “Rain In Spetember”

Pierre-Alain Dahan & Slim Pezin: “Slim Bertha”

Pisschrist: “Fatal Control”

Alan Shearer: “Only For One Girl”

James Clarke: “Silent Summer”

Thomas Leer: “Saving Grace”

Paul Dupont & His Orchestra: “Lovelorn”

Boy Harsher: “Modulations”

Zola Jesus: “Bound”

Errorsmith: “Superlative Fatigue”

Pisschrist: “Fuck The World”

Alan Shearer: “Generation V”

Joanna Brouk: “The Space Between”

Grey Hairs: “Emergency Banger”

Hogan’s Heroes: “Drugs”

Plugz, The: “Touch For Cash”

Kap Bambino: “More Machine“

Leon Gardner: “Farm Song”

Les Savy Fav: “Hold On To Your Genre”

Marijuana Deathsquads “All Deep”

Red Apollo: “Knife Party”

Stars Are Insane: “I Stayed Up All Night Thinking Of You” (ver.)

Wolf Alice: “Sad Boy”

76% Uncertain: “Coffee Achievers"

Kedr Livanskiy: “Sunrise Stop”

Haircut: “Shutting Down”

Keiji Haino: “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean”

Cabaret Voltaire: Extended Play EP

Candy: “Bears”

Frumpies, The: “I Just Wanna Puke On The Stereo”

Pan Daijing: “Overdose”

Ajax: “Paper And Steel”

Les Savy Fav: Inches

Robert Viger: “Limpidite”

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moonstruckme · 3 months

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hi lovely!! if you're comfortable writing something like this, could I maybe request poly!marauders where reader who is normally very independent but gets submissive at times, but not in a sexual way? like she just gets overwhelmed and wants the boys to be in charge for a while, but maybe the relationship is still new and she feels too needy and can't bring herself to tell them and eventually they realize?

again, no worries if you're not comfortable writing this, just thought I'd ask <3

Thank you for requesting gorgeous !

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“This is deeply, atrociously unjust,” Sirius says as James sits down in front of you, him on the floor and you on the couch. He’s wet and fresh-smelling from the shower. “You never let me do your hair.”

“Because you always act like you’re trying to tear it out as some sort of twisted revenge plot,” says James, passing you a brush and the curl cream you and Sirius had found for him. Normally, you adore this routine, the chance to run your fingers through James’ hair and the way his eyes close blissfully while you do it. You love to pamper him. But tonight you’re not really in the mood. You do it because he expects you to, coating his curls in product with your usual tenderness but wishing you were on the receiving end of it instead. “She’s got the touch of an angel.”

Sirius crosses his arms. He’s leaned against the side of the couch, leering over you like a vulture. Remus is reading in the armchair, and though he’s pretending to ignore all of you, the corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Beauty is pain,” Sirius grouses.

“We should start a hair train,” James decides. “She’ll do mine, you can do hers, Remus will do yours, and I’ll do his.”

Sirius seems to be considering this. You lean down towards James’ ear. “You’re throwing me to the wolves,” you stage-whisper.

“It’s you or me, sweetheart.”

Actually, the idea of Sirius playing with your hair—even at the risk of losing a good amount of it—doesn’t sound so awful.

“I can get in the shower right now,” you offer, only half joking.

Sirius lets a grin slip loose, sitting next to you to plant a smacker on your cheek. “Thank you, darling, but that’s alright. You shouldn’t have to atone for his mistakes.”

You return his smile, doing your best to bury your disappointment.

“I didn’t consent to the hair train either,” Remus says without looking up from his book. “There’s a reason James doesn’t do his own hair.”

“Oi,” James objects. “I’ve got admirers fighting over the opportunity to do my hair, why would I do it myself?”

Remus marks his page, flipping the book closed. “What are we having for dinner?” he asks.

“I don’t know, but I’m famished.” James doesn’t miss a beat, latching onto the new topic eagerly. “We could order takeaway?”

“Or just cut out the middleman and go out,” Sirius says. “Unless someone feels like cooking? Which I don’t.”

“We know,” Remus teases. “I don’t either, not tonight.”

“I could if I needed to,” James says, “but I’m alright with whatever gets food in me the fastest.”

They all look to you. “I don’t much feel like cooking,” you add your piece. Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended.

“Alright,” Remus says. “Then let’s not cook tonight. What do you want to do, love? Go out or stay in?”

You comb the brush slowly through James’ hair, twisting to define his curls. “I don’t know,” you say.

Sirius turns to you, frowning. “Come on, baby.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What do you feel like having?”

“I don’t know.” You try not to sigh. “Um, can you pick?”

You don’t look up from the top of James’ head, but you can feel them exchanging looks. They’ve all been a little extra gentle with you lately. They know you’re dealing with a lot. Anytime you try to tally it all up and make sense of it in your head, you start feeling like you could cry. Your exhaustion has sunk so deeply within you that it’s seeped into your bloodstream. You think by now there’s got to be traces of it in the marrow of your bones.

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. “Look at me.”

You do, pausing with the brush held aloft over James’ head. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together like he’s trying to figure you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. It’s not your boyfriends’ faults that you’re feeling overwhelmed; you don’t mean to drag them down with you.

“What for, sweetness?” He sets a hand on your thigh, rings biting into your skin as he gives the flesh a loving squeeze. “Just tell us what you need.”

You try to give him a smile. You really do love him. “I want…I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired. I want to not think for a little while.”

Sirius’ eyebrows come up a bit in the middle, and James turns around from below you.

“Aw, sweetheart.” His tone is as gooey and sweet as raw honey. “Do you just want us to take care of you, angel?” He sets his hands on your knees, pushing himself up to kiss your chin. “You should’ve said something.”

“We can stay in,” Remus suggests whilst James worms his way underneath you, getting you in his lap. “Order takeaway from that Thai place you like.”

“That sounds nice,” you say meekly, face growing warm. James presses rapid-fire kisses to your cheek. One-two-three.

“You wanna have a shower, baby?” Sirius asks you. He looks heart-wrenchingly concerned. It’s not like you to want to give away control like this. “I could do your hair when you get out.”

“Don’t do it,” James cautions you. “He steals our hair to make tiny dolls of us, I’m sure of it.”

Sirius sends him a withering look. “I’ll be gentle.”

“I’d like that,” you tell Sirius, and he softens.

“Yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face and presses his hand to your cheek. Squishy fond. “Okay, baby, we’ll pamper you to hell and back.”

“I’m going to find the menu for takeaway,” Remus says, prying himself up from his chair.

“James,” Sirius says, not particularly kindly, “you will have to let her go for her to shower.”

“Never. Not on my life. Not at gunpoint.” You shrink as James makes his face at home in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nose nudging at a ticklish spot. “She’s my darling sweetheart angel.”

“She’s our darling sweetheart angel,” Remus corrects him from the kitchen. You think your face could melt titanium.

“James, please,” you complain. “I’m never telling you all anything again.” “Careful.” Sirius raises an eyebrow at you, mock stern. “That sounded dangerously close to a thought, and those won’t be allowed until at least tomorrow morning.”

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