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Long story short: End of last year/beginning of this year has not been going well for me!
This will end up being a weekly blog from now on, if you get more than one post a week it just means I have more energy! Thank you for understanding <3
Part of @urlocalradiostation New Years Eve Radio Station Event
Holidays have never been my thing. Be it Christmas, halloween, thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Memorial Day, or what have you. Holidays in our family always resulted in large, loud gatherings at one of a few places, such as one of our grandparents houses or one of our aunts houses. As we’ve gotten older, we’ve put together the pieces of our families undiagnosed autism and ADHD combo (we can tell dad, we can tell) and have started to understand more as to why large gatherings in small spaces were something my siblings and I tended to dread instead of look forward to.
My mothers side of the family is the worst culprits of the large, loud gatherings, and probably the loudest family known to mankind. Her immediate family, as well as the large extended family, all needed to have the last word in any argument and be the center of attention for the longest period of time.
This resulted in me and my siblings becoming experts at finding the room furthest from the main party, with some sort of seating, allowing us to sit in relative silence while we did our best to pass the time by either reading, drawing, playing an archaic video game, or watching a show on a long forgotten about TV the somehow only has the weather or reruns of movies that are already half finished.
Of all the rooms that we’ve hidden in during holiday events, Aunt Karen’s ‘sunroom’ is the one that I remember, and enjoyed, the most.
Technically she isn’t our aunt, its our mother’s aunt, but saying Aunt Karen was acceptable so we’ve been calling her that for as long as I can remember. Aunt Karen’s Christmas parties were the largest events of the year, always scheduled at the perfect time when everyone who lived out of town was home, and everyone who lived in town was off from work.
Aunt Karen owned the most beautiful house, at least in the eyes of a young child and early high schooler such as myself by the last time she hosted. It was an 1890s Victorian house, with three floors, a staircase in the entryway that allowed for everyone to fit into the family photos, a secondary staircase from the kitchen to the second floor, as well as room that was more likely than not a sunroom at some point in its life, but was set up like a secondary living room and office by the time we were visiting there.
This secondary living room became our haven during the years where me siblings and our father would hide away from the main party, avoiding the football game that was somehow always on, the white elephant gift exchange that resulted in plenty of additional shouting as no one could remember how many times they had been in possession of a gift, as well as any attempt to play a card game around the cookie table.
Because the secondary living room was previously a sunroom, it was the coldest room in the house, protecting us from the main party as we sat in silence amongst the large, pillow buried furniture, the desk tucked into the corner hiding Dungeons and Dragons supplies, and the most important object in the room, Ms. Pac-man.
This wasn’t one of those cheap replica machines that Best Buy and Costco have been selling recently. This was the genuine thing, a real Ms. Pac-Man machine. I never learned where or how, but our Aunt Karen had managed to obtain on original Ms. Pac-man arcade machine, but it was one of the things about our Aunt’s house that we always looked forward to.
They had somehow rigged the machine to allow for us to play without having to put any quarters in, and we spent many hours over the years trying to beat our Dad’s score every year, something that was never accomplished. I never got a grasp on his thought process to earn the most points, but watching him play was always exciting.
As with every fond memory, things come to an end, and several years ago our Aunt Karen moved into a townhouse, ending the decades old tradition of Christmas at her home, and losing the Ms. Pac-Man machine along the way.
Spending time at my Grandmothers house this most recent Christmas has made me realized just how many of these traditions that I used to dread as a child are now dead and gone, and how my attitude towards the holidays has become one of irritation over excitement. While holidays will still never truly be something I enjoy, I wish the excitement and build up around them was still something I could participate in without feeling dread and exhaustion due to the capitalistic environment I now work in.
I miss those large and obnoxious Christmas parties, even though I spent a so many of them hiding with my siblings, simply because it gave the season something to look forward to and be excited for, instead of simply additional time off of work.
Hopefully this next year gives me the time and energy to truly enjoy myself around the holidays!
Summary: As he lays in yet another hospital bed, Robert thinks over how he's gone about being a hero thus far. He's missed being a part of a team. It's weird being cared for after so long of being on his own.
Word Count: 2070
ao3 link
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Constant and consistent beeping of a monitor is the first sound he hears when he wakes up. After that, it's a groggy blur of shifting sheets and the jingle of a dog collar. Someone murmurs an 'oh shit'; next thing he knows, he's surrounded by a small group of doctors and nurses and getting assessed.
That, too, is kind of a blur. Answering questions on autopilot, monotone and confused. One of the nurses mentions the Z-Team and awareness comes crashing back into him. Shroud, the Red Ring, their arrests, Invis—Courtney getting shot and sent to the hospital. Chase becoming Star Blazer and being alive. His team's victory on the news for all to see. Drinking beer with Mandy and getting thrown into the air like a ragdoll. The picture. Everything.
After they've made sure he's stable and fine enough to survive alone for a few minutes, the medical staff filter out. One stays—Dr. Valen, the Robertson family doctor—and they turn to Robert as he pets Beef's soft ears.
"You're a pretty lucky man, Robert," they say, a warm smile on their face, "If your team hadn't hurried you in after you collapsed, you'd be in a casket."
And with that note, they leave.
Robert blinks, trying process everything. They must've put him on the good stuff. He can't really feel the usual pain, not to mention whatever consequences came from being tortured and going straight into work. Huh, maybe he didn't remember everything. Something hazy trickles in—paler hands holding a beer, swaying, pain in his abdomen. Darkness, then a brief moment of red skin and panicked voices and racing through a portal. More darkness. Now, his sterile hospital room.
Chase must've grabbed Beef at some point. His sweet son gives a gentle lick to the palm of his hand, 'are you okay?'. A fond smile down at the overweight chihuahua, scratching under his chin. His tail wags.
He wonders how he's been asleep. With a glance at an analog clock on the wall, probably at least fourteen hours. That's a lot less than four months in a coma, so he'll take it. Glancing down, he notices his bare chest. Bandages and stitches litter his upper body, scars poking out where they may. An IV in his arm. There's a grey blanket made of fluffy yarn, hand-crocheted and folded over the his legs to keep warm. Definitely not something from the hospital, so it must've came from someone on the Z-Team.
Just the thought of a Phoenix making a blanket for him makes his lungs stutter. Beef half lays on it, but Robert can still stroke the grey from where he's propped up against pillows. It's so soft. There's such a large amount of care and effort and time spent to be put into crochet projects. The familiar grey reminds him of Coupé; she must've made this.
On the side table next to him is overflown with various gifts and get-well-soons. The sheer amount of it settles warmly in Robert's chest, a feeling he's not used to. Bright pink and blue marker on a generic card catches his eyes first. There's a gift card to some clothing store tapped inside—he can see it peeking out just slightly. In cursive, loopy writing is the words 'your wardrobe fucking sucks' with a signed 'Alice'. Nearby is an unopened duo-pack of purple collars for Beef, which is signed with several different initials all over. The hand-written booklet of what he can only assume to be poetry leans proudly against a gift basket of trinkets. Robert can't see everything from where he lays, but it's already a lot more than he expected.
Beeping monitors, silence, a barren side table, unyielding emptiness in a sterile room...
He has people now. Within the past month or so, he's managed to gain friends—family, Robert, they're family. Knowing his Phoenixes—when was the last time he called someone 'his'?—he expects to be swarms by heroic assholes the minute they get word he's awake. In fact, he's surprised they aren't here already.
When was he able to be so sure someone would there that wasn't Chase? That wasn't his mother before she left? When was the last time he had people to count on?
Robert remembers the earlier days of the Brave Brigade. He grew up surrounded by them; barbecues, birthdays, emergency situations when an enemy of Astral's tried kidnapping him. Chase, of course, was there the most, but the Brigade as a team had fond memories. Coming over to the Robertsons' to plan how to take down a troublesome villain. Teasing young Robert for being eager to be like his dad, back when it was more of a want than a doomed legacy. Gentle hands on his good shoulder when the rest of them saw his ear, warm smiles and distracting jokes. The way they stuck by each other, loyal, caring—far before Elliot became Shroud and would show him a few wielding skills. Back when they were family, all just people with a united goal to protect and help.
And he remembers everyone fighting once his dad passed. Remembers the angered tears, the accusations, the breaking bonds of a once-great hero force. Most importantly, he remembers how everyone just left as if they were never together in the first place. A new, younger Mecha Man began with pushing the others away; he nearly ended alone. Almost alone—he can't forget about Beef.
For so long, Robert swore to live up to his father's expectations. That meant doing it alone, doing it without a team. What good was getting close to others when they'd sooner break off in the end? He'd seen the end of the Brave Brigade; he couldn't let himself get attached. Robbie was right about one thing: you can't depend on others unless you want to fail. Heroes rely on each other to serve the people, but that's as far as it should go.
Don't get attached, son. Get up. Get up, move on.
And so, he did. He helped other heroes out when they needed it, but he didn't dive deeper than work-related alliances. He has connections in several different places. The amount of networking you do as a hero nearly rivals the amount of villains you fight and arrest. For the longest time, that's how he operated. Then, he risked it all, got blown up, and sent straight into a months-long coma with no one to wake up to.
Now, the only reason he's alone is because...well, actually, is he alone?
"Visi?" he softly calls out, coughing as his throat hurts from disuse.
There's no shift in the air, no shuffling footsteps, no door being opened and shut by an invisible force. Fuck, guess he really is alone. A well of disappoint swells in his chest, ignoring it. What was he thinking? That they'd wait on him like homesick puppies? How stupid are you, Robertson? (That thought sounds suspiciously like his father.)
He works his jaw at the feelings bubbling up. Swallowing, he huffs at his own stupidity. Of course, they're not here. How could he be so sure they would be? Had he really gone so fucking soft that he forgot who he was? Or, maybe it was some childish hope. A hope fueled by old memories of the Brigade. A hope he thought he squashed; a flickering candlelight, hesitant from years of darkness.
She got shot, Robert, with bullet meant for you, he reminds himself. Do you really think she'd come waiting? Bandaged up as she is by now, it doesn't matter. It was meant for you.
Guilt presses hot and heavy against his tongue.
When Blazer—wait, Mandy—had first mentioned cutting someone in that office, he didn't have to think about it. No reform program would survive if it tried cutting its members like dead flies. None of these ex-villains would reform if their second chance was put on a deadline. He'd been ready to fight her on it before she clarified: she didn't want any of them gone either, especially Invisigal. Apparently, the executive board thought it'd be best to force progress through competition. Though, honestly, it was clear the board didn't agree much with the Phoenix Program in the first place.
Robert remembers the burning anger that coursed through his veins in that moments. The sturdiness of his stance. His clenched fists, determined gaze. If the Z-Team were to be his team, then he needs all of them. Mandy and him figured out a way to fight the board on it, and he went to appeal their decision in their big, shiny office. With a smirk and a refusal to back down, he mentioned his status as Mecha Man and enough of them caved.
He remembers the Phoenixes' faces when Mandy gave them the news. Robert caught a glimpse when he returned for the second shift, door to the conference room ajar. Shock, relief, weird combinations of emotions he couldn't hope to name in a matter of seconds. That day had been a better one, the Z-Team bantering more light-heartedly once they had confirmed job security.
He remembers the pride when Sonar, Coupé, and Invisigal bumped themselves up in the rankings by the end of the week. As Mecha Man, he felt small bouts of pride when those he saved were safe again. But that, the strong burst when he saw evidence of the trio's hard work? That was something else. Something he wanted to show them.
Mecha Man had lost his purpose, but Robert found his. To be there for the Phoenixes, to guide and uplift, to help them show the world their pasts didn't define them. A fond smile etches on his face as he reminisces.
He'd been hired to teach villains how to be heroes, but it was them who taught a hero how to be a person. In a way, he's a Phoenix, too. Maybe. He shouldn't be getting this fucking sappy.
Beef barks as a portal hum-zips open into the hospital room. Malevola walks out, eyes widening once she spots Robert awake.
"Oh, fuck yeah!" she mutters, a look of cheer replacing the surprise.
Walking over, she plops down in a chair close by the bed. He stays oddly silent, not sure what to say to her happy expression. The demoness cups his face with both hands, turning it this way and that. He lets her, warmth settling in his chest again as he's touched. It's soft like the blanket, the way Malevola knits her brows as she checks his face. Warm, so very warm. Has he always had this greying cold? This icy chill that recedes as he's given gentle affection. She's just...warm.
Once satisfied, she just holds his face. He doesn't protest.
"What's that look, Rob?" she half-jokes, spotting how he relaxes in her grasp. "We didn't break you that bad, did we?" A hint of concern leaks out.
He blinks, clearing his throat, "I just woke up, asshole, give me a sec."
"Geez, you sound like shit."
Rolling his eyes, voice monotone and subtly fond, "Thanks, Mal."
She lets go of his face, and Robert has to forceably shove away the urge to chase her. If she notices, she doesn't do anything about it.
"Rest of the team is a little held up," she fills the silence, tail swishing. "We tried fitting in here, but some dickheads kicked us out until you've woken up."
Oh, he realizes. Oh.
Ignoring the fact that they got themselves kicked out of a fucking hospital of all places, Robert shakes his head light-heartedly.
"Of course, they did," he mutters, every heartbeat of fondness unhidden.
Not so alone now, fucker, and that voice sounds a lot more like Chase in his head. Fucking remember that.
Malevola glances down briefly as she sends a text. Probably to the team groupchat; probably about their dispatcher being alive and talking. Yeah, he's bound to be swarmed within the next two seconds.
"Brace yourself, Rob," Malevola's voice has a caring edge, "More assholes on their way."
Maybe his father was full of shit. Maybe the Brave Brigade fell, but that didn't mean all teams were doomed to follow suit. Maybe the Phoenixes, his Phoenixes, will stick by like glitter you can't get rid of.
Beef yips as several other bodies fill the room, all clamoring to see their beloved dispatcher.
Oh I love this! What a wonderful contribution to the event! Papa Ungarmas is having a merry time for sure! I love the decoration and the details! This is an amazing piece and you did a fantastic job!
Hello Loyal Listeners! Tonight we're hosting the New Years Eve event! For this event we have three talented people who are bringing us some amazing works for this event!
They are:
@cameforstuff
@bren-the-chicken
@sharkiesforjoy
During this event, if you reblog their work with tags or comment and call in the radio station off of anon with proof (send in an ask with a screenshot) then I will do a little doodle of your hot cocoa or hot apple cider mug!
Sign up to be one of the Artist or Writers for the event (Although if you've got an idea on something else you could do let us know)! Open from 11/02/2025 - 11/22/2025 10:00 am UTC -7.
Everyone will know by 11/29/2025 whether or not they are in the event!
I must be able to either send an ask to your blog, or DM you of whether you're in the event or not.
How it works. Starting 12/31/2025 at 7:00 PM UTC -7, An artist Or writer will make a post on their blog, tagging the station (urlocalradiostation) when it's up!
You will receive a time to try and get your piece out by (within 15 minutes of that time, simply so I have time to leave commentary on it before the next piece goes out).
After the piece is out, the reblogs start to come in! Make sure to leave a comment on what you enjoyed about whatever you interact with!
The radio station itself will be offering free hot chocolate or tea (drawings of the drink in individual mugs) to everyone who proves they've left a comment. And at 12:00 AM UTC -7 on 01/01/2026 an animation goes out (of all the artist and writers with bubbling apple cider).
Sign up to be one of the Artist or Writers for the event (Although if you've got an idea on something else you could do let us know)! Open f
Hello Loyal Listeners! Thank you all for the kind words. While we will *officially* be back in the New Year, I'll be trying to reblog some lovely art to comment on within these next few weeks!
Also speaking of the New Year, the Event is still happening and I'm so excited for the vendors to share what they're cooking up!
Hello loyal listeners. Some not so fun news right now. Your radio host has been burnt out for the last few weeks, and I recently found out a friend died (found out Monday).
While we will still be doing the New Year's Eve event I can't promise I'll be able to do anything before then. And I apologize about that.
Apologies for all the radio silence. Turns out producing your own music is very exhausting (in a good way). I'll be back shortly with more recommended songs.
Apologies for the radio silence (again) Loyal Listeners! I was being held hostage by creatures in another realm (catsitting for someone out of town so I had to stay in their house).
Hi!!! @chestersbraincell here! Decided to keep the Garfield theme, didn’t really know how else to theme this blog so…. yeah
for a while, I’ve wanted to do SOME kind of gimmick blog, but didn’t know what to make it on. And then I realised I oftentimes like to make playlists more than I like to listen to them lmao-so here!
Songs and music combined, I have about 1.5k in my master playlists. So feel free to submit ANY kind of situation, theme, etc, and I will try my best to find at least ONE, if likely not many more, tunes to fit that! I reccomend going off-anon as then you’ll know when I’ve gotten to your request, but anons are welcome should you feel shy
The more specific the request, the more likely the tunes will be accurate to what you have in mind. But go as vague as you want to! The one limit I have is like. Explain the vibe. Don’t just say “*insert fandom*” or “*insert character*”. I’m not going to do research just to find out what you mean. Articulate yourself.
tagging some gimmicks for reach(please don’t be mad please don’t be mad please don’t be mad-) :
Hello Loyal Listeners! I'll be playing music in a few minutes! Got some questions about the New Years Eve event to answer, which feel free to call in about that as well!
Could I get a theme of some sort?
While we don't have a required theme, you could base your piece around the New Year. E.g. a drawing of your favorite characters celebrating the New Year, or writing a fic centered around the new year! Something happy or fun (if you'd like)!
Can I schedule posts to go out at the allotted time?
Yes! You may do so, I understand it's probably going to be late for most of you (it will be for me). You can schedule your post and not worry about it. Just make sure to tag the blog!
Oh, and an addendum by me! You do Not have to give out anything to those who comment if you don't want to, the radio station is already giving out free cocoa and tea (art) to those who do. That question is merely to see if there's anything you want to do to reward that show up and leave nice comments!
Any other questions feel free to ask!
Oh, and while I did not address all concerns brought up on the form, I will be DMing people answers to their questions tonight. This DM is not a guaranteed acceptance into the event. It is strictly to clarify anything asked before I choose who is and is not in the event. (Which will be 11/22).
