spineapplestudios

[spineapplestudios]

Daydreams CW: a lil suggestive

In my head, I can hold you as tight as I dream to.

I drag my claws up your spine and count the rivets in your skin. The folds in your clothes that separate me from you. I dont mind, i always imagine the fabric being so, so soft against me, while i lay my head on your shoulder. Grazing my teeth against your neck, licking the blood from the scratches.

“Im so sorry” Im just so hungry. Starving on my knees, I could look up at you, and feel so lucky for any crumbs you throw to me. You look so hurt with that practised smile that never reaches your eyes and invisible lines that sink into the depths of your casing. I dream about what your real smile looks like, and how i could coax it out of you.

I want to kiss you, taste you. But I can't stand the thought of you tasting me, the rot and bitterness that dances on my tongue. Copper and tin and dust and grit.

I want to feel you, watch the fabric slip over your shape while you constantly demand my patience with that stern expression that I can't get enough of. Your skin so soft. While mine remains rough and coarse.

I wasnt designed with a loving touch in mind. To treat another with gentle delicacy, to press my mouth against a supple surface and not bare my fangs. Ready  to tear

I would rip my claws and pry out my teeth to make you feel safer in the dark with me. Alone, bodies sharing the same warmth. Pressed against my sheets, drinking you in until I drown.

… Tell me to stop.

[spineapplestudios]

THEY'RE DONE! These both double as the official designs for the fic, as well as art fight references. you can check out my artfight here https://artfight.net/~SPINEAPPLE

[spineapplestudios]

SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY! dont try to draw them straight from the game if your style doesn't lend itself towards hyper realism. Look at the work of other DCA artists and draw inspiration. Look at the details they implement and the ones they leave behind. If you're JUST starting out Forget about them being robots for now, and instead, cover them in clothing. Pretend they're more human. Once you feel comfortable with their shape as a whole and posing them, then you can start implementing the robotic assets.

To all the lovely DCA artists out there.

HOW DO YALL DRAW THESE BOYS IM STRUGGING WITH THEIR BODIES, HELP ME ALL I WANNA DRAW IS THEM BUT I CAN'T I THINK IM OVERCOMPLICATING BUT IM CRYING T0T

i just wanna draw them man...someone help me out here.

[spineapplestudios]

i never finished this doodle page but I'm too busy with artfight to draw my mans

[spineapplestudios]

AW who's this lil cutie!? . . . TSAMS!? . . . SOLARS SUN!?!?!!?

he also blush

[spineapplestudios]

Counterargument you give me his pallate I render him then you use him in artfight

Hey!! I read your sunshine station piece and it was awesome!!! I know you mentioned Moon briefly, is there a second part with him in it by chance? Thank you! Have a great day!

As a matter of fact...

"Evening, dozers. That was REO Speedwagon's 'Can't Fight This Feeling', a classic for the ages. We're all fighting for something, facing our own demons these days. Maybe you're juggling a schedule that just won't let you rest, maybe you're struggling to balance your home and work life, or your heart is trapped in a game that you can't seem to win, maybe...you're fighting to stay awake." 

Laughter pours from Moon's voice-box, hazy and quiet. "Whether you're toiling through a graveyard shift or just can't seem to lay your head to rest, I'm here for you. I'll be your voice through the dark, the bedtime story that puts your mind at ease, the friend who stays up with you all night."

Neon red illuminates the soundboard, drawing his focus to the familiar silhouette standing just outside the booth door. His copper cage heart ba-thumps in place.

"This next one goes out to those of you burning at both ends of the fuse,“ he continues. “These timeless flights might feel lonely, dozers, but I'll be here until you come back down. Here's 'Rocket Man.'"

He slides the Elton John track into place, smooth metal gliding over vinyl, and queues "Just the Two of Us" at its tail, granting him just under twelve minutes to stretch...at least, that's what he'll tell Eclipse.

Moon cracks the booth door open and peeks just outside of it, glancing around. "Bedbug?"

"Here," you call at his back. Watching him jump ought to be funny, but you can't help but find it endearing. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you."

"You didn't," he lies, grinning from cheek to cheek. "What brings you here at this hour?" He nods towards the clock, its hands pointed accusingly at fifteen minutes past four in the morning. "Your shift doesn't start for another two hours. If you're here for Sun, he hasn't even come in ye—"

"I'm here for you." The words jump from your mouth like a sneeze, surprising both of you. "I mean— I-I'm here to bring you a coffee," you insist, thrusting the lidded paper cup towards him. Normally. "Eclipse asked me to. Since — since you've been working so hard lately."

Moon blinks at the cup strangely. He's still trying to calm the steam rushing through his vents when he reaches for it, not daring to look you in the eyes until his heart settles down. It isn’t every day that you – or anyone, really – wants to spend their time with him. Not when the brighter, louder, better Sun is always there to cast him in shadow.

He takes comfort in the warmth soaking through the cardboard sleeve when he takes it from you, lingering for only a socially acceptable length of time when his fingers brush against yours.

"Did he, now?" That telltale grin of his returns. His shoulder slumps against the door frame, all worries forgotten. "Well, that's very thoughtful. Maybe I should head down to his office and thank hi—"

"Don't!" Your protest is loud enough on its own to draw attention even without Moon ratting you out, and he is nothing if not amused by it. You clear the humiliation from your throat and try again. "It's just, you know how busy he is, a-and I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate being interrupted over something so trivial, you know? He doesn't even have to know I was here!"

Dopey laughter bubbles from his voice box. You wish he wouldn't look at you like that; like he's hanging on your every word.

"Couldn't sleep, could you, bedbug?"

Your stomach somersaults, pouring blood into your cheeks and heating your ears, and you stammer. "I— It's just that I was already in town, is all, a-and—"

"I don't think it's trivial." He brings the cup to his lips and takes a long, thoughtful sip, eyelashes resting against his cheeks as he indulges in the taste.

"You..huh?"

"The coffee." His gaze settles on you like fresh snow, quiet and slow. His smile could melt through even the coldest winters. "I don't think it's trivial," Moon echoes. "You made it just how I like it, too. Must have had to sneak past Eclipse to get to the break room, then again to bring it all the way here, to me. What's trivial about that?"

If your face gets any hotter you're going to catch fire right where you stand.

"It— it's nothing," you insist, struggling with where to put your hands now that you no longer have the cup to distract your twiddling thumbs. "So...does that mean you won't tell Eclipse?"

Moon looks past you, towards your collective boss's office, then strains his neck to see into his booth, noting the time that remains. He hums.

"Want to join me?"

The question startles you into a hiccup. "I'd love to, but..." you cast a glance over your shoulder, peering down the hall yourself as though you're expecting Eclipse to pour from his office any moment now. "After the 'stunt' Sun pulled yesterday — his words, not mine — Eclipse will have my things in a box by morning if I get caught in the booth again."

He pulls away from the wall, perfectly composed, and straightens the cardigan sleeve that had slipped from his shoulder. "That's a shame," he murmurs. "I'd have let you pick the next song."

"Wh— Really?"

"Mhm." Moon steps over the threshold and into his booth, hand reaching for the doorknob with purposeful delay. "Well, I have to get back to work." The door begins to shut. "Thank you for the coff— oh."

He doesn't bother stifling his chuckle as you dart beneath his outstretched arm and into the booth. If anything, he finds it all too charming for your liking.

"Change your mind after all?"

"I can't stay for long," you tell him, trying (and failing) to sound firm about it. "You...you aren't going to make me talk on air, are you?"

"'Course not, bedbug." He gets your chair for you like a gentleman, then easily slips into his own. "In fact, if you're to stay with me, I will need you to be very, very, quiet," he tells you, whispering the last part. "Can you do that for me?"

You take your seat with an eager nod, deciding against trusting your voice already.

"The records are in that basket," gestures Moon. He reaches just past you and plucks the vintage headphones from his desk, a spare set, and wordlessly fits them over your ears.

He unwinds a separate wire for himself — a device you have been enthusiastically banned from referring to as ‘the AUX cord’ — and plugs it into a port that sits directly behind his faceplate. You've since learned that the innovation was created to combat the issue of how to keep a pair of headphones on a face shape like theirs, but honestly, it just looks like a glorified earring.

"Ready?" He asks.

It's a trick question. His finger lands on the button before you have the chance to answer, and just as soon is his voice in your ears.

"Welcome back, dozers. You're listening to Starshine Station, and that was 'Just the Two of Us.' We've got more groovy tunes coming up here in a moment, but before that," and he taps the record basket again, returning your attention to the task at hand, "I want you to take a moment to come back to yourself. I know you're tired, you're exhausted, your mind is racing and you just want to unwind. Put your phone down, close your eyes, and breathe. I know it's silly — I know, I know — but place those worries aside and just be here, in this moment with me. Breathe in, take all of that stress, all of that weight you're carrying, and breath out. Let it go. You can pick it back up later, you can carry it again in the morning, but for now, set it down. Let it rest."

You draw a record from the basket and hand it over, smothering a yawn with your hand.

"Good, just like that," Moon purrs into the mic. "I hope you feel a little lighter after that, listeners. And if you're out on the roads right now, well, I hope you didn't listen to a single word I just said." His laughter threads through the radio waves like smooth jazz, every word curling around a smile. "Either way, thank you for letting me keep you company tonight. We've got more cozy classics ahead, so tune in and turn that dial to ten... here's 'Unchained Melody'."

When had he taken the record from you? One moment it was in your hands, and the next it was on air. So, too, do you feel on air — that is, lightweight and floating, all your troubles swept away by sixties pop and the unspoken lullaby of Moon's hand smoothing circles over your shoulders, hardly remembering when he even got there.

Your head lands on your arms, slumped against the desk.

You aren't going to sleep. You can't sleep. You still have to drive home and be back here again in an hour, well rested and ready for whatever demands Sun has for you that day, saying nothing of what will happen if Eclipse finds you here. You can't afford to rest your eyes for even a minute. Maybe you should have poured yourself a coffee, too.

"I hope the night is kind to you," says Moon.

His voice rolls over you like cool, ocean waves. He sounds so distant already. You can't remember the song ending, or the next one beginning, just the sound of his voice guiding you through the dark.

"This next one is very dear to me." His words breeze over you, disappearing into a hazy fog. "Wherever you are right now, whatever your situation, I hope you have someone special to hold close tonight."

Foreigner's "I Want to Know What Love Is," courses through your headphone speakers, but you aren't awake to hear it.

Moon unplugs himself from the soundboard just long enough to stand, shrugging off his wool cardigan. He stretches, arms raised above his head, exhausted steam whistling through his vents, stress marking every creak in his joints. Then he looks your way, and all the weight melts from his shoulders in an instant.

His cardigan drapes over your shoulders like a hug, still warm from his body. He brushes the hair from your eyes and lingers, selfishly this time, until the song comes to an end and he’s forced to pull away.

"Nighty night, bedbug," he whispers still. "Thanks for listening in."

[spineapplestudios]

terribly busy with prepping for artfight so I couldn't do a whole piece like last time but it CANNOT BE UNDERSTATED HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE HIM.

Hey!! I read your sunshine station piece and it was awesome!!! I know you mentioned Moon briefly, is there a second part with him in it by chance? Thank you! Have a great day!

As a matter of fact...

"Evening, dozers. That was REO Speedwagon's 'Can't Fight This Feeling', a classic for the ages. We're all fighting for something, facing our own demons these days. Maybe you're juggling a schedule that just won't let you rest, maybe you're struggling to balance your home and work life, or your heart is trapped in a game that you can't seem to win, maybe...you're fighting to stay awake." 

Laughter pours from Moon's voice-box, hazy and quiet. "Whether you're toiling through a graveyard shift or just can't seem to lay your head to rest, I'm here for you. I'll be your voice through the dark, the bedtime story that puts your mind at ease, the friend who stays up with you all night."

Neon red illuminates the soundboard, drawing his focus to the familiar silhouette standing just outside the booth door. His copper cage heart ba-thumps in place.

"This next one goes out to those of you burning at both ends of the fuse,“ he continues. “These timeless flights might feel lonely, dozers, but I'll be here until you come back down. Here's 'Rocket Man.'"

He slides the Elton John track into place, smooth metal gliding over vinyl, and queues "Just the Two of Us" at its tail, granting him just under twelve minutes to stretch...at least, that's what he'll tell Eclipse.

Moon cracks the booth door open and peeks just outside of it, glancing around. "Bedbug?"

"Here," you call at his back. Watching him jump ought to be funny, but you can't help but find it endearing. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you."

"You didn't," he lies, grinning from cheek to cheek. "What brings you here at this hour?" He nods towards the clock, its hands pointed accusingly at fifteen minutes past four in the morning. "Your shift doesn't start for another two hours. If you're here for Sun, he hasn't even come in ye—"

"I'm here for you." The words jump from your mouth like a sneeze, surprising both of you. "I mean— I-I'm here to bring you a coffee," you insist, thrusting the lidded paper cup towards him. Normally. "Eclipse asked me to. Since — since you've been working so hard lately."

Moon blinks at the cup strangely. He's still trying to calm the steam rushing through his vents when he reaches for it, not daring to look you in the eyes until his heart settles down. It isn’t every day that you – or anyone, really – wants to spend their time with him. Not when the brighter, louder, better Sun is always there to cast him in shadow.

He takes comfort in the warmth soaking through the cardboard sleeve when he takes it from you, lingering for only a socially acceptable length of time when his fingers brush against yours.

"Did he, now?" That telltale grin of his returns. His shoulder slumps against the door frame, all worries forgotten. "Well, that's very thoughtful. Maybe I should head down to his office and thank hi—"

"Don't!" Your protest is loud enough on its own to draw attention even without Moon ratting you out, and he is nothing if not amused by it. You clear the humiliation from your throat and try again. "It's just, you know how busy he is, a-and I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate being interrupted over something so trivial, you know? He doesn't even have to know I was here!"

Dopey laughter bubbles from his voice box. You wish he wouldn't look at you like that; like he's hanging on your every word.

"Couldn't sleep, could you, bedbug?"

Your stomach somersaults, pouring blood into your cheeks and heating your ears, and you stammer. "I— It's just that I was already in town, is all, a-and—"

"I don't think it's trivial." He brings the cup to his lips and takes a long, thoughtful sip, eyelashes resting against his cheeks as he indulges in the taste.

"You..huh?"

"The coffee." His gaze settles on you like fresh snow, quiet and slow. His smile could melt through even the coldest winters. "I don't think it's trivial," Moon echoes. "You made it just how I like it, too. Must have had to sneak past Eclipse to get to the break room, then again to bring it all the way here, to me. What's trivial about that?"

If your face gets any hotter you're going to catch fire right where you stand.

"It— it's nothing," you insist, struggling with where to put your hands now that you no longer have the cup to distract your twiddling thumbs. "So...does that mean you won't tell Eclipse?"

Moon looks past you, towards your collective boss's office, then strains his neck to see into his booth, noting the time that remains. He hums.

"Want to join me?"

The question startles you into a hiccup. "I'd love to, but..." you cast a glance over your shoulder, peering down the hall yourself as though you're expecting Eclipse to pour from his office any moment now. "After the 'stunt' Sun pulled yesterday — his words, not mine — Eclipse will have my things in a box by morning if I get caught in the booth again."

He pulls away from the wall, perfectly composed, and straightens the cardigan sleeve that had slipped from his shoulder. "That's a shame," he murmurs. "I'd have let you pick the next song."

"Wh— Really?"

"Mhm." Moon steps over the threshold and into his booth, hand reaching for the doorknob with purposeful delay. "Well, I have to get back to work." The door begins to shut. "Thank you for the coff— oh."

He doesn't bother stifling his chuckle as you dart beneath his outstretched arm and into the booth. If anything, he finds it all too charming for your liking.

"Change your mind after all?"

"I can't stay for long," you tell him, trying (and failing) to sound firm about it. "You...you aren't going to make me talk on air, are you?"

"'Course not, bedbug." He gets your chair for you like a gentleman, then easily slips into his own. "In fact, if you're to stay with me, I will need you to be very, very, quiet," he tells you, whispering the last part. "Can you do that for me?"

You take your seat with an eager nod, deciding against trusting your voice already.

"The records are in that basket," gestures Moon. He reaches just past you and plucks the vintage headphones from his desk, a spare set, and wordlessly fits them over your ears.

He unwinds a separate wire for himself — a device you have been enthusiastically banned from referring to as ‘the AUX cord’ — and plugs it into a port that sits directly behind his faceplate. You've since learned that the innovation was created to combat the issue of how to keep a pair of headphones on a face shape like theirs, but honestly, it just looks like a glorified earring.

"Ready?" He asks.

It's a trick question. His finger lands on the button before you have the chance to answer, and just as soon is his voice in your ears.

"Welcome back, dozers. You're listening to Starshine Station, and that was 'Just the Two of Us.' We've got more groovy tunes coming up here in a moment, but before that," and he taps the record basket again, returning your attention to the task at hand, "I want you to take a moment to come back to yourself. I know you're tired, you're exhausted, your mind is racing and you just want to unwind. Put your phone down, close your eyes, and breathe. I know it's silly — I know, I know — but place those worries aside and just be here, in this moment with me. Breathe in, take all of that stress, all of that weight you're carrying, and breath out. Let it go. You can pick it back up later, you can carry it again in the morning, but for now, set it down. Let it rest."

You draw a record from the basket and hand it over, smothering a yawn with your hand.

"Good, just like that," Moon purrs into the mic. "I hope you feel a little lighter after that, listeners. And if you're out on the roads right now, well, I hope you didn't listen to a single word I just said." His laughter threads through the radio waves like smooth jazz, every word curling around a smile. "Either way, thank you for letting me keep you company tonight. We've got more cozy classics ahead, so tune in and turn that dial to ten... here's 'Unchained Melody'."

When had he taken the record from you? One moment it was in your hands, and the next it was on air. So, too, do you feel on air — that is, lightweight and floating, all your troubles swept away by sixties pop and the unspoken lullaby of Moon's hand smoothing circles over your shoulders, hardly remembering when he even got there.

Your head lands on your arms, slumped against the desk.

You aren't going to sleep. You can't sleep. You still have to drive home and be back here again in an hour, well rested and ready for whatever demands Sun has for you that day, saying nothing of what will happen if Eclipse finds you here. You can't afford to rest your eyes for even a minute. Maybe you should have poured yourself a coffee, too.

"I hope the night is kind to you," says Moon.

His voice rolls over you like cool, ocean waves. He sounds so distant already. You can't remember the song ending, or the next one beginning, just the sound of his voice guiding you through the dark.

"This next one is very dear to me." His words breeze over you, disappearing into a hazy fog. "Wherever you are right now, whatever your situation, I hope you have someone special to hold close tonight."

Foreigner's "I Want to Know What Love Is," courses through your headphone speakers, but you aren't awake to hear it.

Moon unplugs himself from the soundboard just long enough to stand, shrugging off his wool cardigan. He stretches, arms raised above his head, exhausted steam whistling through his vents, stress marking every creak in his joints. Then he looks your way, and all the weight melts from his shoulders in an instant.

His cardigan drapes over your shoulders like a hug, still warm from his body. He brushes the hair from your eyes and lingers, selfishly this time, until the song comes to an end and he’s forced to pull away.

"Nighty night, bedbug," he whispers still. "Thanks for listening in."

[spineapplestudios]

what in the world is happening here, lmao

Something quick and fun while i work on more animations

[spineapplestudios]

oh this is- i love HIM, hes beautiful, hes glorious I am weak to a bad bitch with a bad attitude who IS a badass

:)

[spineapplestudios]

the consenses seems to be this is a creation too good to keep to myself

[spineapplestudios]

you know the answer

if i was a fictional character woukd you guys write fucked up angst fanfic about me yes or no

[spineapplestudios]

Commissions are OFFICALLY open!

[spineapplestudios]

OH- OH- oh wait- OH MY GOD GUYS- GUYS I WAS JOKING PLEASE!!

really funny to me that the Sunshine Station au oneshot is making rounds Now and not when it was posted um. Two Years Ago

[spineapplestudios]

I feel personally targeted

really funny to me that the Sunshine Station au oneshot is making rounds Now and not when it was posted um. Two Years Ago

[spineapplestudios]

hello the way you drew starshine station sun has me wild. i know you didn't cook that amazing meal for me but it was delicious nonetheless

Thank you so much! Honestly, I had no choice I know a fucking BAD BITCH when I see one, mans was on screen for less than half a second and already THROWING SHADE iconic, ICONIC I had to draw him, it had to be done, I couldn't not after that

[spineapplestudios]

In love with him, such a normal amount

Today's warm up drabble comes from my newest brain worms, Starshine Station (radio host au)! Not a full chapter, just something for you to munch on while I continue figuring out what I want to do.

Sun (& Eclipse) Centric // Wordcount: 1960

“Gooooood afternoon, ladies, gents, folks on the fence, and everyone except the lint licker who cut me off on the way into the station today. I sincerely hope that speeding ticket was worth it, honey, cause I just know that Mercedes is already guzzling your pockets by the mile!”

A wuh wuhhh sound effect comes across the speakers, followed quick by a giddy snicker from the announcer himself.

“It's the 20th of March, if you need reminding, and that marks the beautiful start of spring, spring, spring! I don’t know about you, but I love welcoming the season with some good ol’ fashioned deep cleaning. There’s nothing quite like giving the room a good sparkle to your favorite moxie melody, and what better way to kick off the afternoon than with Wanda Jackson's ‘Let's have a Party!’ It’sa classic that’ll see you movin’, groovin’, and having an all around good time while you’re sprucing your place up–”

A silhouette in the office window catches Sun’s attention. His chair whines with the motion of a backward lean to get a proper look at the intern waving him down from the other side of the glass, evidently needing his attention right there and then, despite the clear ON AIR sign flashing red above the door.

Not one to keep anyone waiting, Sun lifts a finger, mouthing a silent ‘one second’, before returning to his mic. “–and you know we're all about having a good time down here at Starshine Station! That’s why our special guest for today is none other than the ace of rock, Montgomery McGator, himself! We’ll hear everything he has to say about the bedazzled band trend here in a moment. For now, turn up those speakers for some Wanda magic!”

The quick press of a button sets his mic to mute and allows him exactly two minutes and nineteen seconds to stretch his legs and see to whatever issue has come up. He opens the door and hardly has his head poked outside of it before the station’s intern (you, evidently) is in front of him, clipboard in hand, with an expression that spells trouble.

“Oh, no,” Sun grimaces, “I know that look, dear. What’s wrong?”

You hate to be the bearer of bad news on any day, but today, you fear it could cost you your job. The issue at hand - something that came up only a moment ago - has your fingers tapping against the wood of the board and your bottom lip tucking between teeth, and you stall for time with a bout of silence, procrastinating the inevitable anger that’s going to come your way as soon as you break the news.

Sun is patient. He always is. But now, even he is peering over his shoulder to check on the remaining time. He turns back with a nervous expression. “Out with it, now,” he urges you, “I haven’t got much time left, flower, so if it isn’t terribly important–”

“Montgomery canceled.” You get it out in one breath, an apologetic whine stirring behind the words, and you’re quick to offer the only excuse you were given before he has a chance to do anything more than balk, “H-He said something about a sick dog, and that he’d try to make it next week, instead, if we could–”

Sun cuts you off with a raised hand and presses the other to his face, exhaling rather loudly, “So not only is he not in the booth next to me, where he’s supposed to have already been for the last half hour, but he isn’t coming in today at all? Did I hear you right?”

You nod, slow and shy.

“Okay.” He says sternly. Another exhale. His shoulders rise with gusto a moment later as his palms come open in a simple ‘what can you do’ gesture, “We’ll just have to find someone else to fill the spot.”

“I–” Another whine escapes you, evidence of your guilt despite the lack of a crime, “I’m really sorry, if I’d known any earlier, trust me, I would have–”

“Please, this isn’t your fault,” another peek inside the booth reveals he has approximately thirty seconds to think of a new plan. When he turns back around it’s with a wide grin and scheming eyes, an expression you don’t enjoy in the slightest - given the way it’s angled right towards you. “However, since it’s technically your responsibility to see that our segments run smoothly–” oh, no, “–why don’t you join me as our special guest instead?”

You shrink in place, gawking, the clipboard hugged tight to your chest, “What? No, no - I couldn’t!”

“Nonsense!” Chirps Sun, already dragging you into the booth by the arm, “I need a guest, you’re right here, it’ll work out just fine!”

“I’m just an intern!”

“And our special guest for the day!” He sits you down in the chair beside his own and hastily parks into his a second after. Ten seconds. His finger goes for the mic button, but you reach for his wrist and catch it just before. He casts you a sideways glance.

“What about Eclipse?” You swallow the heavy lump that’s settled in your throat, “You know they aren’t going to like this, Sun. He and I already aren’t on the best terms.”

Five seconds. “I’ll take care of him,” Sun waves you off with his spare hand, “don’t you worry your little head about it, blossom. Relax for me – and put on a smile! – you’re about to be famous.”

“But–”

His finger lands on the button. “Welcome back, listeners! You’re tuned in to Starshine Station, and that was Let's have a Party!’ from the one and only Wanda Jackson. I’m sure you’re all bustlin’ for a bruising from big man McGator, but it appears his schedule rock and rolled out of our grasp–“ he plays a ba dum tss, then chases it with a sad trombone, ”–but worry not, folks, we’ve got someone special to keep you entertained while we sort things out. Give a big hand to an announcer in training from our very own station!“

Sun adjusts the mic in your direction, gesturing for you to introduce yourself.

Fuck. What are you supposed to do, tell him no? Live on air? “Oh, um, - I’m–” you clear your throat. Telling thousands of viewers your name is harder than chugging dry sand, but you do it, and you do it without making too much of a fool of yourself.

“Our friend here has been with the station for a few months now, already!” Sun tells the audience, “They manage things like a true professional and keep me and Moon from feeling like we’re herding cats with all that needs done in a day, truly, where would we be without them?”

You can’t help it, the heat that crosses your cheeks at his words, and you even manage a shy, bubbling laugh, finding yourself more willing to lean into the mic and reply – that is, until you see a familiar face in the window.

A contrast of blue and yellow, silver cheeks and fifteen pointed rays. There, behind the glass, stood Eclipse.

And he did not look happy.

You’re quick to tap Sun on the shoulder, not daring to point your guest out to him but rather gesturing with a panicked look, and he follows your gaze to see Eclipse - arms crossed, foot tapping - with a look that could kill across his face. Sun doesn’t even flinch. He turns back to the mic.

“You’ll hear more from our esteemed guest here in a moment, but first,” and his eyes flash in Eclipse’s direction, holding there, “let’s hear a Lesley Gore favorite, ‘You don’t own me’,” he meets Eclipse’s scowl with a grin, “then we’ll hear a word from our sponsors. Stay tuned in for more ca-lassic hits!”

A button press has never sounded so deafening. Eclipse leaves the window a moment later.

Sun nods towards the door where, already, you can hear the station manager marching towards the booth, “Come on,” he sighs, “let’s get this over with. He won’t bother us too much, I can only stall with commercials for so long.”

The door slams open before either of you reach it. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Snaps Eclipse, “Our fans are expecting Montgomery McGator, and you think to bring a rookie on air?”

“I–”

“Monty canceled,” Sun interrupts before the apology is even halfway out, “nothing we could do about it, regretfully. Unless you magically have one of the other Glamrocks on speed-dial.”

The look Eclipse gives you both makes you shrink, and you actively fight the urge to hide behind Sun.

His hand twitches. Once, twice. Then it settles at his hip. “That doesn’t mean you get to bring just anyone in,” he scolds, “we have a reputation to keep, if you kindly remember, and I won’t have it tarnished because you see fit to put an intern on air. What type of calls are you expecting from this interview - inquisitions on how to properly staple papers together?”

You bury the hint of offense deep, deep down, and stomp on the pile for good measure, doing your best not to remind the guy who paid your bills what all you did to keep the station running.

Luckily, Sun doesn’t miss a beat. He’s at your defense long before you have a chance to argue. “They do much more than that,” he corrects with a tut, “you ought to know, it’s you who orders them around like a pack mule, isn’t it?”

Eclipse seethes, steam rising faintly from his cheeks, “I won’t apologize for keeping them busy,” he says, “there’s work that needs done - work that doesn’t involve playing in the sound booth - and I won’t be made the enemy for demanding they do their job.” He stares Sun down, looking stern. Sun holds his gaze without even a blink. Finally, Eclipse sighs and deflates at the shoulders, “They can stay for the interview,” he says “but only because I don’t want you falling through on two promised segments in a row.”

Happy with his win, Sun beams from ear to ear and slaps you between the shoulders, an action that nearly has you stumbling straight into the boss himself.

“But–” Eclipse continues, and he angles himself to look you dead in the eyes, “if you ever think about bringing them in without my permission again, I’ll see to it that both of you are out of a job by evening. Capiche?”

“Of course, of course,” Sun waves a hand, “this is a one-time thing, swear on my soul. A special occasion. Won’t happen again!”

You have no idea how he can be so lax in the face of someone like Eclipse, but if it means getting you off the hook, you aren’t complaining. Even if it meant having to go through with an interview that you are wholly unprepared for.

Either way, Eclipse seems to buy it.

“Mhm,” is all he initially has to say, “you’re back on in twelve. Better make it worthwhile.”

Sun follows him halfway out the door, “It’ll be unforgettable!” He shouts down the hall.

Yeah, unforgettable is what you’re afraid of.

Despite your fears you don’t stop Sun from pulling you back into the chair, and not a moment too soon. The last advertisement ends, and he returns to the crowd as if nothing had ever happened, queueing the next few songs and making small talk as he reintroduces you.

When it comes time to answer questions you’re all but sweating through your company sweatshirt, but his smile is there and it warms you to the core, and you find the words come a little easier, this time. Sun hits the dial.

“Let’s take our first caller.”

[spineapplestudios]

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