MR. ANT TENNA! LIVE! (in the clearance section)

by Slightly_microwaved_vegan_ice_cream

Summary:

You’re a “human” who recently set up a vintage retail and repair shop in hometown. Your first clients happen to be a couple of local teens with a broken TV.

Notes:

Hi! Welcome to the silly little Tenna fic! I’ve never written a reader insert before so I wanted to try it out and I thought deltarune would be a good place to start! I love how the game has such interesting meta-commentary on game protagonists and the player as a whole. (More on that in the notes later)

It’s kinda inspired after my first run though of chapter 3 where I almost forgot one recruit, but thanks to me absolutely getting my ass kicked by Tenna several times in a row, I was able to find out about the recruitment requirements and get the last one.

I still haven’t actually finished chapter 4 so I’m sorry if this isn’t the most accurate fic out there. I just wanted to get this out of my notes app. :)

Chapter 1: YOOOOOUUUUUUU (Soulja boy edition)

It must have started happening without you knowing. Or maybe you were just in denial about it. Most people tend to be. Rationalizing through logic or reasoning and moving on with the rest of your day. Maybe you were sleep deprived, maybe you weren’t. But at some point, you couldn’t ignore it any further. 

It’s you, you thought, every time you brushed your teeth, or splashed your face with water, peering into your own eyes as the glass portrayed the very concept of your own self. Despite everything, it’s still you. 

Scrubbing your teeth with minty toothpaste, your mirror copied with the same enthusiasm. The copy had your features: the same eyes, same nose, same soul…but it felt off. The way you moved, felt wrong. Slower, almost. Blinking just barely out of tempo with your own body. 

But how can you prove that? After all, this was you, right? Were you really gonna worry over something so small? Was it really a problem?

And yet, you were the one who decided to challenge yourself. 

Starting slowly, you carefully nod your head, keeping your eyes locked on the target of your attention. It mirrors. You roll your shoulders, tilting your ears like you were stretching out the sore muscles you slept on wrong last night. A part of your joints pop unexpectedly and you feel a little bit better. The copy of you finds a similar expression. 

You let out a quiet chuckle, feeling stupid at perusing this dumb experiment with yourself. But you indulge regardless. Patting your head and rubbing your stomach. 

However, Your reflection didn’t look as smug about the whole situation. More focused on completing the task you had made for yourself and even pressing their lips in a fine line to hold their concentration. 

You watch, feeling your eyelids widen and limbs come to a stop as they continue the task. They couldn’t keep up with your demands. 

Then, a white knuckled fist met the reflection, shattering the illusion that made you feel as one whole vessel. You can’t tell which one of you threw the first hit, wether it was out of punishment or rebellion, Shards of glass exploded into smaller fragments upon contact with your bathroom counter and you watch yourself look on in horror at your bloody hand. 

You see yourself pick glass out of your knuckles, letting each shard fall to the ground and wincing with each and every clumsy mistake. You are fully aware that there’s no sensation of the rise and fall of your chest anymore, but you are still breathing. You can see it now. Your body cowering before you. 

Your body locks eyes with yourself, and it approaches, a worried expression on your face as it crouches to scoop you back up, bringing said bloody hand towards everything you can observe. Your fingers reach out to you, hoping to take you back where you belong. But your hand passes through you like air. 

You failed. Somehow…

Your vessel tries to reach for you again. Grasping this time, beckoning your return to its rightful place, yet still the illusion is shattered. You watch yourself fold in your knees to your chest, pathetic and sniffling on the bathroom floor, while the room echoes with quiet sobs. 

Your body doesn’t know what to do. It doesn’t know how to make you happy anymore. You don’t know what you want. 

After all, this is a reader-insert fan-fic right? 

All of your choices are predetermined, meaning you can’t exactly be in full control this time around. The vessel has to figure it out on their own and the responsibility of your choices fall on the shoulders of your mirrored self. That can be a lot to some. Especially when they’re supposed to be representing you. 

But you came here for a reason. You liked the scenario that your reflection will lives. Are you willing to observe? Are you willing to listen? 

Do you want to let go of control? 

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

Well, since you’re still reading, I’m gonna assume that’s a “yes”.

I’m sure your vessel will be happier with this decision, even though they’re a little scared right now. But with you by their side I’m sure they’ll get through it. 

And hey, maybe they’ll do ya a favor one of these days. Maybe buy you a pizza or something.

 

 

 

Or maybe not. 

 

 

Who knows. 

 

After all, it’s not really up to you.

 

They wear your face, They use your name, and they decide to move to a town called home, hoping to represent you in the best way they can. Past this wall of glass that separates one world from the next…you live vicariously through your reflection on screen.

˚✧₊⁎ ♡⁎⁺˳✧༚

A small little antique shop hosts all kinds of treasures big and small just beyond the gravel path leading up to that sage green Dutch door. Just behind a curtain of a soon to be open shop that kept the merchandise in the dark till you put it in the spotlight for a good and loving home. The sun had finally caught up with you on your morning commute, adding a bit of salt in the wound since your apartment was so far from the place and your alarm couldn’t hit snooze again like you would have wanted. Though in all honesty, the shop was practically perfect in this area. cozy with its slate tile roof and English influences in both the front garden and the construction of the place, as well as the delightful forest that surrounds it. Just outside of town but not too far away from a local coffee shop. It really was perfect. 

However, the interior seemed to have a bit of a problem… especially when you drew back the curtain from the display windows. 

The sunrise tends to reveal a fuck-ton of dust in your antique shop In ways you couldn’t even imagine. The sheer sight of falling particles puts your nose in a state of anticipatory horror. But such is the life of someone so invested in the past. 

This was no good for business; antique shops already had a track record of smelling like grandma and grandpa’s basement, it would be way worse if the whole store looked like you tossed their ashes all over the place and dragged in gravel for good measure. Oh!!! And especially since you moved to a more monstrous population, that feeling of death might freak people out. 

QUICK THE SNIFFER-PICKER-UPPER!!!

As your own nose itched to sneeze in several failed attempts, you thrust open the supply closet door to find yourself the world’s most horrifying vacuum.

Now this vacuum was no ordinary vacuum: The sniffer-picker-upper is a novelty vacuum in the shape of a nose that one estate sale eagerly gave to you for free. At first it bothered you that the vacuum’s brush kinda looked like nose hairs spinning and scooping up crumbs, rocks and clumps tracked in, but somehow things just get a little bit more normal the more you're around it. 

Still not great to pull out in front of the customers though, especially since its noise sounded eerily like a long inhale. But it did the job, and that’s what mattered. So you held its handle, plugged it into the wall and started to let it snort the carpet in lines. It didn’t suck as a vacuum, meaning it did suck. 

But enough about the vacuum, unless any kind soul would like to exchange their normal vacuum for the Sniffer-Picker-Upper, for the low low price of their other vacuum as long as it’s not shaped as a human body part? The Sniffer-Picker-upper had good quality’s too? 

Maybe…?

Someone clearly wanted it before they died, so there might be an audience. 

The more you thought about your hypothetical (Anonymous) Gregg’s list posting for a more respectable vacuum, the more you realized that you would suck ass in any business setting…

That is besides antique repair and retail.

Sure, some technology wasn’t exactly adaptable to modern applications and the clothes and furniture could fall apart at any time, but they had a history that the new stuff sure couldn’t compete with. Made with minds that weren’t cutting corners but cutting edge (at the time), made with love, made to be functional and enjoyable. 

Every so often you get your average human or monster, who’s loved one passed on, and they can’t quite figure out what to do with the legacy of heirlooms that they’ve been gifted with. Sometimes you meet them with a smile on their face, join their laughter and reminisce about a complete stranger’s life, letting another person know why that departed soul was so cherished. Sometimes it’s a moment of silence, a parting of childhood or a phase in their life that they wished to not spend so much money on. You get people who don’t find the outdated clothing or technology to be useful anymore, and others whose eyes light up at the hidden jewels time had made such a scarcity of. 

But most of all, people come looking for things they want to keep in their lives. The memories of those they cherish whose things may have gotten a little…broken over the years. You were skilled in that regard, but not the most useful in the last town you were in. (At least from what you can remember)

Watches, jewelry, old gaming consoles, you name it. As long as you had the focus and the parts, you could fix it right up. 

That is, until today’s request…

As you were letting your vacuum snort a particularly crunchy bit of carpet, and weirdly enjoying the rocks and dirt clank inside the machine, you hear the scattering of the gravel as frantic footsteps ended  with a big crash and a loud “GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!” Followed thereafter. 

You squint, confused at how a customer would ever turn up at this hour before the store had even been officially opened. Especially from what sounded like the thud of a teenager. Shouldn’t they be at school? 

Your hands instinctively start to clam up around the handle of your vacuum, freezing like a deer in headlights as the predicament starts to settle in your mind. 

There's a teenager outside your store. 

Shit. 

Teenagers have a habit of mocking anything and anyone. 

SHIT!!

You scramble to hide the cleaning equipment before you become a laughing stock of the kids in town, but it was too late. A face popped out of the ground to lock eyes with you. A purple monster with oddly jaundiced eyes squinted in your general direction, making you self conscious of every factor of your being. 

She squinted for a long time, which only made the assumed judgement worse honestly. Crossing your fingers and praying that she either had really really really bad eyesight or was a dinosaur of some kind, you decide to not move. Maybe pretending to be a lamp  or something… a mannequin would probably be a better choice honestly. 

You stand very stiffly, dropping the vacuum and envisioning a lampshade over your head. There’s a long stretch of silence as she stares at you over the flower box while you listen to the sniffer-picker-upper roam your floors, slowly huffing the grime like a Roomba on the loose. 

But this does not work. Probably because the vacuum hit the ground so hard it gave you away. Or you weren’t really that convincing as a lamp… maybe both. The teen dusted herself off and pressed her snout into the glass with a loud thump. Her nostrils fogged up the window like a dragon’s smoke, yet the former intimidation seemed to vanish like a rabbit in a hat since the kid’s face was as smushed as a pug. 

The eye contact is a little awkward at this point, so yours dart away briefly, prompting her to finally talk. 

“Hey!” Her voice is somewhat muffled behind the wall of glass, but the volume was not lessened at all. “Yeah I’m talking to you! Asshole!”

You panic, dropping the act once she calls you out, and looking for some kind of way to stop making things worse for yourself. You wince as the vacuum hits the wall and shakes a display of fine dishes and teacups. 

The kid trots backwards, rechecking the sign outside of the shop and running back to shout at you again. “You fix old crap, yeah?”

“Yeah?” You clear your throat, repeating the answer with a little more gusto and confidence than the last, at least to be heard outside the window. “Yes! Yes we do! One moment!”

You rush over to the outlet to unplug your abomination and proceed to wave the kid to the front door of the store. 

“Hey, so we haven’t really opened yet—“ you begin to clarify as the top half of the Dutch door is pushed open like a fridge, but before you know it the girl is booking it away from your store. 

Your hands rest on your hips with a little laugh leaving your smile. Partly from how idiotic your panicking was earlier and partly since the girl seemed to be so endearingly weird. 

“must’ve noticed the time.” You chuckled, reminiscing about your own childhood and returning to dust your antiques before you open the store to the public. 

Notes:

So something I’ve noticed is that the y/n trope is kinda an opposite situation to Kris’s situation, right? Y/n represents the reader, yet the reader has literally no control over what y/n does. Kris is their own person, however the narrative lets the player choose any and all decisions they make. Anyway just something to note.

Chapter 2: How do I be one of you?

Summary:

Finally opening your store to the public and having a ton of first day jitters, your doppelgänger is tasked to fix a broken CRT TV by two local teens... what could go wrong?

Notes:

HIIIII I made more! tee hee!
enjoy!

 

♑︎

Eagerly, you stand outside your door. Waiting till the last inch of the second hand till it pushes the next gear in motion. A few more click click clicks till you’re allowed to turn your sign from a disappointment to a welcome. After all, it’s not polite to the customers by lying to them. If it says 10am—7pm, why should you open it a minute early?  You wouldn’t want to be a liar, right?

Eyes kept focus on the custom wood-burned engraving as your hand kept on the corner of the sign, fingertips on the verge of splinters as you gripped the sides in anticipation, keenly aware of the passage of seconds, slipping like sand, yet it never felt like this purgatory, this liminality would ever leave you. 

As the sand sank further down in that little glass vessel you imagined, you started to wonder how much time you were wasting just by thinking about it. Would this new life suit you? Would it pay the bills? Would it make you feel whole again?

Beep! It must be 10:00

Flipping that sign over was not as ceremonial as you thought it would be. The wood just clunked against the paint of your door, drowned out by the brush of breeze through the leaves. Its significance blurred among the vast superiority of this town you now call home. Every tree grows in its own unique way, different individual shapes and colors, different numbers of rings on its stump, surrounding you. Fall’s vibrant hues put summer’s green cliffsides and forests to shame. It made you wonder, in a town so rich with unique beauty, would a generic human like you even stand a chance? 

You already bought the place, why were you having second thoughts now? Good golly. 

Dragging your eyes away from the sign as you’re filled with a twinge of disappointment, a small outline of gravel and dirt left behind by the purple monster’s footsteps you met a couple hours ago made you crack a smile. A quiet breeze passes through the trees as a couple of birds chirp overhead. Peaceful, but still quiet, yet the restlessness of the new day still lurks in the depths of your stomach. If you still had a heartbeat, it'd be beating like a drum by now. 

Best to get some tea, right?

You step inside, heading to the little tea corner you prepared for yourself in the storeroom, turning on the self heating kettle and realizing that this was the most modern item in the entire shop. A small detail that was a little funny to you, but shouldn’t be revealed to the customers in case it shatters the charm of the shop as a whole. 

While that starts to boil, you go fetch your old apron from the hook by the register and loop the strings into a bow behind your waist, finding the fix-it’s you brought from home that just needed a bit more attention before you slapped a price tag on em’. Polishing a couple silver accessories from the 1910’s, re-attaching a phonograph’s amplifier that got snapped off in shipment, and sewing up the arm of a discontinued cowboy doll, was enough of a distraction to pass the time before the whistle sent you scrambling to turn it off again. 

Statistically speaking, black tea was the most popular, with 75% of the general population drinking it, however, you couldn’t remember if it was English breakfast or earl gray that was most preferable to you.

Maybe if you put them in together, make a fusion of some sorts, you might like it? But the more you thought about it, the more you were unsure if your decision on tea was even correct, dangling the teabags in the air by the strings as you pondered what you really want. Coffee was more mainstream, right? But not world wide, right? What about creamer? Sugar? What ratio? What if it’s wrong? 

You stop yourself, taking a moment to breathe deeply and rubbing your temples as the steam floats from the kettle to your face. You ultimately decide to discard the hot drink idea completely and just fill that cute little snail mug to the brim with boiling water. Better to play it safe. Maybe the caffeine would set your nerves off more. 

You take a sip, imagining more flavor than it contains before returning to the front desk to sit and wait. 

 

 

 

 

And wait…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And………….wait. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And……………………………………………….wait. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And-

 

 

 

 

This is taking forever . You think as your fingers clack against your desk, drumming a useless rhythm, echoed by the drawer inside. 

This unease forces you to leave your chair, stretching out your body and taking a wander around the shop in case things weren’t in the right order again. The glassware looked good, nothing chipped or scratched (at least anymore). The old furniture was patched up the best it could be and no nails stuck out of it. when you wiped a finger over those donated cast iron pans, you could taste the flavor still preserved in the metal. As your mind starts to wonder, you trace the grove of the scar on your hand with your fingers, following the cracks that your accident left you with. 

 

“It’s what’s on the inside that counts.” You mutter absentmindedly, but the more you look at your displays, the more you hate it, and the last minute changes start to flood your mind. 

 

There were a couple dishes that looked like they were about to fall, the rug didn’t look safe to walk on in that section, and the mound of books on that shelf looked like they would break the cabinet they sat on. Also there was dust somehow. Still. Dust. 

As you inspect a couple frying pans for lead poisoning again, a chime finally rings at the front of your shop. Echoing a cheery noise in the hollow store you own. 

A part of you doesn’t believe it, listening to the pitter patter of feet in the front part of the shop. You make haste towards the sound, a smile creeping on the corners of your lips, but just enough to not be overbearing. 

 

“Hello!” You beam, poking your head into the main room before halting in your tracks. Where were they? “Hello?” 

 

“Right here.” A sour voice catches you off guard behind you, causing you to jump. The round and spiky cyclops looks at you with disgust, crossing their arms and tapping their foot impatiently. 

 

“Geez. What are you so afraid of?” They scoff, rolling their gigantic eye at your reaction. 

 

You decide to laugh off your embarrassment, hoping it won't hurt their feelings. “Oh! Nothing, my apologies! Is there anything I can help you with today?” 

 

The more you look at them, something in your eye starts to hurt, and you try to blink it off. The monster keeps glaring at you. “Just taking a look, eh? Don’t know why you keep acting like it’s a problem.” 

 

“Oh?” You keep your dorky smile, but the rejection makes your eyes twitch slightly, you decide to keep a good distance from the sudden aggression, so you plop back down in your seat at checkout. “Oh, right! I’ll leave you to it. It’s no problem, just shout if you need something, I’ll be…right here.” 

 

before you lose sight of them, they mutter under their breath. “What an eyesore.” And your teeth grind at the comment. 

 

you take a sip of the room temperature water you hopelessly boiled this morning, the flavorless taste and uncomfortably neutral temperature only adds to your frustration. Burying a hand into your face, you let out a defeated sigh. Perfect. You were doing so well at this whole cozy life thing… you scoff at your own mental sarcasm, sloshing the mug of water around like a glass of wine in your other hand. 

 

There were always other days , you shrug. But it seems to not ease any of the tension in your jaw. 

 

The window across from you catches your eye, as the edges of outside sunlight is dripped in pools of shadow while gravel kicks in an uneven rhythm. The closer it comes to the door the more you catch the end of their conversation.

 

“DAMN WHAT RALSEI THINKS! We fucked up! Leaving him out in the rain like that…If we wanna fix him, we gotta at least give this a shot.” There was a small pause before she spoke again. “Good. Now can you kick the door, I don’t wanna drop him.”

 

Your head perks up at the familiar voice outside. Picking bits and pieces out from what you could eavesdrop, you assume that they were seeking outside help before their parents realized they broke something. The door swung open and in went the dinosaur girl you met earlier with the most androgynous looking human teenager hauling a very wet something under a tarp with a makeshift stretcher. 

 

You shift up from your seat, a friendly grin replacing the laughter you would have had now that your suspensions were confirmed. “Hey! Welcome in!”

 

The teens appear to be somewhat hesitant returning the same enthusiasm; the human halts at the sight of you while their monster friend bumps into them. 

 

“Oh, come on.” The monster groans in frustration, elbowing the human to continue their quest. When they start backing off, she rolls her eyes and takes the lead of the stretcher, tiptoeing around the fragile displays that crowd the hallway. 

 

“Do yall need help with that or…?” You offer, still awkwardly standing since they completely ignored you earlier.

 

“Nah, we’re good. Do you have a place we can-“ you point to the front desk. “Ah.” 

 

“Broke something important, huh?” You joke, hoping to break the tension that they walked in with. 

 

“Yeah…something like that.” Neither of them look at you as they set down whatever they were carrying on your desk. The monster leaned against your counter, burrowing her hands in her pockets while the human stood robotically right behind them. 

 

“You came to the right place.” The nerves that seemed to haunt you earlier dissolved as you fell more into routine, cracking your knuckles before pulling out a drawer in your desk. “This is a repair request, correct?”

 

“…What else would it be?” The monster girl’s hands left the pockets of her jackets to cross them. 

 

“We do exchanges if we have a doppelganger in the shop.” You hand her a form and a pen. “Here, I’m gonna need to know who to file this request under, as well as get your written consent to proceed with this. It’s a basic legal procedure in case of damages during the restoration process.”

 

“…huh?” she blinks cluelessly. 

 

“If I break something when I’m fixing it, don’t sue me.”

 

You sense a twinge of distress from the girl, her hand gripping the pen you just lent her as she looks to her friend. Their expression remains blank, looking at the displays around them. She looks back to you with a more serious expression. “You can fix him, right?” 

 

With how earnestly she speaks, your mind pays more attention to the words she strung together than the answer itself.“… Him ? Who’s him ?”

 

“Tenna.” The human speaks, but it's the same cadence as a gramophone. Once finished with their cameo line, they disappeared between displays to escape the rest of the conversation. 

 

“They uhh, named it as a kid I guess…” the monster continues, scribbling down her & her friend’s name on the form. “You didn’t answer my question though.”

 

“Gimme a second as I do the diagnostic check…” you flip up the tarp, revealing the antique equivalent of a dead body. You audibly scream at the shattered faceplate and the waterlogged cone that could honestly be repurposed into an unethical fishbowl. A small plastic bag of glass floats in the middle of the CRT’s pond like a ship. DID THEY THROW ‘HIM’ IN A LAKE?! You shove the tarp back down, hands still shaking from the adrenaline of witnessing such a war crime, and the girl notices. 

 

“What's wrong?”

 

“We…” you cough, hiding the horror of your commission in your voice. There was no way you could save… that . “We…might have a doppelganger in the back…”

 

“Hey! You're not calling out to us now! We're not here to replace him! You said-”

 

“Listen,” you look down at the flyer “Susie?”

 

She nods angrily. 

 

“Susie, my repair price depends on the intensity of the damage. A screen, I can fix. Motherboards, I can replace. But that is practically un-salvageable.”

 

Susie seems hellbent on its recovery, you struggle to see why. “You know what?! Never mind! Kris, we’re going!”

 

 Kris (apparently) doesn’t need to be told twice, they start to b-line out the door. 

 

“Hey! Wait a minute!”

 

“YOU’RE A COWARD!” The monster accuses, pointing a finger at you like she just called out a lie  before slamming the door. 

 

Again the room feels hollow, and to add salt to your wound, the eyeball customer decides to finally leave too, morphing its body into a grin at your obvious distress just to pick on you further. They didn’t even buy anything…what a jerk.

 

Just. Great. 

 

You look to your left, eyeing that wet cathode-ray tube the teens left you accidently. For how heated their confrontation was about the TV, they totally forgot about it. You consider a better outcome of your conversation, wondering if you should have agreed to it and replaced the CRT with an identical model…but then again, you typically don't carry a lot of TVs around in your shop, so it wouldn't be as identical…

Was it weird how connected those two were to the TV? Sure nostalgia plays a big factor with this sort of thing…but… they acted like it was a person.

Seeing the hollow shell of something once useful, fills you with a pang of guilt. You hated seeing yourself in those broken cracks, scattered and warped from the you, you should be. You reach out to it, taking the wet bag of shards out of the screen’s frame, weighing the choice in front of you. you determine if kindness was gonna be worth it over this month's rent.

Maybe it’d be better in the long run…

Notes:

....how...how long did they leave him in the rain for? :(

 

⬧︎

Chapter 3: It was very difficult to put the pieces together...

Summary:

BREAKING NEWS!!!! local local fixes local tv. local does not make headline's because the local in question fixes old things as a profession. Locals of said local are not impressed by the mundane task. more on this later...

Notes:

Hey yall! hope you've had a good week so far, this chapter switches from your POV and Tenna's, and in one of the parts I'm gonna need you to play some cartoon 'bonk' sound effects just for a full experience. Trust me on this.

It was like they pulled the plug on him last minute… arms falling before he could realize what a fool he’d been for not seeing this coming. Those nerves and wires just snapped  and fizzled out in dripping sparks, a color bar test blotting his vision before the inevitable collapse, he could barely hear Susie over the broken fuzz of the audio swelling in his antennae like a crashing title wave. Next thing he knew he was falling through a cloud of dust, swallowing him whole into obsolete isolation. 

Somehow that’s not what worried him this time, the ego and attention, the lights, the cameras, the stars slipping away in a moment, all nothing compared to the looks on their faces when the knight appeared. 

He just hoped they’d all be okay… 

Oh WHAT HAD HE DONE?!?! Leaving them to fight on their own? Not that those kiddos weren’t tough, they sure as well are, but he brought the danger to them- he forgot the knight’s demands… he-

…

Couldn’t he just have a little more time? One last laugh before curtain call? A round of applause before they turned him off for good? He hated not having that chance at closure, that one last goodbye before running to that damn phone? Did they really need to bring the kids into this? Who would take care of Pipis when he was a goner, huh? 

He shattered into a million pieces when it finally hit the ground. Shivering and choking in the snapping jolts of dying energy his body still had, his legs curled into himself as some pathetic way to self soothe. Smaller, smaller, and smaller still, a part of him didn’t want to be found like this…

More and more dust started to pile up, and the chill crawled up his spine. He might have heard someone in the distance scream his name, grab his shoulder and shake him around a little bit, but the world fizzled out before he could tell who it really was or what they said. 

Oh how did it come to this…?

˚✧₊⁎ ♡⁎⁺˳✧༚

Twisting your key till you hear that little click, you give the door a push just in case, and finally let out the disgruntled sigh you’d been holding. 

“What a day… right?” You spoke to the open air, finding camaraderie with the Trinitron that you set on your porch to lock the door. But no response came, Just that gentle breeze through the foliage. 

“Alright ‘Tenna’” you say with a pleasant sigh as you settle your hands on the sides of the exterior, mentally preparing to lift that heavy old thing. “Let’s getcha’ home.” 

You weren’t the best at dead lifting, so your form wasn’t exactly the healthiest, but you managed to hoist him up. Hah, even you were personifying this vessel of broken glass and wires… guess a name really helps with that sort of thing huh…..

…

It sure…does…

Anyway, you stumble a little bit with the added weight in your arms, but you managed to keep yourself from getting crushed by this… well, Tenna. 

Setting him in the back seat of your truck and keeping a seatbelt around him didn’t help with the personification. But, from how annoying your day was, it felt good to find a little joy in the smaller things. Those teens regarded him as a friend, so you might as well honor that. Whimsy made life good. A past made it even better. Those waterboarded apple and star stickers and the leftover glue that came with all added to his secondhand charm. 

Even if those kids were rude, you could still tell that this was pretty important for them. And so what if you were something of a doormat for wanting to fix it for them. This could be a good way to re-write today’s narrative. ‘Local store owner fixes broken tv’ wasn’t exactly news worthy, but with the damage it had, it’d be pretty awesome if you could do it. Plus, it’s always a good choice to be kind.

That said, this was gonna be a difficult project with how soaked the interior was. Poor thing. Rust colored water was leaking through the cracks of the plastic bezel like blood. Luckily you had a towel on hand to keep it from staining your seats, however it was something of a gory sight. 

Because of your initial horror that you completely failed to hide by the way, you missed the opportunity to check the damage. So you would probably have to take it apart to properly dry all the internal components and find some replacements. Now, you did have some better tools at home, but that screen was gonna be an issue for your budget. Personally, you didn’t really own a model with the exact proportions- actually you didn’t really have a tv yet at all. So it’s not like you could Frankenstein this thing by using extra parts. 

Turning right at the library- no, wait… did that say librarby? Did they misspell library?  Your car slows down to inspect the error. Huh…you see your apartment complex just down the road, occasionally checking in your rear view mirror if Tenna was doing okay back there. He was more or less the same as when he was left on your desk so you assumed he was fine. 

…well?

Sorta…?

Hoisting him back up in your arms once you park, you struggle to close the door without kicking it shut. It’s like a snail race to climb the stairs to your apartment, hauling the tv like a shell on your back, you notice something that puts more of a damper on your day. 

Families skipping by to their cars for a little outing, a couple holding hands by the stairwell and whispering secrets to one another, a small group of children playing in the parking lot with their neighborhood friends, and yet you were still so far away from the milestone of what you call home. 

It shouldn’t bother you, you should be happy seeing people enjoy their lives, this was a sweet little town… it’s just- well, when you’re not really established yet…seeing people with something you don’t have yet can be a little…crushing. 

Suddenly, it felt somewhat awkward to be hauling this TV by yourself. You had no idea why, there was no reason to, but you did. Because moving here erased whatever past you might have built. People didn’t know you yet. You weren’t anybody’s friend or partner, Hell, even your apartment wasn’t even much to look forward to. You had already spent so much on the store, there wasn’t much money left over for your cramped new home. Just boxes of the bare essentials still cluttered around your floors. 

But hey, maybe adding a tv would be a nice touch…

Temporarily of course! it’s not like it’s your tv. 

˚✧₊⁎ ♡⁎⁺˳✧༚

Complete Neutrality was a strange sensation to feel, especially considering it wasn’t a sensation at all. This quiet echo of his mind was the studio he’d be stuck with forever, alone and hollow in this void… heh, gee he didn’t even have the logo this time…

Maybe the closest he’d ever felt was sitting in the cold place, letting the dust fall on his glass on those lonely days when the dreamers didn’t tune in for weeks, fogging up his screen till he couldn’t see the particles drift down anymore. At least back then Ramb would come and check on him like how Kris checked the fridge for pie in the middle of the night. 

But this sure was the real deal, huh…  the dark corner of death was both everything and nothing he could feel-

YEOUCH!!!

NOW WHAT IN THE HEY HECKING HECKATY HECK WAS THAT?!? DEATH IS SUPPOSED TO PUT YA OUT OF YOUR MISERY NOT ADD TO IT!!! 

 

OOO!

AHH!

EEK!!

OWW!!

Oh! that felt kinda good actually—

GAH!

OUCHI!!!

YEOUCH-A-ROO!!

OOF!

D’oh!

YEOUCH-TIMES-2!!

EPP! 

ARGH!!!

ALRIGHTY! THATS ENOUGH!!!!

WHAT IN THE HEY-WHO-WHAT-WHEN-WHERE-AND-WHY??? WHAT IS GOING ON??? It felt like his wires were being snapped out of him!! Like his screws were going loose!! OH THIS IS TERRIBLE!!! JUST TERRIBLE!!! THIS WAS WORSE THAN THE DUMP! HE WAS BEING SCRAPPED FOR PARTS! THE PAIN! THE HORROR! THIS WAS A NIGHTMARE! HIS WORST NIGHTMARE! HIS-

A cold, unfamiliar hand tilted his head back, resting firmly where the side of his cheek would be. With just the amount of softness to quell the sparking worry in his system, but strong enough to keep him in place. 

Then, SNAP! He felt his antennae’s nerves reconnect to his system. 

“There we go…” someone Tenna doesn’t know mutters under their breath, rubbing circles into the side of his face, “Much better.” 

The stranger even flicked one of his antennae to see if it was secure enough on him, but it just sent a buzzing feeling through the rest of his face as he heard that beautiful laugh. 

“Cute! Like a little bug…hah ha!”

Carefully he was set back down on what seemed to be a towel, getting two pats on the cheek before the hand left his side. He could hear you shift  away, rise from their spot and stretch out their joints, their shoes kicking against the floor, scattering small pieces of screws and debris, the change of carpet to wood to tile as they walked farther and farther from him. The sparks of a burner, the sizzle of something on a stovetop… it sounded so familiar to home. His home. 

But with someone new. 

Every nerve and internal organ spilling out of his body felt exposed, even more heightened by the lack of sight or smell to distract his mind. He was confused as to where he was, why you were helping him, if the kids were okay… why his surgeon left him to make a grilled cheese sandwich. 

But there was no way of knowing…

The best distraction was to listen, listen to the sounds of your cooking, the delightful hum that kept him company in this strange new place. There were conversations downstairs that flouted up through what he assumed was a chimney, small fire crackling wood inside. But his attention mostly landed on you. It’s not like he knew you very well… he couldn’t recognize your voice from the other visitors the Dreemerrs’s invited over, but you seemed to have good intentions and that was what really mattered. After all, You had to have taken the time to drag him outta the dump, haul him home (which is no easy task, mind you), and work on fixing him. Even if you were a little rough on his internal software, the way your hand decontextualized the situation he was presently experiencing through such tender care was enough to make any darkner feel safe in your hands. 

 

 He silently hoped that even though he was a broken watery mess, maybe you’d sit down nearby for a while…and keep him company. 

 

Just for a while…….

…

Please?

…?

 

Notes:

love the implication that Tenna knows the sound of a grilled cheese specifically without a sense of smell or sight.

Chapter 4: MR. ANT TENNA! AMAZED by GIANT grilled cheese pull!!!

Summary:

Tenna is still waiting for you to finish his surgery while you eat a grilled cheese sandwich. He’s very patient about it, but does hope you’ll hurry it up. His organs are kind of on your living room floor right now…

Notes:

I had to ask my mom if the sandwich I wrote about was any good, because I’m deathly allergic to dairy! however my best friend says I talk about vegan grilled cheese sandwiches like a soldier at war so this chapter is inspired off of that.

A spoon of jam sits in your mouth as your hunger takes hold; blackberry with a subtle hint of rosemary to liven up the creamy softness of the Brie that you’re cutting. Knife sharp between your thump and the curl of your index finger, you hum a gentle tune some old composer made for a movie. The cast iron sits on the stove as the flames below gently flicker in a vibrant color. The air above blurs your cracked kitchen tiles you still can’t afford to replace till the shop brings some more revenue, smearing any blemish away with the rising heat. Half a slice of butter, you flick it into the pan, melting instantly on impact. 

 

You had a plan ever since you laid eyes on that beautiful block of cheese. The endless possibilities of a well aged Brie, the warmth and comfort a single bite can make, oh what a dream…

 

Slightly scored ham on crispy bread, sweetened by a blackberry jam and hints of rosemary, a symphony of flavors all welcomed with open arms by the rich melty delight of Brie. 

 

But then, as you flipped your sandwich mid air, the thoughts of another crosses your mind…

 

the thought of soup…

 

A grilled cheese always needs a friend… yet you knew in the empty void of your heart that this sandwich you were currently making would completely clash with any sort of broth. Since this was a charcuterie inspired creation, and if you had just made it normally with cheddar, you could have made the soup. 

 

If you had made it later, it would have been an excellent dessert with a glass of wine, but noooooo. You didn’t think of the soup idea until now. 

 

An even worse idea pops into your head. 

 

Garlic bread grilled cheese…

 

…with tomato soup. 

 

Good grief… you think, as you plop that sandwich on a plate, disillusioned with its craftsmanship despite its relatively good quality. Why did you think that?!? At least now of all times. 

It’s not that it was a bad idea, but it put you at a difficult choice.

 

Discard a perfectly good sandwich. And remake dinner. Waiting time, money, and even the joy that came with it.

 

Or…

 

eat them both.

 

The latter wouldn’t really be an issue if not for the fact that the blackberry taste might still be there when you get the soup done and since this wasn’t your body to control, you didn’t know if this simple action would annoy the soul that once knew who you were. That could lead to consequences…

 

based on the recipes you were left with after the incident, you had an idea of the kind of flavors you liked. On some occasions you would try something new if it was well favored, but other than that, it was safer to stick with the classics. 

 

Staring somberly at the sandwich that once brought you so much excitement now felt wrong to consume alone. 

 

And maybe that was the true problem of it all. Always having to sit alone. If you had a friend to give it to, it wouldn’t be as much of a worry. 

 

Well, there was always a way to fix that…go out and smile at people, try to join in when you’re ears pick up a familiar topic, but how on earth are you supposed to do the advice everyone always says about ‘being yourself’ when you literally lost that part of you a couple weeks ago!

 

The longer you wait the more your sandwich gets cold, and you press your lips into a fine line, finally resorting to your last option. 

 

Holding up a fist, you gently knock where your heart would be, hoping for an answer. 

 

“Hey!” You ask, cupping your chin in your hand as you lean on your table. “Do you even want this?”

 

Radio silence.

 

Your shoulders slump, annoyance at the lack of response you were getting, drumming your fingers on the table. 

 

“You know, I worked kinda hard on this… I don’t want this to go to waste.” You argue, but your heart doesn’t seem to care. 

 

You start to assume that the silence means a yes. Cautiously, you take the sandwich in your hands, just barely grazing the crust…

 

Then all of a sudden…

 

An overwhelming stabbing pain takes over your chest. Instinctively your teeth chomp down and you start to choke on the bit you just, well bit into. Your hand reaches your throat as you cough up the crumbs that are in your lungs. 

 

Finally you catch your breath…

 

“WHAT ON EARTH?? What did—wait! HELLO??” You exclaim, surprised by your soul’s sudden presence, patting at your heart to see if you can feel a pulse, “Did you want the other sandwich?? , I can-I can make the other one! The soup might take a bit but-“

 

Holding shaking hands over your heart, you slowly feel the pulse fade away. It was there-you could swear it was there, it…

 

You stood up, scooting the chair as you rose from your seat. Determined to figure out what you were trying to communicate. You search your surroundings, checking out your kitchen first, holding up random objects like an offering, but nothing comes. 

 

By the time your stomach growls, you decide to give up, bitterly grabbing that plate and tiptoeing around the spare parts that litter your floor till you slump on the couch. It feels weird to be sitting in a living room at this hour with no tv glow, but the scarcity of light made it difficult to notice the smaller details you needed to fix. You take small bites of your sandwich, at least enough not to choke again. As if by instinct, with the mere presence of a tv on your coffee table, your eyes meet its hollow broken form, scanning the scrapes and cracks you promised to do tomorrow morning. 

 

It’s pointless to stare at the messy progress you’ve made, but you do. And the more you do, the more you hear you; Beating a steady rhythm in your chest. 

 

“Do you wanna…watch tv?” You sheepishly mutter, and the heart picks up speed.

 

You can't believe it.  All this time… you were still there?!? Still with you! 

 

Sure, you were a little offended at the implication of your return. Were you that boring that only a tv would make you come back home?? 

 

But still you can’t help but smile. 

 

Was there a show that you were into? We better not miss it then! God! You were just so happy you were home!

 

You take 3 more big bites of sandwich before scurrying off to find a flashlight. Racing to keep that weak pulse in your life as long as you can. This nightmare would finally be over. 

 

You held the flashlight in your mouth as your  tools worked their magic. Replacing the damaged parts with things that were a whole lot less rusty. The food helped to replenish your energy as you worked, but it didn’t save you from fatigue. The later and later you tinkered into the night, the more breaks you had to take in between as your eyes grew heavier. At some point you found yourself almost nodding off and skewering your face on Tenna’s glass shards. It was then you decided to stop for the night… 

 

Flicking off the light, the last energy you could spend was to crawl on that sofa of yours and curl under the blanket, feeling your heartbeat fade in your chest. 

 

˚✧₊⁎ ♡⁎⁺˳✧༚

 

Daylight came sooner than you expected, causing you to groan at the sounds disturbing your sleep. It sounded like neighbors outside you didn’t know yet, so you rolled over and covered your ears with a pillow. 

 

“No we don’t have time for this nonsense, William. We can’t operate without captain’s orders, now go!”

 

“But-“

 

“Just go! H-hey let go of me!”

 

“No, you're coming with me Sonoma!”

 

“I AM NOT! Do you think I have the status to even glance at the Captain??” 

 

“MARCH ON YOU COWARD-gah!! My KAPE!!”

 

Your eyes instantly shot open at the sound of your kitchenware crashing nearby. 

 

Thankfully, you didn’t have any real valuables in your apartment yet, so if worse comes to worse, you could probably just throw that tv at the burglars. However due to how much of a headache you already had, you opted to just cover yourself with that blanket even more. 

 

“CAPTAIN!!! He chipped me!!!” One of the burglars wailed like a child. 

 

“I did not!!”

 

“Yes you did!”

 

“Well- I wouldn’t have if you did what I said earlier!”

 

“See cap! She admits it!! She admits it! She chipped me!” 

 

“Shhhh!”

 

“Did you just shush me?”

 

“Use your eyes William.”

 

“What?”

 

The brief moment of silence was as golden and sweet as sunshine, yet was again interrupted by the potential burglar standing over you. 

 

“Ohhhhhhhh…”

 

“Should we get Lieutenant Swift?"

 

“I think he’ll kill us if we-“

 

Considering that these two were still yapping just over your head, you peeked your head out of the covers to glare at your intruders, However, you didn’t expect to make eye contact with Dutch and French ovens with googly eyes in medical corps uniforms. 

Immediately you shoot up out of your spot on the couch. The two jump at your surprise. 

 

“CAPTAIN! W-we were just-“ the Dutch oven stammers, “the- well we need- he’s still holding on and we’re- uhhhhhhhh…Sonoma…help…”

 

The French oven steps in front of the Dutch, saluting and anxiously pliéing for some strange reason. “Good morning Captain! You look-uh… William, do I have to be honest to them or can I tell them they look bad.”

 

William elbows her in the side. 

 

“Ow! Copy that!”

 

Your mouth is agape, and honestly you’re not really hearing what the two were spouting as you realized your apartment was replaced with a cardboard sort of tent. Your breath starts to quicken as you press your hands on your forehead in distress.

 

“Anyway- so that civilian you brought in yesterday- you know the one you were working on- he’s not doing so good right now, we’ve been trying to keep him stable, but he keeps shrinking when you’re not working on him and it’s really hard to operate on him without you- because he gets super super tiny and like a Band-Aid doesn’t really help so we just-“

 

“Operate?? What do you mean? I don’t-“ it finally clicks. You're dreaming. Of course! But what were these two cast irons talking abou-wait?? “Are you talking about Tenna?”

 

“YES!” The two say in unison, panic dripping from their voice as they loop their arms around yours and drag you out of some cot you thought was your couch. 

 

Never once in your life did you think you would be meeting a television person in person before, but your heart seemed excited at the prospect, so maybe that was a good sign.