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Jun 29, 2025

Yellow Pages

Reader x Mr 'Ant' Tenna

Chapter List - Yellow Pages, Add Contact?, Mic Check, ...

(also on AO3, if you wouldn't mind tossing a kudo my way)

You, a 'Lightner', were pulled into the Dark World. Just for an hour the first time, but thankfully not the last. This 'TV World' was a dream-come-true for Luddites such as yourself. Oh, and the inhabitants were also kind of interesting, one more so than the others.

“And so then, this guy tries to say I should cover it under their warranty!”

The man - if that was an accurate descriptor for the person sitting across from you - roared with laughter. “He. Did. Not!”

“He did!” You reached for your glass of mysterious liquid. Whatever it was, it was highly intoxicating and made the hair stand up from your arms, like walking near a severed power line.

“Penny-pinching bastards.” Tenna shook his head slowly in amusement, taking another swig from his oversized glass. “Lightners did run some very strange commercials.” He tilted his glass in your direction. “I saw the ones Legal rejected, oodles of them, and they all ended with the same phrase: ‘call toll-free 1-800’. Folks could hardly tell ‘em apart. Which one did you have in mind?”

You let out an amused snort. “I wasn't going any more out of my way for this guy; I decided to laugh in his face and say the warranty must’ve expired decades ago.” You realized you’d made a mistake when that energetic - and apparently literally ‘award winning’ - smile froze completely motionless.

--------------------------------------------------------

It had been - without a shadow of a doubt - the single weirdest service call you’d ever heard, let alone been on. You’d gotten up to answer the phone one evening. “Yello?” you’d asked, cradling the receiver between your head and shoulder in order to idly thumb through an old appliance manual snagged at a garage sale the other day.

“‘Ello, luv. I’m sorry to call you last-minute, but I’m in dire need of a repair technician, y’see.” Though the call wasn’t the greatest quality, you’d picked up a distinct British accent coming from the other end.

“Ah, sorry, house visits only. Shipment is too risky for older devices. No exceptions.” You’d bring the equipment back home with you if absolutely necessary, but you didn’t trust delivery drivers. Just how they’d managed to destroy that solder kit was beyond you. Never again.

The caller laughed, “Don’t tell my boss that; ol’ Tenna very much prefers the word ‘vintage’. A specialist is what I need, and your reviews on Yelp were immaculate. It’s just he can get a bit sparky at times, if’n y’know what I mean.”

Well that was a relief, constantly worrying that some of your clients were a bit more ‘eccentric’ than the average Joe. You seemed to have a knack for winning them over, though. Hobbyist solidarity, you supposed. “Still...” Having to turn down such a polite person blows; you’d only refused service from the snootiest ‘collectors’.

“Travel’s a bit much, innit? Don’t fret, hon, we’ll be coverin’ that, too.”

“Really?” Buses were so expensive though, and what if the distance warranted a flight? No way you were any kind of famous. Besides, you’d only posted your services on local platforms, specifically to avoid this kind of thing.

“I’ll give you the quick run-down when you get here, then,” they said in obvious relief, “Ta!”

“Wait, you haven’t even given me an add-” But the line had gone dead. Huh. They’d seemed so serious that you’d decided to play along with the prank call, growing increasingly doubtful about if it even was a prank. Whoever that was - you hadn’t caught their name, either - was pretty creative. What the heck kind of name was ‘Tenna’? Maybe you just mis-heard them.

Tomorrow was a busy day, jam-packed with shopping runs; high-quality replacement parts might mean no repeat business, but the satisfaction of restoring a ‘hopelessly broken’ ‘piece of junk’ to full functionality was worth more to you than the money. ‘They just don’t make ‘em like they used to’, and all that.

A mug of hot tea sounded like the perfect accompaniment to your newfound prize. Crossing the room toward your kitchen, you heard the unmistakeable click-hum of a CRT turning on. Usually you only plugged things in to test them, how unlike you to have forgotten. When you reached the outlet, you saw that nothing was plugged in at all, and wasn’t that the one with a completely mangled power cord anyway? The light overhead flickered, stove clock resetting from the brief loss of power, before shutting off with a ‘pop’ that you sincerely hoped wasn’t fried wiring.

Severely confused, as there had been no storm of any kind, you opened your front door to see if the neighbors had been hit as well. You didn’t see anything amiss.

You didn’t see anything at all.

A quick scrub of your eyes revealed no change. Had you gone blind? You could see the faint outlines of your furniture back inside, lit by the LEDs of your assorted projects. Some had been completely disassembled, but every unit to have a display was lit up; you knew the location and status of each one precisely.

You still couldn’t see anything past the door, and after continuing to stare, you didn’t even experience the phantom flashes that accompanied cave darkness.

First one step, then another. Your foot hovered in the air, bracing to see if your stairs were just as you remembered them. It met no resistance initially, and you sighed in relief.

But no impact came, encountering none of the ledges adorning the front of your house.

“W-what?” You were plummeting through space, no wind rushing past you, but definitely falling all the same.

Unsure of such things as ‘up’ or ‘down’ or even ‘how far have I fallen’, you were on the verge of true panic when a sense of impending arrival swept over you.

You were standing, on what that surface was, you weren’t quite sure. Something about your surroundings twisted unsettlingly, unnaturally, and your senses came flooding back.

Everything looked normal, familiar even, what seemed to be some kind of office space. The ceilings were terrifyingly high, though.

A rather short man started talking from just beside you, when had he gotten there, had he been there all along?

“Mr Tenna’s working himself into a right state, ain’t he? Please,” he gestured ahead, saying your name, “follow me, quicklike.”

Obediently, and more than a little confused, you trotted after the man. Short, stocky, bushy purple hair - nothing particularly unusual there - but his face and exposed skin had a strange sheen to it, reminding you of plastic left out in the sunshine a little too long. The eyes, clearly weary from this ‘state’ that his ‘Mr. Tenna’ was in, also looked a little off, deep-set and dark without being sunken.

“Excuse me, but -” That was the same name given during that phone call, just now. They couldn’t be connected, could they? “- I didn’t catch your name. What happened, how did I get here?”

“Blimey,” he laughed, running his hand through his hair in embarrassment, “you must be right gobsmacked about now. You’re in the Dark World, and this here’s TV City. Name’s Ramb; it’s an emergency and you’re my last chance, the only one I could find.”

You silently mouthed the unfamiliar phrases, trying to make sense of them. These were places?

Ramb continued to explain, still not making a lick of sense. ‘Lightner’? ‘Real, but not in the same way’? It was made even more difficult to understand by a commotion echoing down the hall.

“Okay, sure, I get it,” you fibbed, “but what kind of ‘emergency’ involves dragging me out of my house?” That you’d exited freely and of your own volition was hardly important. The shouting was getting louder, and though you couldn’t make out the words yet, it sounded distinctly displeased. “Don’t you have some kind of in-house maintenance? Tech suppor-”

You and Ramb rounded the corner and about collided face-first with an incredibly shiny belt buckle, looking like a stylized TV. You could see your face in it and slowly tipped your head back, now aware of the source of the overly loud and far-too-exuberant-for-this-late-in-the-day voice. “- before our ratings come crashing down as well, haha!”

What in the heck? The one standing in front of you made your guide look normal by comparison - two, if not three, times your height and clad in a flamboyantly red suit with long tails flared out. What was truly weird wasn’t the man’s insane proportions, but the structure of his face: he seemed to be wearing a box on his head, one shaped like a TV, except the TV was on, and the bunny-ear antennae mounted on top were twitching in an agitated pattern as if they were alive, and there was a very large nose protruding from the screen, and also a mouth, and -

He hadn’t noticed you yet, finishing calling instructions to some unseen employee in a cheery yet menacing tone.

“Excuse me,” you repeated, starting to get fed up with being told nothing actually useful, “I’d kind of like some answers, if you people don’t mind.”

“Not now, can’t you see I’m a little busy?” His jaw was clenched as he turned to face you fully, somehow furrowing nonexistent brows in mild confusion. This man has no eyes.

He bent down for a closer look at you and frowned, evidently not liking what he saw. “Ramb!” The massive TV swiveled to the side, addressing the man beside you, “I thought I told you to find me an expert. What is a Lightner doing on my set!?”

Ramb took two casual steps forward and shrugged, hands stuffed in his pockets and body angled back to meet his boss's stare in a practiced pose. “Just doing what y’ asked, Tenna.”

‘Tenna’. There the name was again. This must be that ‘sparky’ boss you’d been warned of, that apparently needed a ‘repair technician’.

“So what exactly am I doing here? No offense,” you shrugged apologetically to your guide, “but you’ve told me like literally nothing.” They couldn’t possibly... Those solder fumes must have built up, you thought, covertly pinching your arm hard for the dozenth time. Owch! You had ruled out dreaming, but it could still be a hallucination. Perhaps all the toxic gases you’ve breathed in over the years had finally reached critical levels...

“Great. Just great.” White-gloved hand on his hip, Tenna continued to glare at you, and then you saw it: his screen jittered, irregular patches glowing and dimming in rapid pace.

“In here,” he barked, shoving open the nearest door and ducking inside with a stride longer than you were tall.

You looked at Ramb, silently pleading. An out, encouragement, advice...

The - you suddenly realized what his face reminded you of, an electrical socket. At least your hallucination was consistent with its imagery - hapless worker just gave yet another shrug, an unspoken ‘What can you do?’, and jerked his head towards the door.

Seemingly with no other choice, you stepped into a richly decorated office. It should have been too much - the red, the gold, the shameless quantity of posters with a grinning TV face on it - but somehow it all blended together nicely.

Must be an executive office, pretty swanky if you said so yourself.

Ramb closed the door behind you, standing in front of it with arms folded. Was he keeping other employees from barging in, or you from leaving?

More amd more unsettled by the second, you turned to Mr Tenna pacing angrily across the room. He was snarling quietly with a staticky whine overlaying the highly creative imprecations.

You took in a deep breath, determined to resolve the core of this hallucination so your awareness could return home to your nice comfy bed. “I demand an explanation! Why did you bring me here?” You didn't care if people would comment on how rude you were being, they started it. Blunt and to the point was the only way forward.

The man paused, pivoting on one foot to face you. His glitching screen was getting worse, either because he was losing composure or because the error was compounding. Probably both.

His large shoulders were tense and he gestured to his face with a sharp motion. “I want you to find whatever’s wrong and fix it!”

Yikes. Sadly, you were used to client outbursts like this. “You don’t know what’s wrong? Can’t you just have your assistants take a look at it?”

“They. Made. It. Worse.” Even without eyes to complete an expression, you could tell your questions were only pissing off the already-agitated ‘Mr Tenna’. The projection of his teeth was gritted, and was that a tic flashing at the upper right corner of his screen?

“Understood. I’m just trying to figure out everything that led up to now.” You held your hands up, hoping he could see the calming gesture.

“Oh, peachy!” Tenna swung an arm dramatically to gesture towards the hall door. “Some good-for-nothing stage hand didn't follow safety procedures for the ‘Scrub In’ physical challenge and an axe nearly chopped one of my dear contestant's hand off. Lucky miss, otherwise we'd need to cut to an early commercial break, ha!”

He crossed his arms in front of him, fingers and one gleaming yellow shoe tapping in rapid tempo. “Hit me instead, which was simplicity itself to play off.” The beat faltered briefly, hastening to reassure himself - not that you really cared one way or the other - of the show host’s competence before bouncing in place. “O-of course I did, and the audience loved it! Fun Meter through the roof!”

“Hit you?” Better not have been the blades end, nothing you could do about a shattered casing. “In the head?”

Multicolored error screen flashing briefly as he shook his head to clear it told you more than words ever could.

Damaged head. Head was a CRT television. You restored equipment just like that. Ergo, they called you.

“I’ve never-” You chewed on your lip; the usual service reassurance spiel would definitely come across as an insult. “I’ll definitely do my best, but you are still a little-” For emphasis, you held your index finger and thumb slightly apart, “-bit past my usual field, and I don’t want to hurt you by accident.”

Oh man, you’d kill for a quick scan of this guy’s manual. Like, actually commit homicide to get your hands on it. Sadly, you couldn't control this hallucination any more than you could lucid dream.

“Damn you, Ramb!” His gloved fist rattled the nearby desk with a frustrated pound. “Can’t you do anything r-” He cut the sentence short with another snarled curse; the room was completely empty, a door slamming far down the hall the only hint you hadn’t been alone not 15 seconds ago.

Palm now pressing flat against the poor abused furniture, Tenna dug at the side panel of his head with a free hand and groaned, “Damn it all, I can’t go on stage like this, my audience will-” He didn’t finish the thought, and didn’t seem to want to, slumping wearily against the desk - if it wasn’t his, you’d eat your left shoe.

“I- um.” How were you supposed to go about this? “I could take a look?” Please say yes. “Just see if something got knocked loose?” An unwilling visit to this ‘Dark World’ would be more than worth it if you could only catch a glimpse of how this guy ticked. Just one little peek.

Tenna didn’t respond, had he even heard you? Just before the silence became too awkward, his display flickered again, mouth glitching back and forth across the screen before reshaping with a frown. “Yeah.” His antennae drooped in resignation. “I mean, ‘yes’. After all, the show must go on! Can’t disappoint my fans over something so inconsequential!”

A confident smile brightened his screen, looking around the office with renewed purpose. “Ah, yes, perfect!”

He stood up and walked around to the other side of the desk, roughly shoving already-messy stacks of paper to the floor and flopping roughly into a fancy office swivel chair. “Right, how about this?” One extraordinarily long leg crossed casually over the other and Tenna nodded expectantly towards his cleared desk. “You should be able to reach, ah, me if you stand here.”

Now this was novel. Usually you'd have spare and disassembled parts strewn across a desk or table. Despite being used to carrying heavy loads by yourself, you barely managed to pull yourself onto the cleared surface.

The two of you stared in awkward silence, broken by the soft creak of the chair spinning around. Even seated, Tenna still had to tilt his head down slightly for you to even see.

“What the-” You whispered, stunned by the sight before you. “Who in the fuck did your cable management!?” The wires practically called to you, fingers itching to yank them all out and rearrange them in a neat, tidy, and enticing arrangement. Five minutes. Just five minutes alone and uninterrupted with the equivalent of his set-up guide, and you could die happy.

The man underneath your light touch jerked, a full-body twitch, though whether it was from perceived insult or your imminent handling of the literal inside of his head wasn’t immediately obvious.

Various electrical cords tightened like muscle contractions, confirming your theory that every part of him was alive.

An actual tech support staff member would have nightmares if they could see this. Everything was in perfect condition, but twisted and tangled beyond belief. Ramb had summoned you for a visual glitch; you weren't here as an electrician, so the danger of wires rubbing and frying until the delicate cores were exposed wasn't your concern.

Or so you kept telling yourself.

You swallowed, mouth bone-dry from nervousness. “Okay, uh, try to relax?”

“Easy for you to say.”

Yeah, it really did sound like a stupid question. You bit your lip, deciding to take a huge gamble. ‘All in on red’, you slowly rested your palms on hunched shoulders.

Tenna flinched again, but you deliberately ignored it. Couldn't have him jostling around when you were literally digging inside his head. Not that you weren't sympathetic, but your task would be borderline impossible if he was touch averse.

“It's okay, I'll be gentle.” You gradually pressed the balls of your thumbs into the fabric between his shoulders, rubbing firm circles as your fingers similarly kneaded beside his clavicle.

It felt... Normal? Every inch of this unusual TV-headed figure was covered, yet there was a definite muscle-bone structure beneath that suit.

“But I'll need you to tell me if I've touched anything I shouldn't, or if it starts to hurt.” So much more of a mess back there than you expected; your memory was hardly photographic, but you'd long ago committed television layout to memory. That didn’t mean you weren’t still a little nervous as your hand returned to the back of Tenna’s head.

With neither a manual, camera, nor informant to describe in perfect detail, you were loathe to unhook more than one cable at a time.

Fingers drifted across tangled wires, ‘seeing’ their paths more through touch than by sight. Nothing was labeled - unsurprising - but several of the ports were as familiar to you as family. Perhaps they even were by now.

You gently tapped one such recognizable outlet. “I think I found our culprit. Is this one okay to unplug?”

Tenna shuddered, stifling a groan. “Yes...”

Though the jack matched perfectly, as if made for each other, it wasn't seated correctly. It came loose with a slight wiggle, and the man whimpered.

You grimaced; this had to be highly uncomfortable for him. “Looks like it's visual output.” You tried to peer around and check his screen but he was too large, and you didn't want to lean on him any more than you already were. His screen’s glow had dimmed, but the glitching was definitely hardware based, not something a reboot could fix.

What did ‘reboot’ mean, in this guy's context?

Tracing the offending port’s outline, you wished you had a penlight on you. “It wasn't mounted correctly; I'm going to take a closer look.” You waited for a response. Oh God, what if you broke him? “Um, Mr. Tenna, sir?” Over-the-top professionalism had yet to fail you.

“Mmm?”

Okay. Not dead. Dazed still wasn't a good sign. You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on the top of his casing, plotting the erratic motion of the antennae, and squinted.

Aha, there you are, you naughty little thing.

“Brace yourself.” You angled your finger inside the socket and pried at the bent pin until it looked no different from its fellows. Forcing yourself to ignore the sudden gasp, you slotted the plug back in and traced around the connector, checking for any gap. “There! That oughta do it!” Another job well done.

“Oh.” For someone so opposed to your having been there in the first place, he sure sounded pretty disappointed.

You hopped down from the desk and dusted off your hands, more out of habit than anything; there hadn’t been a mote of dust on those jumbled cords. “Well?” The chair still hadn’t spun back around, and didn’t move when you walked around to face its occupant.

His hands were clenching the fabric of his pants, sure to leave horrendous wrinkles, and shaking slightly.

“Are...” you dragged the word out, concern growing, “Are you alright, Mr. Tenna?”

He wasn’t looking up, a vivid red tint to his screen. “I. Um.”

You really hoped it wasn’t a display error. Probably just being embarrassed at having needed help, nothing out of the ordinary there.

“I’m f-fine.”

You don’t sound ‘fine’.

He cleared his throat... somehow. Maybe there’s a manual in his desk.

“Yes! Fine! Never better! Commercial break’s almost over, gotta go!” Shooting to his feet, Tenna stumbled toward the door. “I’ll-tell-Ramb-to-send-you-back-to-the-Light-World-bye!” And just like that, he was gone.

The hell was that about? You didn’t feel like standing alone in the gargantuan empty office

It was finally your turn to head to the hallway, wondering where to start exploring. This hallucination - or illusion, or fantasy, whatever it exactly was - had so much detail that you wondered what else it had in store for you.

Just one step out the door and the lights flicked out, leaving you in total darkness, sputtering back to life to illuminate your cluttered living room.

You’d- A TV had literally just asked you to fix it. And not like those stupid new fancy ‘smart appliance’ gimmicks. The marks on your arm from your attempts to pinch yourself awake made for a compelling argument that no, the previous hour had not been a dream.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Um, Mr. Ant Tenna?”

Though he had no eyes, you’d been working with - well, technically ‘on’ - him for long enough to get a pretty good feel for where the entertainer was looking. And right now...

Nothing.

Some people might’ve resorted to a bit of ‘percussive maintenance’ - just because older models were way more durable than the new fancy wastes of silicon, it was still a good way of breaking something delicate inside - but smacking somebody upside the head was generally a pretty bad idea. You could fix busted electronics easily enough, but the guy clearly needed a therapist right now, not an unorthodox doctor.

Giving it exactly zero thought, you stood up and stepped around the table to flop roughly down on the sofa next to the much-larger figure, somehow managing not to spill a drop of your drink on him. “Warranties are a scam anyway, that’s what I tell anyone who’s concerned enough to ask. As long as you take proper care of it, the classics never get old.” That actually reminded you...

“Back in the ‘Light World’, I’d seen a set as nice as yours this one time, I think the owner did carpentry or something? Had it mounted in this detailed cabinet, said it was mahogany, with a super elaborate sound system.” You idly played with the loosened tie spilling across his chest, wondering what material it was made out of. “Funny, I can’t remember a damned thing about the client, come to think of it, just how nice of a setup they had...” Your voice trailed off, sneaking a peek at Tenna’s face. His expression had unfrozen back to neutral, and the display had started to brighten. Definitely a sign to keep going.

“That’s what makes a successful game show, someone who stands out from the crowd, who’s memorable.” You gave the yellow tie, now wrapped around your fingers, a light tug. “The host being total eye candy certainly doesn’t hurt.” Okay, maybe that was crossing a line. He wasn’t your boss, because this was just a profitable hobby, but he was still paying you and client-repairman was only a few steps up from being a total stranger.

“Uh, really sorry about that.” A blush rose on your cheeks, only mostly from embarrassment; you’d just realized you were practically in his lap.

Your drink finally spilled, falling over the moment you practically threw it onto the coffee table in your scramble to get back to your chair, or perhaps out the door in shame.

Sofa springs and frame creaked, an unnatural sound reaching your ears. “W̗͈ͨ͡͡A͖̘̽́͘Iͬ͜͏̥T̖̋̆͘͞.ͯͭ͟͏̩” The noise made you freeze, some primal instinct firing off deep within, resonating from back when humans had yet to reach top of the food chain.

You stood up all the way before turning just in time to see a broad outstretched hand curl into a tight fist, trembling slightly before falling limply to his side.

“You’re drunk.” Tenna’s head leaned so far over the sofa’s back you could barely see his face. What you could see, however, was the heat haze emitted from his vents with that derisive scoff. “You’re just saying that.”

Blinking, own head tilted slightly, you mulled over the sudden shift in mood. These beings, these ‘Darkners’, they weren’t human, definitely not physically. But they were still very much people, each an individual with their own hopes and fears, wants and needs, joys and sorrows.

You sat back down with a carefree shrug, pretending as though it wasn’t a big deal and that you definitely hadn’t heard the panic and desperation in Tenna’s staticky plea. The fabric under your crossed leg made a soft ‘shff’ sound, sinking deeper as the television gradually shrunk at the sofa's far end. “Not as much as you are. ‘Sides, it’s true.”

“I know what you do in the Light World,” he snapped, still refusing to look at you, “Your job-”

“Hobby,” you correct him firmly, nudging the side of his leg with an outstretched foot. “It’s a hobby that I do for fun. Ramb can’t even pay me in Light World currency; I only take his calls because I like seeing your shows and all the backstage magic that goes into broadcasting them.”

He heard you, but was refusing to either look your way or listen. “‘Hobby’. I guess that makes it all fine and dandy, doesn’t it?” It wasn’t a tone you’d heard before, not from him. Bitter. Resentful, even. This made you more than a little annoyed, realizing it must be one of the performer’s famous ‘moods’ you’d heard so much about, though some had gone so far as to impolitely use the term ‘tantrum’.

Navigating emotionally-charged social interactions was not your strong suit, but such a petulant outburst seemed like it would fit a diva straight out of Hollywood rather than this Darkner. Tenna continued in a voice almost as black as the Fountain propping up this section of the world. “You think it’s ‘fun’ to visit other Lightners’ houses, ogling all their newer possessions while you deign to keep the older ones on l̩̄͟ḯ͏͇f̵͙ͨę̭̔ ̠̄͝s͈̒̀ṷ̢͖̌͒̀p̦̽͝p̲̎͞o̶̪ͪr̸̂ͅẗ̡̗́?” Again, your brain struggled with the alien-sounding words, narrowing down the possibilities from context.

Ohh boy. You’d just stepped into one hell of a minefield. And, from what you’d begun to figure out of this world’s Rules, it could very literally become just such a hazard.

From what you’d seen, Darkners were very much aware and accepting of the fact they were metaphysical representations of objects in your world, in your layer of reality. Somehow, that made it even harder to reconcile their oxymoronic bilocation: the same entity, in two places at once, a household appliance there, a sapient being with personhood here. You didn’t know where Tenna’s reflection back home was, and it really honestly didn’t matter to you.

“I can’t exactly hold a conversation with them like I can you. It’d be one-sided to the extreme, and I already risk people thinking I’m ‘weird’.”

“All it would take is just one Fountain of Darkness in the area and you won't have that problem anymore! You can move on to someone more relevant, one of those ‘Livestream’ Darkners I’ve heard so much about, no more of those outdated reruns I’ve been forced to air.”

You didn't think it would be helpful to correct Tenna that you had no idea how Dark Fountains were created, nor had you met anyone who'd heard of such a thing. Not that you'd been asking around or anything, that would also flag you as weird. “That would be some completely different Darkner, right?” Oh hell, you hoped so, being wrong might cause him to spiral further. Another ‘Tenna’ still wouldn’t be the ‘Tenna’ you knew. The very notion that he could be supplanted, just like that, was utterly laughable!

“So? They’re newer. Flashier.” You could almost see his Volume level ticking down. “...not glooby.”

“They don’t interest me, though. Never have. They’re pieces of garbage; why do you think I’ve had so many people requesting my services if they could just buy some shiny new toy?” You dared to slide a little closer, taking note of the single antenna twitching in your direction. At least he’d stopped changing size. “Overpriced plastic bricks, designed to break in less than a year just so people have to keep buying new ones, shelling out the big bucks. People missing ‘the old days’ aren’t just emotionally nostalgic. Devices from your era-” You were close enough now to poke him in the side. Which you of course had to do, because why not. “-didn’t break unless someone beat the crap out of it, or it had a factory defect.” One more little scoot and you could reach his face. Poking time!

“And you-” You’d fielded many complaints about a ‘broken’ set, making the owner’s skin tingle when they leaned in too close. Most didn’t believe you after you informed them that meant it was working correctly. That familiar and comforting buzz greeted you now, pushing your index finger against the large screen and smirking. Its texture was unusual, somewhere between smooth glass and malleable flesh.

“-are not-” Poke.

“-defective!” You kept prodding the screen, demanding a response in the most annoying fashion you knew.

His arm snapped around, grabbing onto your wrist and locking it in place.

Fortunately, you had a second arm and waggled all your fingers directly in front of Tenna’s face. “I’m not gonna stop until I hear you say it.” He’d have to sit up and and make direct - well, not ‘eye contact’, but close enough - or else you’d find out how sensitive that screen really was. “Say it,” you said firmly. “Say ‘I am not defective’.” Adding in a much more lighthearted tone, “I swear I’m going to tickle you if you don’t.”

His antennae drooped in what appeared to be resignation this time, muttering so quietly you could barely make out any words over the residual static.

“Your volume buttons are right there.” Also within poking distance. They looked like they’d make a satisfying ‘click’, too. Okay, now you absolutely needed to try! Your index finger extended, tracing slow circles in the air, wondering how much it would take to make him crack.

“I said, ‘I’m not defective’!” Not letting go of your wrist, Tenna bolted upright and away from your threatening hand, antenna rigidly twitching in panic. “Mike, replay that clip!”

Old habits sure did die hard. You could only grin cheekily. “And I'd know! ‘Hobby for fun’, remember?”

He glanced down at where an immaculately-white uniformed glove encircled not just your wrist but most of your forearm, screen tinting faintly pink in embarrassment. Movements jerky, clearly not sure how to react to your authoritative - you were an expert, after all - claim, Tenna loosened one finger at a time, pulling his arm away jerkily, as if not knowing what to do with his limbs, and draped it awkwardly over the back of the sofa.

You pressed your advantage, sliding over so your legs were almost - but not quite - touching. What you weren't expecting was to slip those last few inches down the divot the much larger TV host left in the cushion with a nervous cough and blush of your own.

“So, ah.” He was doing that thing, it always annoyed you to see on someone, where they were pointedly not looking at you but still trying to. “Y-you...” Tenna gulped nervously.

You knew what he was going to ask, and completely understood that he was almost too afraid of your answer to speak at all. You waited, giving what you hoped was a pleasant expression with reassuringly raised eyebrows.

“Meant... it?” So much doubt. A ray of fear. Small cracks of hope.

“Ding ding ding, we have ourselves a winner!” You beamed, trying your hardest to mimic your- The thought ground to a halt with cartoonishly squealing tires. Could you really call this man - who believed not entirely inaccurately that he was just an old television, existing for the sole purpose of being used by humans for entertainment - a friend? Knee-jerk reactions tended to be the most indicative of one’s true feelings.

Yes.

Tenna was your friend.

Friends looked out for each other.

You didn’t like seeing a friend upset, and this was kind of technically your fault. ACTions seemed to have a stronger effect than words. You flopped backwards, tucking yourself under his outstretched arm like you belonged there.

“Yeah! Who wouldn’t? I mean, sure-” you gave a judgemental one-shoulder shrug, “some people have preferences, but I can’t see why anyone would think otherwise.” You didn’t want to lay it on too thick, lest the honest truth become unbelievable. “And you’re you. You’ve got so much energy on stage; people tend to like other people who really love what they do.”

Flirting was definitely unprofessional conduct... the man still wasn’t your boss, or coworker, or whatever, so no harm done.

What time was it? Had to be after midnight by this point. You made to stand up but he lurched forward, desperately wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t go!” Tenna pleaded.

“It’s late. Like really, really late.” You could hear your bed calling your name.

“Don't go,” he repeated in a tiny voice.

“I don't belong here,” you reminded him, trying to drip reassurance into your words. It didn't quite succeed, Tenna's grip tightening with a short burst of white noise, so you worked your arm hand up to gently stroke his casing. “But I'm not going to leave you; nothing will stop me from showing up at your studio every off day I get.”

Though you didn't add the words ‘I promise’ - far too cheesy for a raw moment like this - you'd never meant anything more seriously in your entire life. It was a vow, a personal oath sworn to your own self.

“I am gonna go get you some water, don’t want any stage hands seeing you super hungover tomorrow.” It was for the same reason you hadn’t offered to walk him home.

Appearances.

Tenna cared so much about he was perceived, his ‘viewers’ weren’t limited to people tuned into his shows. You weren’t sure why you were excluded from the crowd of surface admirers, but you had a few theories. First of all, you weren’t a Darkner, so you couldn’t spread gossip about the studio. Admitting to not watching TV much should have been a major strike against your character, but your passion for old electronics - you really loved what you did - seemed to make up for this massive lapse in judgement. And you did legitimately like him, though you could never tell how noticeable your affections were.

You were ‘safe vulnerable’, or at least safe enough for a drunken confession, and couldn’t affect the ‘Fun Meter’ Tenna was so stressed over.

He was fast asleep when you came back with an armful of bottled water, the DVD logo slowly bouncing across a black screen. You stifled a snicker and tried not to watch; the longer it went without hitting the corner, the more frustrated you’d get.

It looked like you’d be spending the night; saying you weren’t going to leave and then not being there when he woke up... Untrustworthy. A fraud. A liar.

Not like you had anything better to do tomorrow, or at all. You set your accumulated hydration down slowly, and carefully curled up against the opposite arm of the sofa.

I've got my own ideas for how someone could enter a Fountain's area that wasn't spawned at their location. No idea where I'm going with this, so strap yourselves in, fellow Light Nerds! With thanks to @2000sangel, who was kind enough to give me some feedback. Credit also to insectatlas and their awesome Tennacord server.

#comments dont just give ideas #comments give life #tenna x reader #reader x tenna #reader is autistic coded #tenna has bpd #deltarune fic #deltarune writing #deltarune chapter 3 #reader insert #ant tenna #emmas writing #deltarune fanfic #no beta we die like Gerson #yellow pages

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