Jay

1. He has a messy past with his ex

In multiple secret cutscenes, Tenna can be seen monologuing about his messy feelings regarding his ex husband.

2. He’s a dad

During his cutscenes, he's implied to have had a daughter (the blue egg) with his ex

3. He's an entertainer

Being a TV and a gameshow host, Tenna loves it when people's eyes are on him. Tenna is a family entertainer who takes great care to make sure that his audience is entertained. His goal throughout Chapter 3 is to bring people together. He loves the spotlight, and he's also an attention hog.

4. He’s good with kids

Tenna is good at talking to kids, making jokes around them, and encouraging them.

5. He canonically has fangs

6. He has a catchphrase

Throughout Deltarune Chapter 3 he can be seen repeating the phrase "IT'S TV TIME!"

7. He can dance

Here's a video with official sprites of Tenna busting a move

So what are you waiting for? Vote Tenna for Tumblr Sexyman 2026!

They weren't a person.

This is something they had known for a very, very long time, though perhaps not as consciously as one might assume. It started with a bone-deep conviction that they were something other, something different, something that could never quite be fixed. Eventually, as a cancer cell turns to a tumour, so did this belief grow and spread to every part of their mind, hooking itself to every thought, every feeling. They are different. The outside world was distant, as if being viewed through glass. They existed within it, yet grew to find themselves more comfortable being perceived as something of a machine: existing to produce, to please, to be praised, but not having a life outside of what they can provide for others. It was a pleasant mindset and one that quickly became their shackle. At first, they did not want others to see them as a person; eventually, they stopped seeing themselves as such.

It was around this time that they first came into contact with Pierrot. What a strange meeting that was - shouting strangers, the sounds of blows, the pink bandage that became the start of a peculiar friendship. Through it all, through the darkness of the circus and the sights of things not quite real, they never faltered. It overjoyed Pierrot to see it, truly, and to witness his love stay in his life willingly despite all they had borne witness too. Only about a month into his obsession did it become clear something was wrong.

The conviction showed itself in small things, ones the red clown never could have hoped to catch. The way their vision would go distant at times, as if trying to focus on something none could see. The way they'd say, in jest, how ‘you’re lucky none of this is real or I'd be losing my mind right now’. The way any words of reassurance seemed to bounce off them like glass.

He would see sometimes how they would almost reach out to him. How in some sadness unbeknownst to him, they would open their mouth as if to ask for help, for comfort, but they never did. Instead, they always retreated back into themselves, never letting him in. The red clown hoped that, in time, they would grow to trust him more. That they would open up.

They didn't.

Pierrot only became truly scared when he first saw them cry. They had been overwhelmed, something trivial setting them off, but they did not let themselves sob or shout or let any of the hurt outside. Instead, they had slapped their face, twice and with both hands, and looked to him with a smile on their face that most certainly didn't belong there.

‘My love, what is wrong?’ he had asked, rushing to their side to restrain their wrists. ‘Talk to me, please.’

They had smiled wider, then, shrugging off his concern. ‘It’s alright, Pierrot. I'm fine. It's not like any of this is real.’

Pierrot had worked in a circus of horrors for many years, yet without a doubt that was the most terrifying thing he had seen.

He tried to make things better, really, as much as someone like him could. Pierrot managed to easily convince them to move into the circus with him (far too easily), and he hoped keeping them close would bring them back to reality. That his love, his affection, could save them.

He really didn't know why it wasn't working. He'd come back from his performances to their shared trailer to find them sitting in his bed, in his clothes, just the way he had always hoped, and yet something was off. They looked at him with a sad sort of fondness, one that made his heart tighten painfully in his chest.

‘You’re beautiful, you know that?’ they told him, kissing his cheek when he sat before him. ‘So kind, so loving, so willing to put up with me. Everything I wished I could have.’

‘You do have me,’ he assured, intertwining their fingers with his own. They were cold.

‘Not really,’ they said, smiling sadly. ‘You’re not real.’

The troupe tried everything, even if more for Pierrot's sake than theirs. The Doctor's plants did no help. The hypnosis Jester used only helped temporarily, their usual state returning as soon as they left his tent. Ticket Taker assigned tasks, mental and physical, to try and bring their mind back to the moment. Even Harlequin tried, in his own way, his advances growing more and more blatant in order to elicit any response that wasn't one of apathy. Nothing helped.

It consumed Pierrot. He could not sleep. His performances grew sloppy. He almost gave away his identity during one trip when handing out fliers. Everything was piling up, the kettle of anguish threatening to boil over.

And then, it all stopped. When Pierrot spoke to them about his love, they stopped denying it. They started joking with the green clown, started performing their duties around the circus with more life than any of the troupe had ever seen. It was a borderline miraculous recovery, one none of them could explain. When asked about it, they simply laughed. ‘I’m just doing better.’

And, to an extent, their words were not false. Truly, their heart had been lighter, certainty settling in the cracks where confusion once lived.

They knew they weren't real. Neither was anything they could see, or anything they could feel, or anything they could touch. Pierrot's arms around them were a figment of their imagination. His comfort was a result of synapses firing in their brain in ways they couldn't understand. His words spoken in the heat of passion were nothing more than some distant dream belonging to another.

None of this was something they could have. None of this was something they could let themselves have. There was no reality in which they could.

That was alright, though. At least they knew what they needed to do.

On the second day of spring, they told Pierrot they were going out to the market for some pastries. He offered to go with them, of course, but they refused, insisting it would be a quick trip. That was no lie: for them, it would be.

They walked down roads they had not visited for months, the noises of the city fading as they got closer to the outskirts. In a plastic bag, they collected stones, a sight peculiar to the decreasing number of onlookers. Perhaps the strangers thought they were collecting rocks for their children. Children they would never have.

The bridge was not the grandest in the country, nor was it the tallest, but it was more than enough for them. Most importantly, it was isolated. Quiet except for the roaring of water beneath. No one drove there that time of day.

With a hum, they sat on the edge, tying off the plastic bag to stop the stones slipping out and threading a thick rope through the handles. Then, with the same care they had used that morning to tie off Pierrot's costume, they tied the other end of the rope to their ankle.

For a moment, they just sat there, feet dangling over the side and swaying over the deep waters. It crossed their mind that Pierrot would look for their body, would sob and wail and search to no avail, and the image momentarily made their heart clench. They could almost see the way his face would contort in unspeakable pain if he ever found their rotting corpse under the water, kept submerged by their carefully collected rocks.

And then they laughed at how silly they were being. No one would be hurt by this, no one would search, no one would miss them.

After all, they were not real.

With a final breath, a smile, they let go of the plastic bag, the sudden force pulling them off the ledge and into the waters. It filled their lungs, agony overwhelming their senses as they were battered by the cold current, every cell screaming for air and brain fighting for survival.

They weren't a person. They knew that much. Why, then, was the pain so blinding? They didn't understand it. They didn't understand any of it.

The scream that left them under the water had no audience: they planned too well for that. There was no Pierrot to save them, no warmth of his embrace, no sweet cadence of his laugh. There was only them and the bitter dark into which they had thrown themselves.

And so, they died surrounded by every person that they had let into their heart.

I wanted to draw something that looked comforting!! I also experimented a bit with my colouring here hehe

Extra doodles 🔥