[ There is A Story to how Tucker (after 100% tuning out most of what he was told during orientation) finds out he got line-of-sight teleportation Stuff powers when he got stuck in this dumb apocalypse world.
See, Tucker, to his and anyone's knowledge, is crush-free as a lifestyle choice. He tried it pre-Rig, he fucked it up, he was right to try to avoid feelings all along, you're welcome. By that rubric alone, he should have been all clear. That said, unfortunately, he is transparently thirsty, and thirsty for affection and approval especially. By that rubric, he's kinda fucked when it comes to the cherub thing.
Some people have cool superpower origin stories, and some people figure out they can teleport in the middle of a panicked effort not to be murdered by demon cupids. Is there maybe a bloody bite mark messing up the shoulder of his jumpsuit? Sure. But importantly, he's alive. More importantly, he can do cool shit.
So this actually sort of turns into a very cool day? Better stress relief than the snowball fights. Because he does cool shit now. It's almost enough to make up for not having his awesome alien sword.
Tucker's out and about with a vengeance, basically. He can do a teleport (within reason), and he's got his shitty hand-assembled cheap dorm room folding chair, and he has Zero Compunctions about popping up to completely decimate a cupid or six as he sees fit. There he go. You're welcome again. ]
Y'know, I'm really a lover, not a fighter. But in this case-- [ WHAP. ] Get fucked, idiot, romance is dead!
[ He's genuinely having the time of his life. ]
D.
[ The only thing that keeps Tucker from bolting at the very prospect of this setup is the stress put on platonic networking on the banner. Is that immature and pathetic of him? Yes.
There's no "but", just the yes. He's quite aware that he's immature and dumb. He doesn't expect to wind up making friends in here, let alone actual connections to people.
But whatever. It beats doing actual work for Jorgmund, and it's a chiller vibe than said actual work, including all the desperation. (He gets it. Being alone sucks. Even if being alone in an alien temple under siege sucked way more, in his humble opinion.)
He crumples up his list of starter questions and shoves it into his pocket almost immediately. He can do word. He's great at word. He leans back in his seat so far that he almost falls over and has to right himself at the last second, like a cool person does.
Tucker opens, conversationally: ]
I feel like this speed-friend thing would go better long-term if they let a couple cupids go ham for a while and handed out guns. Literally every friend I have, I made when we either had to fight some dumb bullshit together or when we were standing around fully-armed.
tucker | ota (cw: violence + a dumb idiot talking about guns)
[ There is A Story to how Tucker (after 100% tuning out most of what he was told during orientation) finds out he got line-of-sight teleportation Stuff powers when he got stuck in this dumb apocalypse world.
See, Tucker, to his and anyone's knowledge, is crush-free as a lifestyle choice. He tried it pre-Rig, he fucked it up, he was right to try to avoid feelings all along, you're welcome. By that rubric alone, he should have been all clear. That said, unfortunately, he is transparently thirsty, and thirsty for affection and approval especially. By that rubric, he's kinda fucked when it comes to the cherub thing.
Some people have cool superpower origin stories, and some people figure out they can teleport in the middle of a panicked effort not to be murdered by demon cupids. Is there maybe a bloody bite mark messing up the shoulder of his jumpsuit? Sure. But importantly, he's alive. More importantly, he can do cool shit.
So this actually sort of turns into a very cool day? Better stress relief than the snowball fights. Because he does cool shit now. It's almost enough to make up for not having his awesome alien sword.
Tucker's out and about with a vengeance, basically. He can do a teleport (within reason), and he's got his shitty hand-assembled cheap dorm room folding chair, and he has Zero Compunctions about popping up to completely decimate a cupid or six as he sees fit. There he go. You're welcome again. ]
Y'know, I'm really a lover, not a fighter. But in this case-- [ WHAP. ] Get fucked, idiot, romance is dead!
[ He's genuinely having the time of his life. ]
D.
[ The only thing that keeps Tucker from bolting at the very prospect of this setup is the stress put on platonic networking on the banner. Is that immature and pathetic of him? Yes.
There's no "but", just the yes. He's quite aware that he's immature and dumb. He doesn't expect to wind up making friends in here, let alone actual connections to people.
But whatever. It beats doing actual work for Jorgmund, and it's a chiller vibe than said actual work, including all the desperation. (He gets it. Being alone sucks. Even if being alone in an alien temple under siege sucked way more, in his humble opinion.)
He crumples up his list of starter questions and shoves it into his pocket almost immediately. He can do word. He's great at word. He leans back in his seat so far that he almost falls over and has to right himself at the last second, like a cool person does.
Tucker opens, conversationally: ]
I feel like this speed-friend thing would go better long-term if they let a couple cupids go ham for a while and handed out guns. Literally every friend I have, I made when we either had to fight some dumb bullshit together or when we were standing around fully-armed.