Hello and welcome! This is a fanmade blog dedicated to providing transcripts for Tabletop Escapades, an actual-play Dungeons and Dragons series by Easy Allies. If you’re interested in transcribing, take a look at our style guide and our tracking document (still a WIP at time of posting), and feel free to jump in on any episode! If you have any questions about transcription, just shoot us a message. We look forward to providing you with transcripts!
platonic/romantic hinckman relaxing, talking, drinking tea, and sleepy at home or looking at the stars by a fire in their backyard or something similar just something jolly and calming <3 thank you
This was very cathartic. I hope I did it justice.
There aren’t many nights like this, anymore. It seems a little bit like an excuse, but they really are just getting too busy for it. Kyle’s edging his way back into sketches, finally overcoming the thrumming of anxiety and perfectionism that’s been holding him back creatively. Ian is diving into more work on their game, the demo for which is being noticed and commented upon.
It should be a bad thing, Kyle thinks, that they only do this on the bad nights these days. This used to be semi-regular, a once-every-few-weeks thing. Now they go stretches at a time without it, until Ian knocks on his door with sadness brimming in their eyes, or Kyle calls them in the middle of the night when it gets difficult to breathe.
It’s a combination of those occurrences tonight. One too many unconstructive, horrible comments. One too many hours with his brain humming in high alert about the episode set to go live tomorrow. One too many days since they had last met up.
There’s a pattern to it, one that they do without speaking. It’s always at Kyle’s place, so they don’t bother Ian’s roommate. Kyle gathers every pillow, blanket, and soft piece of fabric he owns and puts them on the couch as Ian changes into more comfortable clothes than what they travelled there in. Then he goes to the kitchen and puts together cocoa—it’s an old recipe from his mother rather than a powder, though he had to change it for Ian and find a substitute for the milk.
By the time he returns from making the cocoa, Ian has constructed something that could generously be called a fort in his living room. Privately, Kyle refers to it as a nest. He won’t say it out loud, though, because he does not need to revive a round of the “Birdman” nickname.
He’ll collapse next to Ian in the nest, and he’ll start to measure the time by the cocoa. By the time they are a quarter of the way through their mugs, the tension will have released from Ian’s shoulders, allowing them to start relaxing into their spot. By the time they are halfway through, the buzzing in Kyle’s brain will have relaxed into a contented thrum. The closer to the bottom of the mugs they get, the more they forget about personal space.
By the times the mugs are empty, they are boneless in the nest, snuggled into each other. They stay in comfortable silence until the cocoa’s done. That’s the signal to start talking.
Sometimes it’s the trivial: what movie Ian saw last week, Kyle’s new Tetris high score, whatever new thing Huber is excited about and trying to get them all interested in.
Sometimes it’s deeper: whatever comment it is that has Ian upset (they’re good at blocking out the pure hate, but it’s the ones that they are afraid have a grain of truth that really get them). The elements that Kyle is unsure about in his newest sketch. Their fears about the future of the Allies.
And usually, in the haze of evening, they start to talk about the unspoken—the buzzing in Kyle’s brain. The thrumming at the base of Ian’s skull. All of those signs of things that aren’t okay, but maybe, right now, might be.
By the end they are totally relaxed, and totally at peace. They talk about dreams, and friendships, and happier things. They lob new ideas at each other, each bigger than the last, each later showing up, in traces, in things they create.
In the end, they fall asleep that way, tangled together, breath syncing as it always tends to do. Everything else will be there when they wake, but it will be quieter.
They’ll handle what’s next. They always do. And when they can’t, they’ll retreat for a little peace.
[[ I liiiiiive! And I’ve returned to you with some writing! *distant cheering* I’m starting to work through my prompts, so if you’ve sent one in, never fear they have no been forgotten! For this prompt, @eclipseoftheheartandsoul asked for Deaged! Tony, Bucky and Steve, with Darcy calling baby Tony a stud. I hope you enjoy it, dear! ]]
The elevator lets out an obnoxious ‘ding’ as it arrives, the sound loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the room. The doors slide open to Darcy’s grinning face, “Okay, so it’s ass o’clock in the morning and there’s more blood than caffeine in my system. What’s the emergenc- whoa!” Darcy cuts herself off mid tirade and blinks as Natasha bears down on her. The usually immaculate assassin is now anything but; her hair in a riotous mass of curls around a pale face bare of makeup. There’s what looks suspiciously like a jam kiss riding high on her left cheekbone, and a matching chocolate one on the opposite cheek. Natasha’s clothes aren’t faring much better, covered in glitter and scraps of felt. “Okay, why does it look like a day care centre threw up on you?” Darcy wonders aloud, in the tone of someone who very much does not want the answer to that question. Natasha’s eye twitches worryingly, and Darcy spends a moment silently reciting her will, and then gets distracted by the thought of Thor carrying her coffin, alone and shirtless. The image is both morbid and hot, very hot. Muscles.
When Darcy returns to reality, Natasha is still staring at her, patiently, like she knows Darcy just briefly left the planet. “Children.” She enunciates carefully, when she realises Darcy is paying attention. Darcy blinks, and slides her gaze over the other woman’s shoulder to the disaster zone beyond. Bruce is sprawled across the couch, covered in glitter and snoring. Clint is dozing on the back of the couch, his hair spiked with an alarming green substance Darcy doesn’t dare identify. Even Thor looks exhausted, slumped on the floor and hugging Mjolnir like a particularly hard, hammer shaped safety blanket. Actually, now that she’s looking, the ends of his hair look a little singed. “Children did this?” Darcy finally gets out, and is treated to a repeat of Natasha’s eye twitch. “It looks like you were attacked by a horde of angry scrap bookers!” Darcy’s voice climbs in volume, and Natasha’s eyes go wide. She gets halfway through shushing the other woman when a soft ‘thump’ comes from another room, and Natasha goes still. “Oh, no.” She whispers, as Clint snorts awake on the couch and Darcy looks on in bemusement.“The young sirs are awake.” JARVIS says, in the same tones one might say ‘the bomb is about to go off’, or ‘the zombies are at the door and you just used your last bullet’. Darcy belatedly wonders if she should have brought her taser, at least for comfort since she can’t see herself tasering small children, no matter how demonic. And then the sources of terror enter the room, and Darcy forgets about the state of the other Avengers entirely.Bucky enters first, and is easily recognised for his tiny metal arm. He’s wearing Iron Man pajama pants and a Hulk shirt, looking tousled and sleepy-eyed as he wanders in. Steve is behind him, tiny and fey looking with his white blonde hair and impossibly blue eyes. He’s clutching a teddy in one hand and Bucky’s flesh hand with the other. Tony is the last, and his appearance takes the longest for Darcy to compute.
He’s wearing a suit. He’s a tiny, dapper, immaculate little gentleman and Darcy just wants to smoosh his fabulous little face. “Oh, my god look at them. Look at them.” Darcy whisper shrieks, and the kids blink at her with varying levels of suspicion. After a moment, Tony walks past the other two, crosses the room and holds his hand out to her. “Hello, ma’am. My name is Tony.” He says crisply, and while it’s adorable it’s also a little sad to see such perfect manners in someone so obviously young. Darcy grins and reaches down to shake his hand. “Hi, Tony! I’m Darcy.” She replies, like this is totally normal, and is treated to a shy smile. “You’re very pretty, Miss Darcy.” Tony whispers, like it’s a secret, and his little face goes all pink. Darcy almost swoons. Bucky barrels up next to Tony, Steve on the other side until Tony is smooshed between them. “M’Bucky, an’ this is Steve.” Bucky declares, glaring pointedly at Darcy’s hand where it still cradles Tony’s until she lets go. Bucky immediately links his arm through Tony’s and Steve does the other, mutinous blue eyes staring up at her until Darcy feels wildly uncomfortable. “Nice to meet you, boys.” She gets out weakly, and then can only watch as Tony is resolutely tugged away to a small table in the corner covered in art supplies. Evidently, the table is where everything started. Natasha stares mournfully after them, no doubt expecting another explosion of mess. “I told you,” She says softly, and Darcy nods dazedly. After a moment of watching the three boys carefully orbiting each other’s space, she grins brightly. “Dude, baby Tony is a stud!”