#drabbleathon

Trigger warning: Suicide mentioned.

What if Ronans mom had never committed suicide, therefore he never moved to New York, and he never met Juliet.

“And I’d choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, i’d find you and i’d choose you.”

His eyes peek open, the morning sun causing him to place his arm across his face as a shield. Rolling to sit on the edge of the bed, he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The headache that throbbed in his head was a reminder that he’d drank far too much last night. A voice from behind him causes him to jump. “Hey you want coffee?” He is met with the face of the stranger he’d gone home with the night before. Stacey...Samantha...Did she even tell him her name? “Uh no thanks. I should get going. I was supposed to have brunch with my family today.” Grabbing his jeans he pulls them up his legs. As he button his shirt he glances at the clock and sees he is already late. “Fuck! I really gotta go...” As he attempts to get around her, she grabs his arm. “We should do this again.” Internally he rolls his eyes, externally he nods and makes his way out the door. As soon as his feet hit the sidewalk his phone starts ringing. “Hey mam..” The woman on the other end starts yelling “I know I am sorry. I am on my way... I promise I am not drunk... Ok I will see you soon.” Slipping his phone into his pocket, Ronan climbs into his beat up old car and makes his way to his family home.

“Hello...” He yells as he walks down the hallway of his childhood home. “Mam?” As he rounds the wall he is met by three pairs of eyes. Cue the judgement, his internal voice says. “Ronan, what the hell had you so consumed, that you are late? Your mam worked hard this morning and now the food is cold.” His fathers disapproval was very clear not only on his face, but in his voice. His Irish accent was always slightly thicker when he was angry. Before he can respond, his older brother Connor chimes in. “Most likely another lass from the pub. What tis this Ro, girl number 3 this week?” He could his his mams jaw drop from the corner of his eye. “Oh lord...” Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. “What is wrong with ya? Yer not gonna find a nice girl to marry if you are just sleeping around.” Drawing in a deep breath, Ronan focuses on his food. Sitting in very uncomfortable silence for far too long. “Will the lot of ya stop staring at me? I am not some caged animal to be gawked at.” His fathers hand slams down on the table, everyone looks at him. His eyes are glued to Ronan, all he could focus on was the migraine that had now replaced the headache. “What are ya doin with yer life Ro? All ya do is play guitar at the pub, get drunk and sleep around. What is gonna happen if you get one of these random lassies pregnant? I sure am not raising no bastard...” His mams hand goes up, cutting of Finneas’ words. 

Her blue eyes meet his and Ronan can see the gentleness in them. “We just want what is best fer ya. This path you’ve chosen isn’t healthy.” Deep down he knows she is right. All he has ever wanted to do was make music. Somewhere along the way he was knocked off course. Sucked into the same routine of bad habits and shitty friends. “I gotta go. Thanks for the food mam.” He kisses her forehead and walks out to his car. 

-----------Later that night,

The pub was more crowded than on most nights. It was open mic night and several acts had shown up. He sits towards the back with his group of friends. Most of which are already three sheets to the wind. His friend Mac hands him a glass of whiskey, the only other nearly sober person in their group. Mac was Ronan’s best friend for as long as he could recall. He only came out for open mics and hardly drank. He’d gotten married just three months ago and since then he was a homebody. Truth was, Ro envied him. “So yer parents really gave ya shit today yeah!?” As he took a sip from his glass, Ro shook his head. “Yeah, scared I am going to give em a bastard for a grandchild.” Shrugging his shoulders, he rolls his eyes. “I just haven’t met anyone I would consider settling for. All the lassies around her are the same.” Macs head bobs to the beat of the music some small funk band is playing. “I mean I get it. I never thought I would settle down, until I met Becks. Lucky for me shes from London.” 

As he finished his glass, and got a refill, he heard a bunch of hooting and hollering coming from the front end of the pub. “Whats got their trousers in a bunch?” Ro and Mac push through the crowd of people for a closer look. Sitting on a stool, just her and a microphone is a blonde. She strums the fingers of her free hand along her slender thigh as the music begins to play. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips expertly before she begins to sing. Without realizing it, Ro’s hand is against his chest, his jaw likely resting on the floor. Mac pulls his attention from her and his eyes take in the mans reaction. “Yo, you okay??” Waving his hand in front of his face and snapping his fingers to get Ronan’s attention. “Earth to Ro!” As he exhales all of the air from his lungs, her blue eyes meet his and he says, “I am going to marry that girl.”

Darcy set the last of the boxes labeled ‘Kitchen Shit’ on the counter swiped the back of her hand over her forehead. She tore off a paper towel and ran it under cold tap water for a moment before she blotted at her red and sweaty face. The wet towel was crumpled and tossed in the cabinet underneath the sink without thinking. It wasn’t until she walked out of the kitchen to grab the box cutter—and direct past the trashcan—that she realized she’d thrown her trash in an empty cupboard. She frowned down at the trashcan. That hadn’t been there an hour ago. It had been under the sink. Where it belonged. With a shrug, she moved it back, unpacked the wine glasses and coffee mugs and began work on the living room without another thought. The trashcan had moved again by the time the pizza arrived. Darcy eyed it curiously as she paid the teenager and brought the two boxes back into the kitchen. “Steve!” she called, distractedly. “We have food! And a ghost!” He came around the corner, equally sweaty and flushed from having just assembled their bookshelves in the bedroom. “Food?” he repeated before, “Did you say ghosts?” She shrugged. “Ghosts or a possessed trashcan. Not sure which is worse.” He smiled. “We have neither,” he assured her. “I moved the trash earlier,” he said with a careless bounce of his shoulders before he reached for the package of paper plates and opened the top pizza box. Darcy frowned. “But why?” He looked confused. “For…efficiency? Why were you hiding it under the sink?” “Because that’s where kitchen garbage cans live.” “But why introduce an extra step to just throwing out our trash?” Darcy blinked in confusion. “What? That’s where you put the trashcan!” she exclaimed. “There’s no debate here.” He wasn’t convinced. “But I’ve never put my trash under the sink so I’m not sure where this ironclad argument is coming from.” She sighed. “Well you have to keep it out of the way in case…” her certainty wavered. “You know. So like kids and raccoons can’t get into it.” He looked halfway between amused and concerned. “Okay…” he said slowly. “Um, well, we don’t have any of those so…” “Well we might,”she said, vaguely hinting at the future this move seemed to represent. Steve’s serious face faltered. “We might have raccoons someday?” She rolled her eyes and let out a grievous sigh. “And when we do there’s going to be trash all over this place and it’ll be your fault, buddy.” “You don’t think I’d be willing to relocate our garbage can if we…”He paused. “Adopt a family of raccoons?” “You’re not willing to relocate it now,” she reminded, petulantly. “Why would raccoons change anything?” At this, Steve did laugh. “Raccoons would change everything!” he exclaimed, throwing back his head in another loud, ungoverned laugh before he sobered. “But, I mean, if it means that much to you, we can put the trash anywhere you want.” She smiled and watched him dutifully put the white plastic can back under the kitchen sink. “Thank you,” she said genuinely and opened the pizza box. When she looked up again, Steve was looking at her, a hard to read expression on his face. She quirked an eyebrow and wiped mindless at her face. “What?” He tilted his head to one side. “Y’know, that’s the first time I ever heard you mention anything about wanting raccoons someday.” Darcy smashed her lips together and redirected her gaze to the ham and pineapple pizza in front of her. “Not like…tomorrow,”she said finally. “But…I mean. I don’t know.” She looked up and shrugged. “You…me…and a couple of trash pandas? That doesn’t sound too bad.” She watched Steve try to fight his grin as he leaned across the counter and kissed her. “Doesn’t sound too bad at all.”

Day Five Charity: Busch’s Wildlife Sanctuary

Pairing: Bucky/Darcy

Word count: 991

Prompt: Separation

So... This turned out to be way more Bucky-centric than a fic for something called the FuckYeahDarcyLewis Drabble-a-thon Extravaganza should be, but I’m hoping everyone will still enjoy it :)

Charity: Fuck Cancer, because I just really hate cancer.

Separation

He leans back against the wall of his cell. The T-shirt he's wearing is sticking to his skin from trying to punch his way out but the walls just won't budge. He doesn't know exactly what his cell is made of, but it seems his captors knew exactly who would be kept in it. It wouldn't have held up if they didn't.

"Hey" He hears her say. She sounds far away yet it's like she's right there, like they're only separated by the wall he's leaning against. "We'll be okay, we'll get through this."

His legs won't hold him anymore and he lets himself slide down until he's sitting, elbows on his knees. He sees his hands tremble in front of him, puts his head in his hands so they'll stop.  

He wants to wrap her up in his arms and hold her close. The ache in his chest is nearly ripping him apart because he knows he's lost her. Even if they make it out of here, if Steve and the others can find them, he's lost her. He cannot keep up this thing they have. The only reason she's here is him.

If she hadn't been out with him.

If he could have just stayed away.

If he hadn't tried to be normal, just accepted he'd always be the Winter Soldier.

She'd be safe.

He wants to comfort her and let her know it'll be alright, but he knows it won't. He wants to talk to her, sit her down on his lap so he can warm her up – she's always cold, even at home on her couch she'll snuggle up to him to steal his warmth.  

God he's gonna miss her. He already misses her, even if there's just one wall between them. He can hear her, she's saying his name. Her voice sounds like it used to, back when they'd only just met and she'd try to coax him out of his own head. Soft and careful, yet lacking the desperation he was used to hearing from Steve. Back when he'd trip down in his memories and couldn't find his way out.

What's she doing here, she shouldn’t be here. He's struggling to get up, but the clamps over his arms are keeping him down. He's in the chair and he can taste the plastic from the mouth guard they'd shove in his mouth right before they'd wipe him. His heart starts pounding, he shouldn't be hearing her voice in here, why is she here?!

He's cold all over, the window in the cryostasis chamber is fogging up and soon he'll be frozen again. He's not used to feeling so much when he's here, but now he can feel the fear rushing through him like red hot lava. Fear for Darcy, anger that they've gotten to her. He tries to smash the window but the door is suddenly gone and the momentum of his swing has him falling to his knees.

He's on his knees next to a bed. Darcy's voice is so much closer and clearer, she's still talking to him. The shiny hardwood floor confuses him before realization hits him.  

He slumps down and leans his back against the bed, let's the heat from the fireplace wash over him and chase away the cold that's lingering in the back of his mind. Soft footsteps on the hardwood floors are coming to a stop right in front of him.  

When he opens his eyes, he's greeted with the most amazing sight. There she is, dark hair tumbling down over one of his t-shirts above pajama shorts covered in little cartoon cupcakes. She smiles at him, but he can see the worry in her eyes. "You back with me?" Her voice sounds amazing when he can actually hear it without the fog of the nightmare obscuring it.

"Yeah, I'm here" he croaks out.  

At his reassurance she kneels down next to him and he notices the wet washcloth in her hand. He lets his head fall back against the bed as she trails one hand through his hair and uses the other to wipe the washcloth over his face and neck.

Nightmares like this aren't very common anymore, and he can't say he's bothered by that. He'd rather not have them at all, but he's glad that nowadays she's right there when he wakes. The effects of the nightmares don't linger nearly as long with her chasing them away.

He's tried to talk her out of a relationship with him, often, but she always wins those arguments. Mostly he knows and accepts that she gets to choose the level of danger in her life and who she chooses to share her life with, but that doesn't mean he isn't scared. He knows that's where his nightmares come from, but he'll gladly wake up like he did just now as often as is necessary, if it means he gets to keep her.

by LadyAztec

Written for Darcyland Drabble-A-Thon

The charity I chose is Beargivers http://ift.tt/2vHmNrM

Honestly this doesn't fit into the current day's theme. But if I had to put in a specific day it would August 14th - Sweet

Darcy is PR manager for the Avengers and Bucky needs some work done for his image.

Or the one where Steve is trolling for a good cause and Bucky feels all their love and makes a new friend.

Words: 1859, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Darcy Lewis, James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Original Characters

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis, Darcy Lewis & Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Fluff, Hospitals, Teddy Bears, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Protective Steve Rogers

              In the twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds that had ticked passed since they’d sat down, the server had walked past three times.

               The closest bird had chirped nine times.

               She drummed her fingernails on the table twenty-one times.

               They’d each taken three sips of coffee.

               No one had said a word.

               Finally, at the fourteen-minute mark, Tony cleared his throat. “Look, at some point, during these conversations, I think someone is supposed to say something.”

               Darcy shook herself out of her shell of uncomfortable silence. “Right,” she nodded and took another sip of her coffee. “Um.” She pressed her lips together in thought. “Invent anything good lately?”

               Tony frowned. “Lewis—” he stopped and corrected himself. “Darcy.”

               She swallowed with some difficulty and countered him. “Tony.”

               “I know this isn’t…” he stopped again and sighed. “We could have started out better, right?”

               Begrudgingly, she let him have that one. A freak mix-up in bloodwork in the medical wing of Stark Industries and suddenly Darcy Lewis was Darcy Stark. She’d been slapped in the face with the knowledge that the father she’d never had was now also the boss she’d never met. Not even her boss. Her boss’ boss. Darcy’s first instinct had been to ignore it. There was nothing in the bylaws that said either of them owed the other one a relationship.

               But Tony had tracked her down in Jane’s lab and asked her out for a cup of coffee. “One coffee,” he had promised. “No refills. Just…have a conversation with me.”

               And that hadn’t been the worst cup of coffee she’d ever had, so she had suggested they try again in a few weeks.

               So here they were.

               Only they were such strangers that every conversation still felt like the very first one. Awkward. Stilted. Unsure what—if anything—they had in common. She was afraid to ask about Tony’s relationship with her mother. She didn’t want to hear him say he didn’t remember the woman who had raised her entirely on her own. Who’d been both parents for twenty-eight years until her death two years earlier.

               And then there was Tony himself. Unable to help herself, she’d stayed up nights scrolling through story after story of the sex scandals, Playboy Mansion appearances, and red carpet escapades that peppered his brilliant contributions to technology. It was a lot to take in.

               “But I just found out that you’re my daughter,” he gave her a brief, almost sad smile. “And I don’t know you at all.”

               She sighed and took another sip of her coffee. “I’m not…y’know, I’m not trying to make this weird. But I just…I don’t know what you want to know about me.”

               “Anything,” he said simply. “Everything. Whatever you want to tell me.”

               She opened her mouth to respond and closed it again in thought. “I’m a Cancer and I hate miniature golf.”

               Tony nodded. “Good,” he said briskly and clicked a pen from his pocket into action. “I too,” he paused and wrote out her words on a café napkin, “hate mini golf.”

               “Well, good,” she said, a smiling coming to the corner of her lips. “We can not go mini-golfing together.” She raised her eyebrows. “What else do you hate?”

               Tony frowned in thought. “Cauliflower.”

               She nodded. “Noted.”

               There was a pause before his next question. “So…you and Steve—”

               She held up a hand. “Nope.”

               He looked surprised. “We’re not going to talk about Steve?”

               “We are not going to talk about Steve,” she reiterated. “Nor are we going to talk about anyone you are having sex with. Past, present or future.”

               He nodded again. “Good,” he said, dropping his eyes to write again. “Good. Boundaries are good.”

               She mirrored his nod and took another sip from her mug. “Any topics that you want to declare off limits?” she asked, raising her eyebrows over the rim of the cup.

               Tony laughed. “I’m not sure we’ve got that kind of time.”

               Darcy found herself laughing along with him.

               This guy.

               Her dad.

Day Six Charity: Panera Cares http://paneracares.org/

These cafes operate on a pay-what-you-can model and depend on your donations and support to ensure our sustainability. Panera Cares cafes provide suggested donation amounts for all menu items to help you understand the cost of “paying it forward” and assisting those who struggle with food insecurity.

Darcy tilted her head back and raked her nails through Steve’s hair as he rained kisses upon her neck. She closed her eyes and bit back a squeal when he pulled her earlobe between his teeth and nipped gently. 

This is good, she told herself. This is okay. 

 But the longer they stayed like that, the more urgent their kisses became, and the tighter the knot twisted in Darcy’s stomach. 

By the time Steve had slipped his hand under her shirt and flattened his palm against the clasp of her bra, the voice in her head could no longer be ignored. She pulled away from their kiss breathlessly and pushed gently against his shoulder. “Wait,” she said, the word coming out as a sigh. 

 He looked up, surprise mingling with concern. “Are you okay?” 

 She didn’t blame him for being confused. She’d invited him up, after all. She’d kissed him first and pulled him onto the couch with her and let him run his hands and lips anywhere he pleased for the last fifteen minutes. 

 “I just…” she paused and tried to catch her breath. “I just think maybe we should…” Darcy felt her cheeks redden. “Maybe we could slow down a little?”

 One could argue that things were pretty slow to begin with. It had taken two dates for him to kiss her and another four after that for them to get this far. 

 But Steve didn’t argue any of that. He sat back and gave her space to sit up. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “Whatever you want.” 

 Every part of her breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” she said softly, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair again and kept her hand at the back of his neck. 

 “It’s not…” Steve looked down, uncertain for a second, “me, is it?” he missed her smile in his rush to continue. “Because I don’t have to stay. If you want me to go–” 

 Darcy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips as she shook her head. “No, Steve, please don’t go. I want you to stay.” 

 He raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure?” 

 She nodded and bit back a smile. “I…really like you,” she admitted. “And I thought I was ready to keep going but…” she pursed her lips and looked back up, making sure he was still looking at her before she went on. “I don’t know. It’s been a really long time since I felt like there was anything worth slowing down and enjoying, y’know?” 

 Steve’s smile was sweet and shy as he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.” 

 She smiled back. “You’re sure you’re not disappointed?” 

 Steve leaned in and kissed her, keeping his hand curled around the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. When he pulled away, he pinned his forehead to hers. “You couldn’t disappoint me, Darcy.” 

 Almost giddy with relief, Darcy kissed him again before she asked, “Want to stay and watch a movie with me?” 

 He grinned. “You got popcorn?”

Day 3 Charity: No Means No Worldwide https://www.nomeansnoworldwide.org/

To bring an end to the global rape epidemic, NMNW believes that education and training is central to prevention and that the decades-long focus on costly, reactive aftercare must end. NMNW has a measurable and proven model that has been verified as primary prevention to stop sexual harassment, assault and rape. Now, NMNW’s job is to spread that model as widely and as quickly as possible.

She switched the phone to her other ear and tore off another piece of licorice, recoiling from the kickback before she readjusted the phone in time to hear Steve ask, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly around a mouthful of candy. “Sorry.”

A pause. “What are you eating?”

“Twizzlers.”

Darcy could almost hear his stomach growl through the phone before he asked, “Cherry or chocolate?”

“Uh…” she held out the chewed-up vine. “It’s of the non-descript red variety. I can’t remember if it’s cherry or strawberry. Just tastes like red.”

She felt his laughter like a kick to the chest. “I miss you,” he said simply, only making her heart twinge even more.

“Well come home and you won’t have to miss me.”

“As soon as I can,” he said, his voice low and with the gravelly edge that told her she should let him go to try to get some sleep. “I promise.” She heard him smirk. “Save me some red vines.”

Darcy smiled a sleepy smile back into the phone. “No way. I love you so much I’m gonna buy you your own bag.”

“Now if that’s not incentive to come home soon…” he paused again. “You sure you’re not just saying that because you don’t like to share your candy?”

She grinned and cuddled into the corner of the couch. “Go to sleep, soldier.”

“Good night, beautiful.”

Day 4 Charity: Feeding America http://www.feedingamerica.org/

Steve didn’t seem surprised to see her when she shuffled into the kitchen, squinting in the yellow light above the stove. He shot her a remorseful grimace. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

               Darcy shook her head around a yawn and waved his words away. “No, I’m just a night-owl these days, apparently.”

               Taking up residence in the old, creaky farmhouse in rural Ontario afforded them security and shelter from persecution, but little else in the form of comfort. The beds were lumpy, the air, stifling, and the walls, paper-thin. Sam, Wanda, and Scott hadn’t seemed to have trouble adjusting to their new full-house arrangement. But the only room left for Steve when he’d returned from Wakanda had been right next to Darcy’s and she’d been listening to his increasingly violent night terrors every night since.

               She poured herself a cup of hot water from the kettle he’d started and dropped in a jasmine tea bag. She watched the colors seep from the sachet and swirl in her cup before she wandered back over to the small kitchen table and sat down across from him. His hand was curled tightly around his own steaming mug, his eyes focused on the dark tree line across the back yard, his jaw set in a harsh square that she probably shouldn’t have found so damn attractive, but whatever.

               They sat in silence for a few minutes before she finally cleared her throat. “Do you still get flashbacks?”

               The question startled him and pulled his attention back from the woods. “What?”

               “Your dreams,” she clarified. “They’re more than dreams, aren’t they? More like flashbacks?”

               To her surprise, he didn’t tell her to mind her own business or get up and leave abruptly. “Uh…yeah.” He coughed and looked down into his tea. “Not all the time just the…”

               She pursed her lips. “Just the bad ones.” The silence fell between them once more before she spoke again. “I used to get them too,” she said without thinking. He looked up, surprised. “After New Mexico,” she admitted. “I’d wake up screaming, having turned all the lights on…one time Jane found me outside with my keys in my hand, halfway to the car.” She pursed her lips and looked down. “I don’t know. I just…” she shrugged. “I just didn’t want you to think that there’s something wrong with you. You…deal with some crazy shit on a daily basis.” She bounced her shoulders again. “A brain can only take so much before it starts finding different ways to process.”

               The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered a small, hesitant smile. “Thanks, Darcy. I’m…I’m sorry that you’ve had to hear that.”

               She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured him before she quickly changed the subject. “Wanna not talk about this anymore and watch some tv?”

               He frowned. “I thought we didn’t have cable here?”

               Darcy scoffed. “Who needs cable when you have fuzzy Spanish soap operas with incorrect subtitles?”

               Steve’s laugh surprised her. He followed her into the living room without hesitation and when he finally fell asleep an hour later, his head slumped against her shoulder, it was with a smile on his face and without a peep for the rest of the night.

Day Two Charity: MAPS  

maps.org

MDMA-Assisted Psychotherapy

We are studying whether MDMA-assisted psychotherapy can help heal the psychological and emotional damage caused by sexual assault, war, violent crime, and other traumas. We are also studying MDMA-assisted therapy for autistic adults with social anxiety and MDMA-assisted psychotherapy for people with anxiety related to life-threatening illnesses.