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The Social Network: the kink meme!

It's Complicated: But sexy!


zuckonitkinkeme zuckonitkinkeme wrote in tsn_kinkmeme
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[PART SEVEN] - CLOSED
quick note; GUYS. please be aware that if you posted a prompt in part six and it is now screened, i have posted them to the post already - so that you guys don't have to. thanks for being patient and making the fill-a-thon such a success!

sorry i didn't get much of delicious done; i lacked the internet over the break but rest assured i have absolutely nothing to do so will get it, hopefully.


THE SOCIAL NETWORK KINK MEME


ASK THE MODS * FAQ * DISCUSSION * RESEARCH * FILL LIST * PART ONE * PART ONE (OVERFLOW) * PART TWO * PART TWO (OVERFLOW) * PART THREE * (PART THREE (OVERFLOW) * PART FOUR * PART FIVE * PART SIX


GENERAL RULES;

IMPORTANT: please DO NOT post prompts about any non-public people as part of a prompt. for example: randi zuckerberg is fine as she is a public figure both on the internet and on facebook itself. priscilla chan is NOT as she is not a public figure.

if you're in doubt, please message the mod or leave a comment in the discussion post.



♥ post requests and responses in the comments to this post.
♥ be respectful.
♥ both a pairing/character AND a prompt/kink must be posted.
♥ one pairing/prompt per comment please.
♥ you are encouraged to try and write a prompt for every request you make.
♥ we are slash, femslash, het, three-and-moresomes etc. friendly. (we are even incest friendly what with some of our characters being twins and all...)
♥ no pairing bashing, OK? no need to wank over ships.
♥ long and short fics welcome. multiple responses encouraged!
♥ please try to refrain from saying 'seconded!' as much as possible.
♥ on RPF: Please disclaim that it is RPF, a work of fiction and in no way related to the actual actors/persons/etc. (i wouldn't even try and discourage RPF from this meme ;))
WARN FOR COMMON TRIGGERS, PLEASE




FORMAT OF PROMPTS;


♥ alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark/Sean etc.)
♥ put [RPF] before RPF prompts. (e.g. [RPF] Andrew/Jesse)
♥ for crossover prompts: "[Crossover], The Social Network Character(s)/Other Character(s), [Fandom]" (e.g. [Crossover], Eduardo/Columbus, [Zombieland])
♥ no "!" in pairings, only in descriptions. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark, FacebookCreator!Eduardo, CFO!Mark)
♥ anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Sean/Other)
♥ put [GEN] before GEN prompts.




FILLS;


♥ please don't embed. link to images/videos.
♥ no locked material. this includes communities, even if membership is open.
♥ fills can be posted anonymously or not.
♥ fills can be anything: fic, art, vid, fanmix, podfic, etc.
♥ all prompts are open to fills at all times, even if they have been filled in the past or are being currently filled by someone else. multiple fills are positively encouraged; if something appeals to you then do not be put off creating a new fill by the existence of a prior one.
NEW: ♥ PLEASE comment with the first of your fill to the PROMPT and then all future updates as a comment to the FIRST PART of the fill. this makes it easier for both the WIP spreadhseet and for archiving stuff on delicious. it also helps people who are trying to catch up on updates and don't have to look through every fill on the prompt (should it have more than one). thank you.






[ARCHIVING]

[DELICIOUS]

[UNFILLED REQUESTS]

[FILLED REQUESTS]

[FLAT VIEW]


have fun!

THERE WILL BE UNMARKED SPOILERS. enter at your own risk! :D



PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING;

i know you guys are enjoying this meme and i appreciate that but please can you put the SUBJECT HEADER on your prompt. you would REALLY be helping me out if you could do that. it just saves time for me when i'm trying to tag everything in delicious.

AND PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT repost prompts from parts three, four, five or six over here again. the delicious is around for people to find prompts they may not have already seen. (prompts for parts one and two are now up for reposting.)

NEW RULE;

PLEASE TAKE NOTE OF THE 'FILL' RULES. THERE HAS BEEN A CHANGE. thank you.
Tags:

(Anonymous)
*cough* anon!fail.

AU where Mark and Eduardo meet in a psychiatric ward because Eduardo has father-related problems and something has happened to Mark because of his social awkwardness (not autism though).

Dustin and Chris can come too, and Sean and the Winklevii can fit in wherever.

Mark/Eduardo

(Anonymous)
sorry mods. reply to this for fill?

Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 1a/?

(Anonymous)
TRIGGERS: This involves accurate descriptions of an open psychiatric ward, including mentions/thoughts of suicide and other negative internal mantas. If this is likely to cause you distress or otherwise trigger unwanted anxiety or depressive thoughts, be aware of how you may be impacted.
Extended notes: Most of this is from personal experience of being a patient in an open ward. As such, no major liberties were taken, except translating experiences culturally from Australian to American populations (which share many cultural similarities and psychology translates well across the two). If you have any problems with depictions, feel free to comment or PM me.



Eduardo likes the peace war garden the best, partly for its oxymoron.

Also because it’s quiet, and because it’s faulty; the mouldy statue that sits in the middle quietly lets the water flow up and over the side of the basin it’s supposed to flow into, trickling down the edges.

The little cupid, or fairy or whatever it is has shit aim, he decides. Hardly any of the water finds its way back into the pipes. There has to be an auxiliary flow from somewhere, because the water that is meant to recycle through isn’t going anywhere near the desired drain.

No one stares here, or watches over ducked heads. There aren’t bodies in the corner of your eye, there and then gone again, flitting from room to room like a confused butterfly. There isn’t any pollen here. Eduardo’s somewhat happy with his metaphor. English was never his strong point.

Sometimes he likes to pretend he’s crazy, just let his mind go on, listing similes that make no sense. Sometimes he says them out loud, and in return he gets nervous titters or just sharp, confused glances. Occasionally he’ll do it on purpose, but not too often.

It’s sunny here, in the garden, his black button-down sponging up the heat, even his black slacks, shaded by the broken pagoda are warming up.

He doesn’t mind, he decides. The sun is probably good for the warped fairy-gnome in the middle. Maybe he’ll get his aim right now.

Eduardo is where the crazy people go, but he’s not crazy.

Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 1a/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 04:11 am (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 1c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 04:13 am (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 1d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 04:14 am (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3a/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-17 11:41 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4a/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-20 09:59 am (UTC)(Expand)

Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 2a/?

(Anonymous)
Mark is in the unoccupied bed one room down, sharing with Dustin. Eduardo mostly likes Dustin – they get along when they are forced to play on the N64 by the nurses who think it’ll be fun for Eduardo to do something that doesn’t involve the commute revolving around the pool – ward to peace garden to pool and back, a slingshot route that only makes it to the garden sometimes. Dustin is loud and talks a lot of shit, but Eduardo goes along with most of it, partly because Dustin got a long way further into suicide than Eduardo did, and when Dustin isn’t elated, he’s crashing and burning on lows, and Eduardo knows all the details.

Eduardo prefers hyperactive Dustin, to be honest. His lows are a bit too much for any of them to bear.

Besides, Dustin is funny.

Eduardo has Chris. Chris is quiet, exceptionally neat, and always wears headphones when he listens to music. It’s a perfect fit, because Eduardo makes sure everything is straight and in order for Chris when he uses the bathroom or any other part of the shared room (unless the doctors have told Chris to do one little thing a bit different for the day, in which case Eduardo tries not to intrude) and Chris makes sure the music he listens to, which Eduardo has heard before and makes him curl up with anxiety every time, is kept low and safe within his headphones.

Neither of them are enabling each other, it just works out well.

So Chris meets Mark, because he ends up on the end of Dustin’s bed almost every evening after dinner. Eduardo doesn’t know what Chris talks to Mark about, he just does what he does every night at five thirty - enjoys having the huge room to himself and watches tv too loudly so that he doesn’t have to press the speaker-remote to his ear.

One night, a week and a half after Mark arrives on the ward and Eduardo is made to move to twenty-one, Mark walks into Eduardo and Chris’ room and sits down on Eduardo’s bed. Eduardo freaks out, because he’d been staring at the screen too long, and hadn’t even seen the shadow of Mark in his periphery.

‘Freaks out’ is the wrong term, though; startles slightly is more apt, because freaking out happens regularly, and usually involves sedatives.

Mark doesn’t apologise though, just stares at Eduardo as he automatically touches at his pulse, feeling the race of his heart slow incrementally from the shock.

‘Hi,’ Eduardo says.

‘Hi,’ Mark replies. He doesn’t blink. Eduardo hadn’t noticed that before – he doesn’t watch people dead on very often, and usually keeps his gaze trained on the floor. Eduardo stares back.

‘Chris is kissing Dustin.’

Eduardo sighs. ‘Yeah.’

Mark just looks confused.

‘Are they…’ Mark seems to be looking for the right word, but he appears to be looking for it via the top of Eduardo’s window.

‘Together?’ Eduardo finishes. ‘Here? Who knows? They just make out sometimes, when Chris isn’t too worried about it.’

A slightly flushed Chris comes in thirty seconds after Eduardo has stopped talking. Mark is still staring at the top of the window.

‘Shark week is on,’ Chris tells Eduardo, who glances at him.

‘Cool,’ Eduardo replies, but reaches over and turns his own tiny set off so that the low static-y rumble from his speaker-remote doesn’t bother Chris.

‘I have an idea,’ Mark says, and then disappears.

Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 2b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 04:19 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 2c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 04:21 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 2c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 08:09 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 2c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 09:07 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 2c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-15 07:10 pm (UTC)(Expand)

Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3b/?

(Anonymous)
3a is here (http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/8388.html?thread=14808772#t14808772). I was trying to follow the new fill rules but it's just not going to work, so I'll keep going how I was and appease the mods next time. Sorry mods!

Thank you for the comments. I don't know if this part makes much sense really but I'm procrastinating study for my psychology exam so I really should go back to that. (Though all it makes me think of is this.


**


They grow thefacebook on the slow computers in the day room. Mark complains bitterly about the processor speeds, but whenever he tries to hide in his room with his netbook for hours, he discovers what Eduardo found out in his first week; if you hide for longer than four hours, they make you do something. Anything.

So Eduardo and Mark sign out of the ward and go to the peace garden or the prayer room in the tiny Christian chapel, and don’t talk about secular Jewish views, and Mark types, and Eduardo lays on the grass or the carpet and stares at the ceiling, thinking or talking.

His medication is being upped, and he feels woozy, watches the world from outside his body sometimes and lets himself float. So while he floats, he talks about the world, and ideas and investment. He talks about his family, and the friends he thought he’d had before. He opens his heart up more than he had ever done to a psychiatrist before, and Mark codes. For hours.

Maybe it’s enabling, that his actions mean that Mark is allowed to be ‘wired in’ for hours, because they’re not in the ward, but in a perverse way, that’s how they react to the nurses. It’s the patients against the staff, because alliances are drawn in love, war, and psych wards, and even if it’s not helping your friend in the overall picture, the battle is won.

Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-18 06:02 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-18 11:55 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-18 11:56 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-19 01:16 am (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-19 12:00 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-19 05:12 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-19 05:18 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-19 07:35 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 3d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-19 09:49 am (UTC)(Expand)

Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4a/?

(Anonymous)
Mods, can you possibly delete the other two? I'm making a mess here but I can't fix it, ugh.

GDI why can't I just master pressing a button and commenting properly?? That aside...

I just want to say thank you you guys so much for the comments. I'm really nervous here because this is the first thing I've written since I got out of hospital. I'm not even kidding. It seems very fitting, no? More will be up after I sit an exam tomorrow.

Plot is coming, I promise. Plot, ship and a lot more conversation. And I promise you'll get to know more about things I've alluded to but not explained properly. Probably.


Chris leaves a week after Mark does, smiling and looking like he’s in control of his compulsions for at least a little while. He’ll be in and out, Eduardo knows, because it’s regulation for a patient with symptoms that don’t really remiss. Chris’ bed is empty for a day and a half, so Dustin fills it whenever orderlies aren’t in the room, staring a little accusingly at the grinning ginger that just messed up the neat bed. Dustin talks to him, and Eduardo feels a little lighter, just for a while.

At the end of that day, Dustin sits on the edge of Eduardo’s bed, with one leg folded under himself and the other hanging off the side. ‘I read the paper that day, some kid being accused of animal cruelty because of forced cannibalism.’

Eduardo swallows, and puts his book down carefully, bookmark exactly touching the spine.

‘I didn’t want to tell you before because I didn’t know how you’d take it, but I’m telling you now, because I think it’s important.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Eduardo says, looking him dead in the eye. ‘It was the tipping point for my father, that’s all.’

‘Hey,’ Dustin grins. ‘You’re CFO now. Thefacebook is great. It’s going to be great.’

*

(( ‘I’m going to have to explain this to my father,’ Eduardo said, and the journalist looked at him sympathetically but not really comprehending. That quote ended up in the article. Anyone who read the tiny piece somewhere toward the back of the paper where the comics and crosswords were, knew a little bit more about Eduardo Saverin after that.

I know what being CFO of anything means to your father. ))


*

Mark is excited, extremely so, about a meeting that’s coming up. He tells Eduardo about it when he comes back for his weekly psych check-in. The meeting is in a month, and it’s with a man named Sean Parker who Eduardo hasn’t really heard of until now. When he googles him once Mark has gone home again, he’s bombarded with story after story that convinces him that this guy is bad news.

Mark won’t listen. They exchange slightly icy text messages, with no give from either side. The final text message before Mark comes back for his next psych appointment says i’m out here. i need your support here, but you you’re still there, not here.

Eduardo ignores his cell after that. He stops his vague search for advertisers too, shuts himself off from thefacebook for a while. Whenever Dustin brings it up, mentions the coding he’s been able to do now that he’s stable - Eduardo hadn’t even known he was a programmer before Mark - Eduardo changes the subject or blocks him out completely.

Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4b/? PROPER THREAD - (Anonymous), 2011-06-20 10:03 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4b/? PROPER THREAD - (Anonymous), 2011-06-21 03:35 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4b/? PROPER THREAD - (Anonymous), 2011-06-21 03:36 am (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-21 03:24 am (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-21 03:29 am (UTC)(Expand)
Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4e/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-21 03:31 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4e/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-26 08:40 am (UTC)(Expand)
AUTHOR: Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4e/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-26 08:56 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4e/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-26 06:17 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: Mark/Eduardo psych-ward AU 4e/? - (Anonymous), 2011-06-29 05:45 pm (UTC)(Expand)

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 5a/? (M/E psych-ward fic)

(Anonymous)
AN: I am so sorry for the wait. Life has seriously trodden on my toes. But I managed to get 2k out. I'm trying to get to the finish here now.

Title! Comes from Weight of the World by Blue October. That song encompasses depression so well.



Three days later, Eduardo is in the day room when the PA calls out his name and bed number to collect a phone call. There is an extension in the linen room, where the door can be locked and privacy can be ensured. This is the first phone call he’s ever gotten via the hospital; he has his cell, so why would anyone call the ward?

He finds out when he answers it: it’s his father, whose calls he’s been screening for months.

After a few minutes of awkward Portugese, his father slips into English and says;

‘Now when are you going to stop this nonsense and come home?’

The room pitches. All of his hairs stand on end, stomach tumbling. He can’t hear anything except the buzzing above his ears, can’t see around the murky blackness that’s edging his vision. He blinks, tries to form words, but all he can find in his minds eye is white white white blankness.

‘Pai,’ he says instead, forcing the words past his teeth, rolling off a tongue that feels swollen. He doesn’t collapse, but the cold in his lower back is too much, prickling and achingly icy. He crumbles to the floor, knocking towels flying. The heat between his cheekbones and ears pulses in a steady rhythm now, thrumming a war drum.

He feels pathetic, but he’s frozen, words all jumbled and there and present now, but nonsensical and wrongwrongwrong. He hits the call button.

Two nurses pull the door open. One is called Eleanor, the queen bee of the ward. The other Eduardo doesn’t know that well. Eleanor whispers across to the other nurse to go get Charlie, and then it’s just Eduardo and Eleanor in the tiny room.

‘Eduardo, Eduardo,’ his father snaps impatiently. ‘Why are you being so disrespectful? I asked you a question.’

Eleanor reaches over with a tenderness Eduardo had never seen in her before, and prises the phone from his icy, rigid fingers.

His ear is hot where the receiver was. The lack of noise there hums with nothingness.

‘Eduardo,’ Charlie says and oh, when did she get there? ‘Eduardo, can you blink for me?’

He hadn’t realised he wasn’t, but now it’s obvious. His eyes ache, feeling the way they did after a windy day at the beach in Miami. He blinks.

‘Great. Can you swallow these?’

They’re tiny and white. Easy. He takes them both together, and swirls the water that downs them afterwards around in his mouth before swallowing. Charlie offers him her hand, and it’s obvious afterwards that yes, he can stand. He’s up before he realises the effort it takes him, feeling the world right itself around him again, just a little.

His heart is still tearing itself apart at the seams.

Charlie takes him back to his room, and he feels like a little child again, lost in the giant space in his head, in his body. Not long after, he’s fully submerged, gone into the sweet depths of the tiny white pills.



Mark calls, Eduardo answers. Somewhere in there he says yes to something and then phone banks eighteen thousand dollars (eighteen always feels significant to him now) across to the related account labelled thefacebook.

Had he been more cogent, he might have argued with the concept of California, and maybe waited a few days before finally giving into Mark. He’s starting to see a pattern here. Mark asks, Eduardo listens, and Eduardo gives.

At least that phone call didn’t have any Portugese in it.

Mark does ask him to come out to California though. Eduardo can’t. He can’t. He tells Mark that, smiling as he does so, reaching out to the end of his bed with his toes and feeling the lazy stretch tug up his body. He feels loose, his eyelids warm and heavy and comfortable. He hasn’t had the capacity to feel this safe in weeks.

The money flies across to Mark for the summer.

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 5b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-03 07:33 am (UTC)(Expand)
While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 5c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-03 07:34 am (UTC)(Expand)
(Anonymous)
I hate everything. I'm considering de-anoning just so I can delete the posts I make that are in the wrong place. Sorry guys. Also, I really really want to get to the good bits but I've been fighting with it. So I'm sorry if some of it seems rushed while other bits are dry, it's hard to tell the story from Eduardo's perspective when the movie for this bit is so Mark-centric.

Eduardo is in the kitchen that night staring out at the parking lot, the lines on the asphalt glinting in the light radiating from the windows around the long ward. He started out reading a book that Dr Peris recommended him, and is just listening to the sounds of the ward rustle around him, beeping in some rooms, soft murmurs in corridors and shuffle, shuffle shuffle of slippered feet.

The dining room is the biggest room in the ward. It’s just the standard college dining room set up, long tables and chairs with little sticker numbers to differentiate the places. There are two doors, one that connects with the far side of the ward where Eduardo never goes, because it’s usually return patients with PTSD or something else that needs hospital returns for evaluation. Then there’s the door next to the fridge which is where Eduardo usually comes in.

Chris comes in quietly, entering from the PTSD-RV end of the room. He pulls the chair opposite Eduardo away from the table and folds himself into it. Eduardo watches in his peripheral vision, not turning away from the window.

‘I’m sorry,’ Chris says softly.

It’s happening so often now that Eduardo is beginning to stop noticing it, but his throat tightens for the nth time that day. He smiles wanly. ‘Don’t be, it was my fault.’ He doesn’t turn away from the window, but sees Chris’ fingers moving, spinning a silver object around on the table.

‘I’m only here for a week,’ Chris explains. ‘They want to readmit me a few times this year.’ He frowns down at the table.

Eduardo looks away from the window.

‘Yeah,’ he replies. He clenches his teeth together and then says, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

Chris just smiles. After that, it’s not even awkward.

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 6b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-07 03:58 am (UTC)(Expand)
While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 6c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-07 03:59 am (UTC)(Expand)

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 7a/?

(Anonymous)
Eduardo gets out more. He leaves the hospital, does some shopping at the grocery store he and Mark had walked to in pursuit of red vines. He buys fabric softener that smells like cinnamon to use in the hospital’s machine. He buys gum and bananas and milk. He goes there every day, the half hour walk each way bisecting the day like a vital operation.

He knows that Mark, Dustin, Chris and the interns are working hard in California. He’s been on Facebook once, maybe twice. He’s seen a few glitches happen and be smoothed over. The internet is down on the ward now though, again. Eduardo can’t fix it, and Dustin and Mark aren’t exactly in a convenient location to help.

Eduardo doesn’t really mind not being able to obsessively refresh the website though; he’s happy enough worrying about what might be happening in California itself without the core of that exercise reminding him.

He walks into Dr Peris’ office a week and a half after he changed the subject about leaving hospital and tells him he thinks it might be time.

Which is how he finds himself sitting on a plane, fidgeting nervously with the tray table catch attacked to the back of the seat in front of him.

He knows what he’s doing, he tells himself; he’s flown so many times in the past since his initial flight as a child from Brazil to Miami, scared about his new home but brave for his father while his sister screamed in terror. There are sedatives in his bag; larger doses than his usual of quetiapine tablets to control his anxiety if necessary. They make him feel light and airy, like his feet aren’t connected to the ground but like the world is spinning comfortably, safely. The idea of taking the pills is both seductive and horrifying, the idea of how out of control he would be clashing with how much better he would feel.

That this is just a weekend trip is reassuring. He’ll stay with Mark, who has assured the hospital that he’ll meet Eduardo at the airport, and then go back to the hospital for a week while they make sure he’s okay.

He’s almost looking forward to it, thinking of even starting back at Harvard at the end of summer vacation on a few subjects, maybe auditing others so he’s over prepared when he does them in full.

The plane taxis and he sighs with relief knowing that he’s definitely going to be sitting by himself on this flight; the seat next to him is vacant. He places two of the books he brought with him on that chair once the plane is fully airborne and stretches his legs out as far as they’ll go in the little economy seat.

Somewhere in there, with the aid of half a quetiapine tablet, he falls asleep.

The touchdown wakes him up. He stuffs his untouched books back in his bag and unfastens his seatbelt before the light turns itself off. He’s practically vibrating in his seat, so he joins in with the many other passengers turning their cells on, chimes sounding across the cabin despite despairing looks from air hostesses.

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 7b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-07 10:39 am (UTC)(Expand)
While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 7c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-07 10:41 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 7c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-07 12:07 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 7c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-08 02:00 pm (UTC)(Expand)

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8a/?

(Anonymous)
I'm really sorry this is so short, but it's kind of self contained. It's also quite dry because I want it to tie nice and snugly with the movie at some points. Sorry for the parts where it's transcribed. Also, so much exposition, my bad.

PS: you guys are super awesome. Really.




It isn’t anger at Mark because he made Eduardo have a panic attack, scared and alone at SFO that makes him freeze the account.

It’s not that apparently he’s been left out of the loop, an on purpose.

It’s not even Sean Parker’s smug, asshole face.

It’s a few words that slipped from Sean’s mouth, that an oblivious Mark repeated himself. It was the conversation that did it, not the actions. But for Mark, actions speak louder than words. That’s why he freezes the account.


‘You think you know me,’ Sean says, after the shock and disgust has finished washing over Eduardo, anger beginning to build.

‘I’ve read enough,’ Eduardo bites back.

‘You know how much I’ve read about you?
Nothing.’

It hurts a little too much, but at least he hasn’t read the news article that made Eduardo initially cocoon. He feels awful, his shirt clammy and half-dry under his coat, sticky with sweat from the panic attack. Rain is starting to seep through the top layers of his clothing. And then he feels a punch on his arm, and there’s Mark just fucking
smiling at him.

And then it’s just ‘Wardo’.




He slips his ID under the teller’s window and she smiles warily and thanks him.



‘Why is he setting up business meetings?’

‘You’ve had a long flight.’

‘No, I had a long panic attack in the bathrooms at SFO then a long wait at the passenger loading and unloading zone at SFO, and sometime before that there was a long flight.’

The room has gone quieter, save for the giggling girls on the couch. Eduardo can hear Sean sniggering into his hand behind him. Mark’s eyes soften a little, which makes Eduardo want to hug him, even though his anger is simmering, close to full boil.




It’s easier than he thought it would be. One minute it’s there, powering a semi-successful internet company, and then it’s stopped, like the stemming of blood into an artery. All Eduardo can think is good, bitterness and anger twisted with memories.



‘I heard about your ‘generous grant’, Sean says, crooking his fingers and smiling mockingly. ‘And how you were too scared to leave a fucking psychiatric ward to come out and build a company that is moving too fast for your terrified fingers to latch on to.’

Eduardo can feel vomit sliding at the back of his throat, a small step away from throwing up on Sean’s shiny shoes. He looks at Mark, hurt radiating from his face. It must be showing, because even Mark, who never seemed to pick up on emotion in hospital, ducks his head.

‘Want to talk to me alone for a minute?’ Eduardo asks.

‘Sure.’ Mark follows him into the corridor. The red vine he’s chewing on is slick with saliva. Eduardo tries not to notice, looks at Mark’s face. ‘How’s it going? How’s living by yourself?’

Eduardo freezes. ‘Living by myself?’

‘Yeah.’

He slams the door.

‘Mark, Jesus, I’m not being discharged for another week. We talked about this on the phone. I came out here to see how I would do by myself.’ His heart contracts. How had he misjudged Mark so badly, back at Harvard? How had he seen him as someone he could relate to, someone similar to him? Mark doesn’t seem to understand at all, even though he’s been there himself.

‘I do remember you saying that.’

Eduardo’s throat hurts so much it’s hard to breathe. ‘How do you not understand where I’m coming from?’ he spits. ‘How can you let him just laugh like that?’

Mark is looking steadfastly at the floor. ‘I lied,’ he says.

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-09 08:38 am (UTC)(Expand)
AUTHOR ANON Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-09 08:45 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-09 09:17 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-09 11:06 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-10 08:46 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-09 07:47 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 8b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-10 09:00 am (UTC)(Expand)

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 9a/?

(Anonymous)
Nothing has changed when Eduardo gets back to Harvard. The bed next to him is still empty, his room is still bare, the cupboard a little messy with papers he hasn’t, and probably will never read. The papers are all lists of pleasurable activity scheduling, self-esteem modules, mandalas, self-actualisation for assertiveness and endless CBT workbooks.

He’s missed dinner, because it’s eight o’clock in Harvard, but it was eleven in the morning when he left Palo Alto, and even with lunch on the flight, the time difference meant that dinner wasn’t even a considered thought.

The freezer is filled with forgotten Dixie cups with labels on them like ‘Sarah (21) don’t touch’, but Eduardo knows that Sarah left two weeks ago, so he grabs two of Sarah’s saved hoard and eats them at his table.

It’s quieter than usual, just a muted noise coming from the tv in the visitor day room, which becomes the waiting room for meds delivery after six o’clock, patients in their pajamas waiting for the drugs that will slide them sweetly into a medication induced restless sleep.

Eduardo misses Chris. He misses Dustin’s loud voice, how Dustin had come in after the argument with Mark and just sat on the bed and talked about things not pertaining to Facebook, just Star Wars and Chris and stupid things they’d done with the pool. Eduardo had winced about the security deposit, but it sounded like they were enjoying themselves.

He misses Mark, and oh what a masochistic thought that is.

The second tub ice cream hurts his teeth and makes him cough. It’s possible he’s overdoing it, but he finishes it anyway, the last flick of vanilla melting on his tongue like a glorified snowflake. He chucks the pots in the trash before wandering down to the nurse’s station for his meds.

He wonders what it will be like to leave this place behind, it’s safety and security and warmth. Charlie’s at the station, smiling. He doesn’t even have to line up, because he’s early this time, and she only takes about forty seconds to pull his allocated box out, popping meds into the cup.

‘Did you have fun in California?’ She asks. He pulls a face but says ‘yeah’.

She just looks at him. ‘I’ll be around in twenty minutes. Don’t go anywhere.’ He laughs, swallows the meds and crumples the cup up. She’ll make good on her promise.

It’s more comfortable than he remembered, this hospital. California had been alive and vivid, but here it’s muted and warm, like an old pair of slippers. It may be boring, but it’s so safe, like pastel blue.

Charlie does come in, once he’s cleaned his teeth and curled up with the tv on something banal. He hits the off button once she closes the door on the far side of the room and comes to sit on his bed.

‘You didn’t have a good time in California?’

He tells her about the panic attacks, half-scared she will tell someone and they’ll stop him leaving.

He’s never been scared of being trapped here before.

She just looks at him and smiles. ‘That happens,’ she says. ‘Jesus, Eduardo. I was hoping I’d get a call from you within three hours the first time you went out on leave. It’s scary leaving this environment. It’s like a bubble, all perfect and safe. We’re all here to catch you if you fall, and everyone understands what you’ve been through, how you are right now. But the world is a lot different to the ward. It’s not surprising that it would freak you out a few times.’ She leans over and pats him on the arm.

‘It’ll get better,’ she says. ‘And maybe it’ll be better with people you’re not friends with yet. You just need to rediscover who you are outside of being depressed. You are gorgeous, and smart. You are a little asinine, quick-witted. You’re caring.

‘But that’s just what I think. Other people have different views.’ She bites at her lip. ‘And people will hurt you. You just need to know that they don’t hurt you because you’re a bad person. They hurt you because they’re not so great themselves.’

He can feel his eyes hurting from holding back tears. He thinks that might be why she smiles at him.

‘Sleep well, Eduardo. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

‘Thanks, Charlie,’ he says once she gets to the door. ‘Really.’

‘Sure,’ she says simply, and smiles before she slips out the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Maybe it’s going to be okay after all.

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 9b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-10 11:39 am (UTC)(Expand)
While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 9c/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-10 11:41 am (UTC)(Expand)
While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 9d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-10 11:44 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 9d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-18 03:31 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 9d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-16 08:20 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 9d/? - (Anonymous), 2011-07-18 03:32 am (UTC)(Expand)

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 10a/11

(Anonymous)
Eduardo enters the offices with air in his lungs. He throws a piece of gum he’d been chewing in a trash can by the entryway, and breathes in deeply. His nose, his throat, the roof of his mouth all burn with newness, cool, arctic ice slicing through his sinuses.

Now that the panic attack has given way to the warming blur of alcohol, he feels much better.

He’s nervous, but in a new way, the kind he can easily distinguish as a normal nervousness now, the kind that mixes with giddy adrenaline and exhilaration. He’s going to see Mark, and Dustin. They’re going to make a million members tonight, and it is going to be epic.

He feels real, connected to the world again. He feels accomplished and so very right. The semester is over, he’s ready for some real fun.

Which is why it feels like a punch to the stomach when he pulls the papers out in front of him and says ‘what is this?’

And then it’s anger, rage like he’s never felt before, hot and fiery and so so so painful, like every line in his throat is burning with his intakes of breath. His face is flushed, head filled with only one thought, and that is that he has been betrayed. Not betrayal and embarrassment like at the restaurant that time with Chris and Sean Parker, but real betrayal, like he’s been brought to the executioner’s block by someone he loved and trusted, the axe in their hand bright and sharp and shining in the light.

That is all he can think as he storms out into the open plan office screaming for Mark.

Parker, of course it’s fucking Sean Parker, says ‘he’s wired in.’

‘Sorry?’

‘He’s wired in.’

‘Is he?’

He isn’t, well, not for much longer, anyway. Eduardo feels not a scrap of relief or vindication in destroying the silver PowerBook. This is beyond personal destruction of inanimate objects.

‘How about now, are you still wired in?’

Eduardo doesn’t enjoy the small ducking movement Mark makes, just feels sick, his stomach rolling over and over. He feels like he’s going to be sick. He vaguely hears Sean call for security, but that’s truly the least of his concerns right now.

‘You issued twenty-four million new shares of stock.’

Mark is still twisted away from him, swallowing hard, scared. Eduardo can imagine how he must have looked in front of the twins that time at Harvard, probably more defiant, more believing in this cause. Eduardo does not believe for a moment that Mark feels that this was the right thing for him to have done.

‘You were told that if new investors came along-’

‘How much were your shares diluted? How much were his?’ Eduardo gestures at Sean, eyes still glued to Mark.

‘You signed the papers,’ Mark says, shaking his head. Over everything else, this is just a final kick to the side. He’s being punished, because he was too trusting of the people he thought he could rely on. His face is crumpled, he knows, tears itching at his eyes.

‘You set me up,’ he says.

‘You’re going to blame me, because you were the business head of the company and you made a bad business deal with your own company?’

Eduardo has never been slapped. There has been no cause for anyone to have ever slapped him, but he imagines that this is what it feels like.

‘It’s going to be like I’m not a part of Facebook.’

‘It won’t be like you’re not a part of Facebook, you’re not a part of Facebook.’ Sean Parker’s voice again. Eduardo really, really, really loathes that man.

‘My name’s on the masthead.’

‘You might want to check again.’

‘Is this because I froze the account?’

‘You thought we would let you have financial control of this company, when you’re not even stable enough to leave a hospital for half a year? When you have to rely on medication to get you up off a men’s room floor?’

Sean Parker is talking. Eduardo doesn’t give a fuck that the words are coming from the blond man’s lips, all he can see is Mark.

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 10b/11 - (Anonymous), 2011-07-18 03:39 am (UTC)(Expand)

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal 11/11 WARNINGS!: PLEASE READ WARNINGS.

(Anonymous)
WARNINGS: suicidal thoughts, self harm, description of drowning, suicide attempt. PLEASE BE CAREFUL. There will be an epilogue if you want to jump straight to that, linked across as soon as I've written it. It will not make much of a difference if you skip this chapter, mostly because I don't want anyone to drop this because of triggers \o/ final a/ns at the bottom so you can scroll down to get those if you want. *long note is long*




When he was little, Eduardo’s cousin Iara would hold him under the line of the water.

At first it would be fun, kicking and splashing, trying to tickle her to make her let go, and then he would get more frantic, fighting and thrashing, scratching, flailing, until she let him up for air.

When he would break the surface, he would breathe, deep and cold and beautiful. Nothing else would matter, just that, that feeling of safety in such a small, accessible thing.

That’s how Eduardo feels, standing on the edge of the bridge.

Safe.

There isn’t anything left to worry about, no one to hurt. No one will care, not really. His sister might cry for a bit, but that will end.

He feels lucky, and comfortable.

The air lifts the bangs of his hair, plays around his ears.

All that he has now are the few more moments that he has to fight, and then it’s gone.

Nothing to fear, no one to please, no one to hurt him.

He’s free. He’s warm. He’s safe.

He smiles, breaking the surface, and tips.



“The water under the Golden Gate is freezing cold.”







Well, thank you guys for reading \o/ sorry it's been a while, I'm on vacation. But I couldn't sleep last night and this was so vivid. I was originally going to write this thing about CBT and the process of DESC scripts and saying 'no' as a lead-in, but this came out instead.

A few points I feel I should address:

1. there will be an epilogue. This was meant to be a fix-it post deposition fic. How or why that turned into this is kind of beyond me. But the fix it will come. Which kind of spoils that Eduardo survives, but you can leave it here and assume he died if you want(!!)
2. regarding how Eduardo feels about suicide, a lot of this is subjective, and based only on personal experience. Everyone has different experiences, I'm respectful of that. (That relates to the panic attacks and such as well.)
3. thank you guys so much for reading!

for mod from author

(Anonymous)
Mod, would you be able to delete/screen parts 10a&b so that I can repost with a second warning regarding stigamtisation of mental illness? I'm worried I left that one unwarned.

While I Wait for Wounds to Heal Epilogue: I See You By The Window Sill 1a/1b

(Anonymous)
Warnings for bad language, but really it's just fluff. This had to be an epilogue because it's so completely different to the main story.

Also, you haven't missed anything, it's designed to be read chronologically backwards. Just if you were confused.


(+2) | that must be why i’m standing in this space



He falls asleep in Mark’s arms, nothing to fear, no one to please, no one to hurt him.

He’s free. He’s warm. He’s safe.



+1 | disregarding that i’ve created these monsters



He and Mark sit in his apartment, a tub of ice cream between them, and watch the movie.

It is awful. They have Mark completely wrong, and the twins that Mark had talked about come across as Machiavellian villains, rather than just honest to god bullies.

Mark turns it off halfway through, and puts on a movie with lots of fast cars and women with clothing so scant they may as well have just done away with it altogether.

‘Thank you,’ Mark says into Eduardo’s neck. ‘Thank you.’

Eduardo just tips Mark’s head up, and catches his lips. It’s wet and imperfect, but it’s his.



5 | they’re on fucking both of my sides



They meet at a new hipster-esque restaurant in New York that Eduardo has chosen, a wide open restaurant, with a quiet corner spot between the coffee bar and the back wall. It’s warm and enclosed, and most importantly, its somewhere thye can talk.

Mark walks in, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. They’re designer, Eduardo notices, and they fit him well. Chris must have taken him shopping. He’s also wearing an untucked pink button-up under a navy vest, and he looks gorgeous despite the sheer ridiculousness that it’s Mark, in fashionable clothing.

He hesitates before he sits down at the two-person table, before perching awkwardly in the chair across from Eduardo. Mark fidgets nervously with the buttons on his shirtsleeves, undoing them and rolling the cuffs up. This makes him look more like the Mark that Eduardo knew, but the flash of bare forearm makes Eduardo’s stomach roll.

‘Eduardo,’ Mark says a little cautiously.

‘Hello Mark,’ Eduardo replies.

Mark swallows. Eduardo can see the small bob of his adams apple move up and down. Mark’s eyes look up at the high ceiling of the room, and then he says, as if he learnt it by rote (which he probably did), ‘Sean sucked me in, he said you were a liability, I was stupid, really stupid. I was scared, and he told me story after story after story until I believed it. I’m sorry, Eduardo,’ Mark finally says, eyes still staring at the roof.

There’s silence while Eduardo waits for Mark to finally actually look at him. This is too much to ask, really. So he says, ‘Mark.’

Mark finally snaps back to looking at him, his usually impassive expression belied by the wary anxiety in his grey eyes.

‘I forgive you,’ Eduardo says, the words coming out after an eternity of holding them back.

Mark just closes his eyes.