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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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sorry about the delay in getting this up! please put all new prompts here.




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 ;))


♥ 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.


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♥ 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.






have fun!

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


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.)



AU Mark/Eduardo

AU where Erica is Eduardo's best friend or stepsister and Mark was her boyfriend. They break up and Mark is super nasty to her, maybe he is even more horrible than in the movie and Erica is understandably quite upset, so she tells Eduardo everything. And Eduardo can't just let Mark get away with calling Erica a bitch, acting like a complete asshole and breaking her heart so he decides to take revenge. His revenge is, I don't know, making Mark's life a living hell? Pretending to be his friend or maybe even boyfriend and planning to betray him/dump him so that Mark will realize how much he hurt Erica? But Eduardo - slowly and reluctantly and with lots of denial and maybe even shame because poor Erica is very important to him - falls in love with Mark because he may be an asshole to others but he's kind of nice to Eduardo and he's incredibly smart and he trusts Eduardo so much and he has dimples which are so adorable Eduardo melts every time he sees them.

Bonus point for Erica realizing what Eduardo is doing and telling him to stop because she doesn't need this and this is just ridiculous, she never cared about Mark that much anyway and maybe she already has another boyfriend (Dustin because she deserves someone nice? Sean because she seems to be eternally cursed with horrible boyfriends?). And then she realizes that Eduardo no longer really cares about her (not really) broken heart, he just wants to see Mark smile. And she still hates Mark but she has never seen Eduardo this happy before so she has to accept their relationship.

And even more bonus point for a super awkward double date with Eduardo-Mark and Erica-her new boyfriend and Eduardo forcing Mark to apologize to Erica and Erica being all ''Whatever, I don't care just don't break Eduardo's heart because I won't fall in love with you while taking my revenge because I will forever think you suck''.

Fill: AU Mark/Eduardo: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts

Hi! I think I have something of a fill for this. And it's my first time attempting to post on this, so, bear with me a little bit? I can give you the beginning! (Also, I don't know how to make him super nasty, so right now it's basically implied until I do a flashback and figure something else out.)

Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts

“And then he, he—” Her words dissolve into puddles between her fingers and Eduardo can’t help but wince. Because this Mark guy—really. He’s never seen her cry like this. Like, even when they watched Bambi, all she did was sniffle a little bit, but this… He tugs her closer to him and tucks her into him, his chin resting against her head.
“Sorry, Er,” he mutters into her hair, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath, and, by god, he hopes this Mark fellow has a decent life insurance policy.
“I just… What was I thinking?” Erica asks, voice small and broken and shaking as the words disappear around Eduardo’s collar. “How could I go out with someone so horrible?”
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Eduardo says firmly. “Not even a little bit.”
“Damn right he doesn’t,” Erica sniffs. “Asshole. He’s probably in his room, blogging about this now, because he doesn’t have any actual friends to listen to his problems.” Eduardo snorts, and is rewarded by a half-way-there sort of laugh, which is, you know, considerably better than the sniffles.
“Fucking asshole,” Erica mutters. She’s drowsy; he can tell by her voice. And it’s so funny when she swears; he could almost swear that Mark is the only one who can pull genuine nastiness out of her. And the fact that he’s hurt her, someone so sweet and genuine and perfect… Eduardo squeezes her against him again. Bastard. Utter bastard.
It would be beautiful, he thinks, if there was some way to send him just as low as—
“Erica? Erica, are you still awake?”
“Mmrphmm,” she grunts, sitting up a little, eyes still closed. Eduardo stifles a laugh and pulls a hank of hair out of her mouth.
“Er. You’re my best friend. And I wish I could do something—anything—to get him back a little. No, a lot.”
Now her eyes open. And then they narrow, staring at him. “Get him back,” she says slowly, testing each of the words on her tongue before letting them out into the open. “Like revenge?”
Eduardo grins. “Exactly like revenge.”
“Um.” Erica blinks. “Yeah. Yes. Fuck yes.”
When she gives him a high five, he thinks that, maybe, the best way to heal a broken heart is to break a different one.

Re: Fill: AU Mark/Eduardo: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts

so excited rn. been waiting for someone to fill this ever since i read the prompt. can't wait for more. :)

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts

“Are you sure about this?” Eduardo fidgets, trying to straighten out the viciously pressed—by a ‘totally over it’ Erica—collar and trying to look a little less awkward. Don’t get him wrong—he’s hell bent on this whole revenge thing. And he’s pissed. The Asshole—Mark. Mark. He has to start using his name, otherwise none of this is going to go over well. —Mark clearly and plainly deserves anything coming to him. And it’s not like he could just let him get away with what he did to Erica.

But seduction?
Erica’s words. Not. His.
The damn word’s not even in his vocabulary.

“Listen, it’ll be easy,” Erica assures him, walking with him, arm in arm, to the quad. “It’s just a simple little S&D.”
Eduardo blinks at her. “A what?”
“Seduce…” She tugs her arm from his, grin a hell of a lot more salacious than he cared to ever see on her. “And destroy.” Oh, lord. Such a sweet smile. She wiggles her fingers at him, and then shoos him, with her eyes, to where Mark will, in almost-exactly five minutes and twenty-nine—twenty-eight—seconds come out of some super clever math class. And the plan is that Eduardo will be there, charming as ever, and Eduardo will bring hell. Eduardo doesn’t exactly know how, but hey. Could be fun, right?

Erica escapes, giggling with the same razor-sharp look in her eyes, behind a little patch of greenery. Eduardo sends her a thumbs up when the door opens and the first student comes out. There’s something contagious about her happiness, really. Even if this is a questionable idea. He’ll for sure see through it, but if that happens, Eduardo has a speech made out. It mostly consists of profanities and one very well aimed sock to the jaw. Erica assured him it was perfectly eloquent.

Mark is the second to last one out, head down, arms wrapped around his laptop case. The sight of his hair from the back is enough to set Eduardo’s teeth on edge. What did Erica see in him? He even looks like a bitter, cranky, heartless, destined-to-be-forever-alone type.
But Eduardo has a job to do. He hikes his bag a little higher across his shoulders and walks towards Mark, part one in motion.

Mark has his computer bag in his hands, yeah, but his actual bag-bag is kind of unzipped. And Eduardo may or may not have a perfectly palm-sized pair of scissors in his hand.

He is a ninja. A ninja in a super-starchy yellow shirt, but a ninja all the same. Because he walks closely enough to fully unzip the largest pouch, get a good look at all the papers loose in the bag, and, in the next moment, to saw a little at the fraying strap. And then all he has to do is step back, pocket the palm scissors, and slide out is phone.
Mark is, apparently, the type of person who walks around without paying the damndest bit of attention to his surroundings, because his bag slips off and his papers fly out, but he still keeps walking for about five feet before he realizes that his back is suddenly, miraculously devoid of most of the weight it’s been carrying for the day.
And Eduardo, perfectly, gets that first shot, of him, turning, confused and bewildered, and the windfall of papers drifting down around his ears.
With a press of a button, the picture is in Erica’s folder.
And he has full faith in her blogging abilities.

With a sigh, he pockets his phone, and steps forward for part two. He wonders, vaguely, how this will work out. He’s never tried to seduce anyone before. He hopes it’s as much fun as the destruction bit.

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 2

Here's me, continuing! Tell me if you hate it!

“Hey.” Mark looks up. Someone tall, dark, with ridiculously coiffed hair is craning over him and blocking out his light. He’d be more suspicious if they hadn’t sounded so absolutely concerned. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Mark says curtly. Only about a million more papers left to go. Mark stands, brushes off hi knees, and edges past Mr. Mystery Do-Gooder and walks towards the fountain. Oh— yup. There goes his chem homework. Oh, well. It’s not like he needed the grade, or anything.
“Um, uh…” Oh, great. The guy’s still talking.
“What?” Mark demands, coolly. He turns around too sharply, and his bag is still open, with his back to the fountain, so when he hears that ‘plop’—
“Was that your—?”
“My phone.” Mark glances back. “Yes.”
“Jesus.” The boy swoops down with as much grace as a… graceful… thing, and why couldn’t Mark do that? In just a few seconds, he’s swept up the rest of the papers, turned Mark around with a hand on his shoulder, (neatly) refilled his bag, and fishes the phone out of the fish pond.
All Mark can say is. “This is really weird.” And, of course, this guy’s even the type who can raise just one eyebrow. “I mean, I’m usually not this clumsy.”
He looks at Mark, and his eyes are really brown. “Do you have any rice?”

Mark’s just not going to question this. It’s really just awkward, and a stranger is leading him to his own room, and he should probably be making sure he’s not, like, a serial killer or something, but the boy said he knew how to save the phone, and Mark would rather lose dignity than his second child. The first, of course, is his laptop. Shut up.

His name is Eduardo Saverin, somewhat Brazilian, in Economics or Business or something like that, and dresses like a magazine ad. Or a pull-out.
Mark is in a hoodie and his flip-flops.

“So what’s your major?” Eduardo asks, waiting patiently against the doorframe as Mark fumbles against the lock, hoping to god that Dustin or Chris or Jesus bought rice, because he can’t remember the last time he even looked at non-prepared food and it’s killing him.

“Um… computers,” he mutters; it’s the only thing he can properly say without thinking, and between Eduardo, and the lock, and this mystic streak of bad luck, he doesn’t have all that much room for thinking.
“I see,” Eduardo says, and he may or may not be laughing at him.
“Here,” Mark says, and holds the door open for Eduardo to go first.
“Thanks,” he says; when he’s surprised, Mark notices, his eyes get impossibly bigger.

There is rice, by the grace of all that is holy, and he brings a bowlful of it over to Eduardo like it’s the Holy Grail.
“Excellent,” he says, grinning. “Now let’s save this thing.” Let’s. Let. Us. Plural. Mark nods excessively fast, and Eduardo laughs at him, but it’s a nice laugh and he can’t help but smile back at him.
He pulls apart the phone with strong, limber fingers, and lays each part out, separately, on the rice.
And then he pushes the bowl away, slings his bag across his shoulders, and how the hell did it go that fast?
“You’re done?” Already? Mark has a feeling he’s gaping a little.
Eduardo’s eyes sparkle. “Yup.” His lips pop on the ‘p.’ “Just leave it like that for a few hours. If you’re lucky, it’ll work like new.”
“I’m not,” Mark grumbles. “Lucky.” He’s definitely not pouting. Definitely not.

“Of course you are.” Eduardo grins. “You met me, didn’t you?”
With a quick “See ya!” he’s around the doorframe, and, oh, geez, was that a wink? Who does that? Who the hell is that corny?

When Dustin comes back later and notices a black jacket that smells nice and doesn’t belong to any of them and asks Mark about it, he finally answers his own question. “Eduardo Saverin.”
It’s just short of a whisper.

Re: Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 2


Re: Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 2 - (Anonymous), 2011-09-07 08:28 pm (UTC)(Expand)

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 3

Here's me, being ridiculous/continuing.


“Wha—Erica, how did you even get in here?” Eduardo shucks off his bag and tosses it onto his desk, because his bed is taken up by a cross-legged Erica. Which is kind of a creepy surprise.

“Sean let me in,” she says, waving away his apparent protests. “It’s no big deal. He knows me.”

“Sean,” Wardo scoffs, nose wrinkling of his own accord like he can smell his roommate’s cologne. Eau de Douche-bag. "He also knows a strange slew of drug dealers."

Erica makes a non-committal noise in the back of her throat, and moves on. “Did you see the blog post?”

“Nope,” Eduardo says, sitting down next to her. He’d known, of course, what she was going to do with the pictures, but seeing the actually product would be interesting. “Where is it?”

“Tumblr,” she says, winking at him, and waiting for the page to finish loading.

“What’s the blog called?” Wardo asks. “You don’t want to make it too obvious.”

“Of course not,” Erica scoffs, but Eduardo knows that she doesn’t know that he’s thinking about how one of the only reasons he’s going through with all of her overly-complex revenge plans is because he gets to look like a secret agent, or something. He’s double-oh Saverin, and it feels pretty freakin’ cool to be a part of something like this.

Just kidding.

(Not really.)

“So, alright, then,” Wardo says, pushing himself up against the headboard and nudging her out of the way with his foot. “What is it?”

“Utter bastards and marshmallow hearts. Dot tumblr dot com,” she says quickly, blushing slightly when he gives her a look. “Shut up. Look. Both are important parts of the story.”
“Really,” Wardo deadpans.

“Yes, really. Look, he’s an utter bastard, and you have to make his little, sad, shriveled tin heart into a giant squishy blob of marshmallow, so that as soon as we’ve got him—he’s finished.”

Wardo blinks at her. “Wow.” Erica’s got her hands balled up into fists and manic spots of color across her cheeks. “Wow,” he repeats. “That is a really gross visual, to be honest.”

Her posture goes slack. “Nobody asked you, Saverin.”

“Of course.” He gives as tragic a sigh as he can muster. “You only want me for my body.”

“Thankfully,” Erica says, sliding up next to him with her laptop on her lap. “There’s more than just a hot bod behind this operation.” She pushes the computer into his hands. “Take a look.”


It is, to be honest, really, really cool. Cold would probably be more accurate, to be honest, but still. Page after page of rampantly abusive .gif’s with Mark’s face, and the image of his papers flying out in every direction. Eduardo’s kind of surprised; he didn’t think the shot he took would turn out so clear, but, god, you could see everything. Mark’s ears were red, and his eyes were a little wider than usual, but besides that—nothing. Emotionless.

Which explains the frankly alarming amount of BOY ROBOT tags.

“Er… This is ridiculous.” He can’t hold back the snort when one scrolls past that reads, WHERE YOU GOING? and Mark has his hand stretched out for a sheet that is really, very much gone.
“I know.” She laughs, and it’s the first time he’s heard it this honest and pure and un-bitter in about a week. Which is kind of worrying, but, hey. Whatever it takes to heal a broken heart.
But he’s only half paying attention, because that sheet looks kind of important, and he’s pretty sure neither of them went in that direction. And he keeps scrolling, watching a progression, looking at more and more of Mark, expressionless. Only he’s not. Not completely. There’s something about the set of his mouth, maybe, a little bit crooked at the edges, that looks just a little off. And—


That tree. The tree in the quad, the tree opposite the fountain. It’s in one of the shots, and something yellow, or, no, white, maybe, is sticking out, and it’s not a leaf. It’s stuck among leaves and branches. It’s a sheet they forgot.


Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 4

ARGH, I just keep writing, which is really bad, because it's late and I have no idea where this is going yet, BUT. I think I'll just keep writing 'til I pass out or something, so... Errors are all my fingers' fault. ^~^

And, at 2:35 AM, my writing binge is over, methinks. SLEEP.

Fact of life: Mark hates 8 a.m.s. This is, quite possibly, one of the only things he has in common with the 99.695% of the student body without any qualms. They’re unholy. He has to wake up at six.

At six. In the morning.

Not even god is awake at six o’clock in the morning.

But one thing he doesn’t hate about it—no. That’s a lie. He didn’t hate about it. Back when he and Erica were something, he’d meet her for coffee right after, just to talk, or just to listen, depending on who was more awake at the moment. It’s a little harder, waking up for an early morning class, when you know that the someone you’re used to won’t be there. Or, worse, will be there, and then awkwardness would ensue, and this is why he doesn’t bother. Why he shouldn’t/can’t/won’t, ever again.


“We used to do this thing, right? After our 8 ams, when he’d meet me for coffee at the Happy Poet.”

“Uh-huh,” Eduardo says, walking towards Anthropology and trying to think of how, exactly, he’ll stay awake for fifty minutes of Things He Will Probably Never Consciously Use In His Life. At least it’s better than calculus. Erica had called just as he was using, to coach him into exactly how today will go. Well, will go to Mark.

“So, I’m pretty sure he’ll go there. He is nothing if not a creature of habit. Or just nothing.” He’s pretty sure he isn’t meant to hear that part; it’s said under her breath and it’s petulant, but he supposes it’s a good sign that she’s not screaming it at the top of her lungs anymore. He supposes she’s healing.

“So you want me to meet him there? Intercept him?” Wardo asks, already plotting and planning and figuring out exactly how the interaction will go. He will be suave and sure and confident, but only because Mark is none of those things, and he would make a drunken elephant seem eloquent.

“Yup,” Erica says. He can almost hear her gears turning. “Yes. And have coffee with him. I don’t know. Bond. I know you’ll feel like throttling him as soon as he opens his mouth—or is that just me?—but make him love you. Compliment his big head. Um, his intellect. Or something. And then when you guys are getting ready to leave… make sure you leave by the side entrance, okay?”

“Side exit, you mean?”

“You’re a smart ass,” she says, but it’s fond. He thinks. “Just do it, dude. And remember. Rooting for you!”
He snorts. “You’re rooting for your plan, you hypocrite. And don’t worry about me. I’m charming. Everybody loves me.”

“Uh-huh. Vain.”
“Lonely old cat lady.”
“I’m wounded.”
“Goodbye, Eduardo.”
“I love you too.” He hangs up chuckling. He knew he’d be able to make her feel better. And every little frown or hiccup it causes Mark is worth it.

Now. Anthropology.


Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 4

(This whole character limit thing is ridiculous. But it's also kind of cool because i've never broken it before. *smug*)

There’s something about computer graphics at nine o’clock in the morning that’s really very interesting. Maybe even more interesting than later in the day, because later in the day everything makes sense so easily, and numbers and patterns fall into place with little to no effort, but early, that early, it’s hard. It’s complicated. It takes effort. Nothing else is that taxing.
Mark appreciates the burn.

What he will appreciate even more, however, is a nice, hot, caffeine-loaded cup of coffee. And he wants to go to HP. He really, really does. He’s terrified—yes, he can admit it, she’s fucking scary when she wants to be—of running into Erica, and he knows it’s got to happen sooner or later because she’s definitely furious and she’s not a passive person, but. But. But. Hot. Caffeine. Need. His feet are moving without his permission, because they know the path better than his brain does. It’s where he met Erica, and it’s where he kept going to, day after day, completely stuck on her. Before. Before alcohol inflated his tongue and opened up the little door in his head that held every nasty word he’d ever heard in his life and he used almost every one of them to inflict as much pain as possible. He doesn’t remember every word he said, but he remembers how awful they felt coming out, and how strange it felt to make her cry.

He’s terrified of running into her.
He doesn’t know how to apologize.
He doesn’t know where to start.

Hopefully, though, a heavy dose of caffeine will open the right door in his head and will let lead to some sort of reconciliation. Acceptance of an apology. An apology. That’d be nice.

And before he knows it, the door is under his hand and he’s pushing his way inside. There isn’t a line.
He recognizes the barista—Peter, or something—who always greeted Erica by name and gave Mark a friendly nod. He does the nod, still, but it’s not exactly as friendly. Mark figures he’s heard. Erica has a lot of friends.
“What can I get you, dude?” Peter-something asks, resting his forearms against the counter.
“Black. Espresso. Please,” Mark clips out. He hands over the money, receives his gorgeous cup of sunshine, and walks over to the window. He intends to drink it straight and bitter. It’s penance, even if she doesn’t realize it.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the door chime, but he does have ears.
“Hey!” Peter says, much more excited. Mark feels his spine stiffen. It’s the same easy, familiar tone he used with Erica. If she was here—Mark felt every muscle inside of him coil up to run. Shit.
“Hey! What’s up?”
Wait. No. Not Erica. Thank god.
Mark looks up from the depths of his cup to see a familiar head of hair leaning towards Peter. Eduardo. So he is seeing him again. Huh.


“Thanks,” Eduardo says, pulling the coffee up with him. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”
“I still don’t see how you can drink something like that.” Peter wrinkles up his nose at the cup. “All that sugar.”
Eduardo places a hand over his chest. “It’s a White Chocolate Mocha. It should be just as sweet as I am.”
Peter snorts. “If it is, you’re a walking cavity, with a side of Type II diabetes.”
“You understand me.”

Eduardo leans back, as casually as possible, to scan the café. And, yup. There he is. Mark, hunched over a coffee cup, eyes only half-open. He looks almost too easy to manipulate. Wardo feels dirty.
And then he takes a sip of his drink and grins. He’s liking the dark side, a little bit. Erica even covered the coffee.

“I’ll see you later, man,” Wardo says, nodding back to Peter. Peter raises his eyebrow when he sees Eduardo walking towards Mark, the Ex-From-Hell, but he doesn’t say anything. Peter is Eduardo’s favorite.

“Hey,” Eduardo says, looming, a little, right behind the boy in question.
Mark flinches almost violently, coffee flying forwards. He catches it, just barely, swearing lightly under his breath. “Hi,” he says, quickly, curtly, coldly.

Eduardo doesn’t let it bother him.

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 5a



One day, there’s a broken seat in class. The next, fall-apart textbooks on opening. And then, a slight reprise before, by some miracle, Erica manages to get itching powder in his sneakers. She’s creative.

And through it all, Eduardo is there, there to make sure the bad luck continues, and there to be there, for Mark to see him. And Mark likes him, he can tell. He doesn’t, you know, show it, like normal people, but he looks a little less apathetical when he’s looking at him. He’s gotten used to having Wardo around. And Eduardo uses that to their full advantage.

The thing is, Eduardo thinks, stretched out across his bed at 2 in the morning, is that Mark’s just kind of adorable and endearing in a really disturbing, alien sort of way. Literally. He’s an alien. A creepy alien-robot-hybrid-thing that seems to have no idea what’s going on most of the time but still manages to piss off 95% of the world in the process. Which is great, when it doesn’t matter. But he had to pick on Erica. And so Wardo doesn’t have much of a choice, right? Erica is his best friend. Of course he’d pick her. And not Little Lost E.T. No offense.

But his issues have always been with the grey areas.


The next morning is a Saturday, and he’s there when Mark finds a dead fish in his dresser.
Oh, god. That’s disgusting, is what Mark’s thinking—Wardo can sort of feel it. But Mark just kind of blinks down at it, pensively.
“I’ve decided something.”
“Uh— Yeah?”
You’re in cahoots with my ex-lover. “You’re bad luck.”
Eduardo swallows. “I am.”
I see you for what you are, you lying backstabber. “Mhm. Bad things happen whenever you’re there.” Oh, god. He almost dies when Mark turns to look at him.
“Do you want me to go?” Say no, okay? Say no, Mark.
And then Mark does it.
It’s amazing.
It’s a miracle.
He looks confused.
“Why would I want you to go?”
Eduardo stifles a laugh and more relief than he thinks necessary. “Because I’m unlucky.”
Mark is shaking his head, turning back to his computer. “You’re not unlucky. I am. I just have bad luck.” And then Mark turns his head back to him, lips pursed. “Besides, I actually like having you around.”
Eduardo’s glad when Mark turns back to the computer, because it means he can tear his hair out in peace.

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 5b

“… And I thought that meant he’d caught me, but no, it wasn’t, and so I—” Erica holds up a hand.

“Seriously, Wardo?”

Eduardo falters. He’s in the middle of his diatribe—he’s not done telling her exactly how he could tell what Mark was thinking, how he totally, totally knew what was going on, but it still took him by surprise, that so many bad things could happen and he still, still wanted him around—but the look on Erica’s face is very firmly not amused.
He’s actually kind of scared to ask. “What?”

Erica’s nose wrinkles. “What? My turn to ask, dude. What the hell?”

He is boggled.

Erica sighs, letting her face fall into her hands, turning her back to him and leaning her elbows on her desk. Her laptop is in front of her; picture after picture of Mark, lost Mark, awkward Mark, sad Mark. It’s a verifiable meme. And Eduardo doesn’t really like the twinge he gets at the bottom of his stomach when he sees some of the pictures now. The ‘I CAN HAS MILK?’ label under one of them, farther up the page, makes him nauseous. This is new.

“I’ve created a monster,” Erica moans, slamming her laptop lid shut.

“What do you mean?” Eduardo asks patiently, because you’re supposed to be patient with a crazy person.
“I mean,” Erica says slowly, like their roles are reversed, “that you like him. Oh, don’t start—” Wardo’s shaking his head fast enough to almost dislodge it from its coif.

“I do not. Don’t be stupid.”

“Okay, fine. Not ‘like’ him. But you care about him. At least a little,” Erica concedes, but he can see it, in the way her lips are twisting, that she doesn’t really believe it.

Eduardo shrugs. “Sometimes I feel a little bad for the guy. But it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it, right?”
“Right,” Erica says, but there’s a wall in her words. And Eduardo is, solidly and coldly, on the other side.

Eduardo is, as customary, at the coffee shop when Mark gets there. They never really talked about it; it just sort of happened, and no one was arguing. It’s their thing. Or something.

And, Mark thinks, it’s funny, that he’s gotten used to this without even trying. The way his shoulders stop straining, stop hunching in to block out the world, when he sees a certain boy leaning against the counter.
He looks over at him, and his smile is something like a little electric shock to the bottom of his feet, because he starts walking faster to reach him, even though they’re less than ten yards apart.

And then he’s a foot away.


On anyone else, that smile would be patronizing. Mark just appreciates the fact that it’s directed at him. He doesn’t need coffee. Eduardo can be his caffeine.

Re: AU Mark/Eduardo

I'M SO SORRY. Time tends to run faster than I do, but here! Here! (I realize I said 'tonight' quite a few nights ago. .////. I didn't forget. The guilt has been eating at me. I promise you that. But now, no guilt! More story!

Erica’s not blind.

She’s not blind, and she’s not stupid, and she knows, even if Eduardo doesn’t yet, what he’s gone and gotten himself roped into. She remembers.

She remembers how easy it was to go along with it, to go along with the crazy that was—that is—Mark.. The way his brilliance is. The way how brilliant he is can burn you out. She’s living proof. Granted, maybe he burns himself out, sometimes. But no one should have to live with that, have to live with cleaning up after that. His genius is his own problem.

Erica isn’t stupid, she isn’t blind, she knows what’s going on, and she can tell that Eduardo’s the type of person who likes cleaning up messes. Even short, curly-haired messes who are, in essences, socially challenged. And she knows that Wardo—jesus. He’s starting to connect. Every time a missile hits its mark, every time Mark’s face shuts down in a small victory for Erica’s army, she sees Wardo flinch behind his smile. And he doesn’t really smile at her anymore.
It’s freaking her out.

“Hey, Wardo. Look,” she says, and she hates the fact that she sounds awkward to her own ears. Awkward and stilted and kind of guilty, and she has to remind herself that she’s done nothing wrong, that it’s just a bit of fun, that he deserves it. It’s a mantra now. She’ll never admit how much she hates that. Revenge is not a chore. So it shouldn’t feel like one. So her mantra plays on repeat.

It’s gorgeous outside, Eduardo is not playing (with) Mark, and they’re under a tree. It’s funny—she’d always pictured weather like this with a mat in the grass and a guitar, or maybe just poetry. Either way, it’s romantic. She’s a little surprised the lovebirds aren’t off gallivanting somewhere. She doesn’t want to ask.

She twists he laptop on her lap to face Wardo. He grins, automatically , at the gif she has on the blog—it says, in big white block letters, ‘MOMMY SAYS I’M SPECIAL,’ and it’s Mark, turning around in shock, as a mixture—egg and cream cheese and probably something rancid—makes its way down the back of his ever-present sweatshirt.

“I haven’t seen that thing in a while, actually,” Wardo says, like it’s offhand. Like it doesn’t mean that he remembers what Mark wears because he pays attention, damn him. “I guess that means he couldn’t get all of it out. I won—” He stops himself, but, really, it’s too late. It’s always been too late.

With Wardo blushing up a hurricane, Erica closes the laptop with a snap and sighs, turning to face him. “Just tell me, Wardo.”

His caterpillar eyebrows crinkle up on each other, and usually, she’s comment. Rub out the stress between them. Laugh at him. Now she just stares back and waits for him to be less unreasonably confused. She keeps waiting. And still—“What do you mean?”

She glares at him, and glares harder when he nudges her with his elbow, starting to laugh. “Tell you what, Er? Did I do something wrong? Because I have no idea what I did.”

Erica blushes a little, now. “Not—not wrong, I mean, I’m not judging, Wardo, I love you no matter what, you know I do. It’s just… him?”

“Him?” He still doesn’t—doesn’t get it? Or doesn’t want to tell her? She’s be lying if she said it didn’t hurt a little. A lot.
“Mark,” she stresses, gesturing to her laptop. And then his caterpillars go back to their roosts over his eyes and he sighs, loud and long, finally connecting.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

(no subject) - hipsterhattrick, 2011-10-08 03:07 am (UTC)(Expand)

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 7b

Erica nods. At least they’re getting somewhere, right? This is progress. “I know. And it’s okay. I just don’t think he’s… you know...”
Wardo’s nodding, fully agreeing, and she should suspect, should suspect now, that he’s not really getting it. “I know. I just… I’m sorry , Erica. I’m really sorry.”
Erica rests her hand against his arm, and tries to tamp down on the irrational urge to vomit her lunch. “It’s… it’s okay. But… Mark?”

“I know! Trust me, I know!” He laughs, and he’s uncomfortable—it’s only when he’s really discomfited when he tugs at his ear like that. Plus, he won’t meet her eye. “I am sorry, though. It was a good plan.”

“Yeah,” Erica says, a little put out. It was great. “It was—is.”

“I know. I really thought it would work.. I feel like all this effort was for nothing. So much for making hell, right ? It really doesn’t work if the genius is too dense to get it.”

And just like that, roles are reversed. Wardo rests his hand on her back and rubs circles, smiling down at her, sympathizing, and she has no idea what the hell’s just happened.

“Wait. Recap. What were you talking about?” Erica asks for a moment.


He’s not that stupid.

“I was talking about your plan not working? Wait, why? What were you talking about?”

“Oh, my god.” Erica twists away from him, rolling onto her stomach, off the blanket they’ve cast over knobby tree roots. “Oh, my god. You are.”

Wardo’s staring like she’s got a second head, and she snorts, opening up different files on her laptop, because she gives up. “I am what?” Wardo demands, crawling over to her and poking her in the ribs with a canvas-shoed foot.
“You are that dense,” she wants to say, but she doesn’t. And, uh, yeah. She’s a little freaking proud of herself. “Nothing,” she huffs, in real life and not her head. “You’re an idiot,” she huffs, in her head and not real life. In both her head and real life, Wardo rolls his eyes and settles with his head against the base of her spine and his feet propped up against the tree trunk.

“Yeah, whatever. Anyways. What am I doing with Mark next?”

She considers pointing out the way that ‘to’ has turned into ‘with’ without him even blinking.

She considers when this had stopped being fun.

MY ITALICS ARE GONE. *somewhat put out* I keep forgetting I can't italicize on here... Ah, well. Ta-dah! :D

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 7c

(Note: 7a IS above 7b, it's just really late and I'm apparently stupid once it passes midnight and forgot to actually add a subject in the big empty subject box thing. AS;LKJASLFJAS;LFKJ MY EYES ARE CLOSING SANS PERMISSION.)

She doesn’t really know, to be honest, when it stopped being fun, but it was probably around the time when Eduardo came back flushed and smiling instead of smirking and snarking, and around the time when ‘idiot’ and ‘loser’ turned into ‘Mark’ and ‘him’ and ‘we.’

“We spent the day together.”

“He showed me pictures of his cats.”

“He finally figured out what was wrong with my computer.”

“Mark thinks I should spend my Sundays with him. Can you believe that?” And the worst part was, she could. And he looked like he could. And he looked downright happy about it.

Eduardo doesn’t notice ‘freak’ change to ‘lovable individual with so many issues it’s charming,’ mostly because it doesn’t. It’s still ‘Mark.’ ‘Mark’ has always been ‘Mark,’ he just hasn’t always been three-dimensional. But now he’s not just a photograph. Now he breathes, and likes his coffee black because it seems cooler, maybe, and he doesn’t talk to people in hallways, and he makes awkward eye contact. He doesn’t like computers, he lives computers, live in computers, and sometimes even his own head. He forgets to eat, doesn’t sleep, is terrible at laundry. And he needs him, sometimes. A lot of sometimes.

Maybe, Eduardo reflects, waiting by the door while Mark tosses as much laundry into a basket as he can reach, without being swallowed by the closet monster itself and never given back (Eduardo spent the first five minutes contemplating all the ways he’d have to save him and/or wrestle him out if the thing got a good hold on his Mark), maybe his descent into ‘lost cause’ territory came when, during the better part of a day (for both of them) every bad, unlucky thing possible had happened to him, and he just hadn’t. Noticed.

Eggs would fall from conveniently-placed nests and crack their way down his favorite sweatshirt (eggs that were not filled with what they should’ve been, according to the smell). They would sit on a mat and a dead cat would fall from the same tree (not recently deceased, very recently dissected). Another dead fish (third one this week) would make its way into his backpack, and he’d still just toss it into the nearest trash can and continue his and Wardo’s—their— discussion over movie villains and hypothetical situations, still wide-eyed and glowing and happy, and Eduardo doesn’t really know what to do with it. With all his happy. Because it’s definitely making him feel happy when he should be feeling nefarious, and he can’t help but feeling like he’s failed in his noble cause.

And then Mark will say something and crack a smile and hand Wardo a paper ninja star, and he’ll wonder how noble it was in the first place.

Fill: Utter Bastards and Marshmallow Hearts 7d

Wardo’s made a friend, and he shouldn’t have. Not even when he has to superglue said-friend’s shoe to the linoleum of the Student Center, and pretend to be surprised and confused when he can’t walk any farther.

“Oh,” Mark says, glancing down at said shoe. He tugs, one sharp, harsh motion, and Wardo hears something pop.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, reaching out and steadying him when he starts to topple forwards. He loops one arm around Mark’s waist and tugs Mark’s right arm so that it rests across his chest, because this is not going to work. “How did this happen?” he says after a moment, mostly because its scripted and it’s easier to work with a script when you’re trying to figure out how to get yourself out of a sticky situation. Or how to get the person you got sticky out a situation that you started. Oh, god. He’s even over-analyzing puns, now.
“I don’t know,” Mark says, shrugging once, short and quick. Wardo lo—likes his shrugs. They characterize a special character. He’s never seen anything like them. They leave everything to the imagination. Especially Mark himself. “I was with you the whole day,” Mark points out, unnecessarily. “Did you see anything?”
“No,” Wardo says, swallowing. Apparently lying activates his human fluid glands. Because he’s sweating down his back and his hands and he has to keep swallowing for fear of legitimately drooling on himself. “Didn’t see anything,” he adds, just in case Mark didn’t get the first hint.

Mark stares down at him oddly, trying to make eye contact, but not keen on losing his point of balance. He twists around and they’re nose-tip to nose-tip, a little too close, even in strange situations. Mark, because he is Mark, doesn’t seem to really notice, and Eduardo tries to pretend that he’s not really breathing in his air.

“One of us has to have seen something,” Mark says stubbornly, tightening his hold on Wardo’s chest when he starts to sway.
“Look, unless you stepped in crazy glue, I don’t know what to say,” Wardo says. He slips down and tugs at the shoe for a moment. “It’s on there. It’s on there to stay, man.”
“Huh.” Mark follows his lead, stopping down. Only, instead of checking the shoe, he just checks out of it, extracting himself and stepping back, one show on, one shoe welded.
“There,” Mark says, nodding once in satisfaction. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“Oh,” Wardo deadpans, nodding back. “So if you ever decide to come back for it…”
“I’ll need a bigger dorm room. Because the building would be coming, too.”

Wardo likes him.
This is bad.
But he doesn’t think sabotage can work on himself. But he’d find something, some way to divorce his Mark. Because he’s not his. He was Erica’s, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Because he was Erica’s, and then he wasn’t, and he was cruel, and Eduardo is helping Erica, because Erica is his best. Friend. Dammit, and Mark is just a guy he met to make his life miserable.
And then Wardo freezes, because a one-shoed Mark has wobbled over to him and has his hand on his shirt. He pull away, a single strand of dried glue coming with him. It looks like a near-transparent strand of hair.

“You should keep this with you,” Mark deadpans, face straight.
“And why’s that?” Wardo asks, because it’s Wardo, and he’s never been anything if not civil.
Mark drops it in his hands, but he doesn’t answer, just goes back and crouches over his shoe. He tries, once, to get it back up, a heaving, valiant effort reminiscent of all the idiots who gave the sword a try before Arthur wised up. Both hands on either side of the shoe, Mark clutched, tugged—
And toppled over, shoulder driving past Eduardo’s feet.