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This'll Hurt When You Wake Up Yesterday

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From the Cable x Deadpool Kink Meme


Time travel was confusing, but Nathaniel Dayspring Askani'son Summers was a confusing man. Really, his surnames alone should have tipped most people off that the confusing bits of his life had been given a kick-start before he could walk. If Nate didn’t understand what was going on, he would never admit it. Instead, he had decided long ago to just embrace life’s baffling revelations and time paradoxes in the interest of maintaining both his sanity and the illusion of control.

So Nate had rolled with the punches – or was pretty sure he had. The last thing he remembered was, literally, rolling away from Stryfe’s fist. Or had it been some telekinetic knock-out punch to the cerebellum? A blow into something large and sturdy and solid enough to knock him unconscious for several hours… or days. The head trauma had left the truth as foggy as his memory, though the things that seemed most important were quick to insinuate themselves into Nate’s still-waking mind.

“Hope!” Nate sat up straight, or tried to. “Agh.” He put a hand to his throbbing head and crawled out from under the long table, kicking chairs out of the way as he went. He barely had time to stand before the chair snapped back into place as smoothly as if someone had hit rewind.

So, yes, time travel was confusing. Nate was standing in a lavish dining room and he wasn’t. Nate was in plain sight of his brother sitting at the table and of the cowed servant standing near the door, but neither saw him. It wasn’t that they couldn’t, just that they didn’t have time to. By the time their minds recognized that he was there, he wasn’t.

He was running through time with Hope. He was fighting Bishop. He was fighting Stryfe, and Stryfe was winning. His brother was winning, and when Nate lost consciousness he would take advantage of that. He would take his mind and send it to this little pocket of reality Nate found himself in now.

Maybe the events around him had already happened, maybe they had yet to occur. It was impossible to tell anything aside from the obvious. He couldn’t affect it. He could only sit back and watch what Stryfe wanted him to see – and there was no doubt in Nate’s mind that it wasn't anything pleasant. Things would, likely, be back to normal (whatever “normal” was) the moment he woke up. Nate decided not to wait around for that.

He tried going through the door. He tried willing himself awake. He tried harming his brother (several times and in increasingly violent ways), but none of it did any good. Any attempt to interact with the world either set things in reverse or teleported him right back under the table to where he had started.

Nate resigned himself to the fact that he would just have to wait. Whatever Stryfe had to show him, he couldn’t let it distract him from his mission; couldn’t let it distract him from keeping Hope safe… and maybe killing one very annoying clone, if time allowed.

“And that’s why, I- Aah!” Wade Wilson appeared beside the horrified servant much like Nate had, though the servant’s scream told him that Wade was on the other side of his mini time-paradox. “Jesus, clone-boy, give a guy some warning.”

Stryfe shot Wade a look that said he was dangerously close to losing an appendage and, surprisingly, Wade seemed to be the message.

“I mean, you rang, boss? I wasn’t doing anything important, well, I mean – I was doing what you told me to, which top priority – unless you say it’s not, which is cool too. Might I say, boss, your armor is looking especially not-ridiculous today.”

Well, maybe he sort of got the message. Nate was a little disconcerted that he rolled his eyes at almost the same time that Stryfe did.

“You won’t be missed,” Stryfe assured Wade, giving Nate the impression that Wade must have been outside the Citadel talking with someone; possibly the other team, Domino and her squad – possibly the entirety of X-Force, including himself. “I’ll be sure to put you back after we’re finished here, don’t you worry about that.”

The metal of Stryfe’s gauntlet clinked against the metal stem of a wine glass. “The pathetic fellow in the corner there is new,” he said, indicating the servant as he forced the glass into Wade’s reluctant hands. “New, but not original.”

“I-I…” the servant stuttered, honorifics and decorum escaping him – not that any of it would do him any good now. His mind was transparent. If Nate knew the poor idiot had made some half-assed assassination attempt, Stryfe knew.

Why then all the stalling and theatrics? Why not just kill the man and get it over with. Even if he intended to prolong his servant’s suffering, there was no need to involve Wade.

“I know you’re going for the whole modern art-minimalist, dystopian chic thing, but you really need to rethink extending that theme to the dinnerware, boss.”

Stryfe shot Wade another look and Nate couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s annoyance. He knew, first-hand, just how frustrating Wade could be. It was seldom that a simple look shut him up. Apparently, Stryfe had yet to realize this.

“The metal kills the taste of the wine – which, by the way, is a classy beverage for the discerning evil dictator, I get that, but could we maybe get some beer up in this Citadel? It’d give your loving subjects something else to poison, for a change.”

Stryfe removed a gauntlet and massaged the space between his eyes. “Just drink it, you imbecile.” His tone sounded weary but carried the promise of violence should Wade risk saying anything else.

Beneath the frayed Deadpool mask, Wade made a face and turned up the glass. Without lips, drinking seemed to be a bit of a chore, and Wade clapped a hand over his mouth as he handed the glass back to Stryfe.

And then they waited.

Nate wasn’t sure what they were waiting for. Wade’s healing factor had taken care of decapitation before. A little thing like poison wouldn’t faze him.

But Stryfe watched the servant and the servant watched Wade and Wade did, well, Wade things. He paced then took a seat in the chair beside Stryfe, drumming his fingers on the table as he sang to himself.

“Baby, can’t you see? I’m calling. A girl like you-”

“No singing.”

Wade hummed.

Stryfe, it seemed, was no music lover. When Wade hit the chorus, Stryfe hit him. His punch only knocked Wade out of the chair. It was telekinesis that supplied the rest of the impact. Nate felt the shockwaves of its energy from across the room as Wade slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor.

Nate gave Stryfe an unimpressed look that went unacknowledged. He was worried about Hope, not the mercenary he had given up on years ago. Clearly, the values like morality Nate had tried to instill in Wade hadn’t taken. If they had, they hadn’t lasted long.

Here he was, working for Stryfe, calling him, “boss”, helping him kill those who dared defy the will of their oppressor. Nate had thrown Wade around his fair share of times. If anything, seeing his brother do it now was making him feel a little better. This was a feeling that was quick to turn to puzzlement when Wade went to his knees with a horrible retching sound.

“Well, that’s a shame for you now, isn’t it?” Stryfe asked, regarding his servant with a cruel smile and motioning him through the door with a wave.

As the two left the room, Nate’s attention shifted back to Wade. He had gone from his knees to the floor. His gloved fingers twitched over the marble in time with a throaty, shallow gasping that told Nate he was still breathing and not dead – which should have been obvious, especially since the latter was nearly impossible, unless…

“Healing factor’s not what it used to be,” Nate repeated Wade’s words to himself aloud only because any prolonged silences when he was in the same room as the mercenary made him feel awkward. Nate staved off any nagging feelings of guilt. Wade may have mentioned the problem several times, but Nate did have bigger things to worry about, and none of this was actually his fault.

Be that as it may, Nate couldn’t help but make an attempt at reaching into Wade’s mind. Even with the sluggish healing factor, part of Nate was still shocked when access came so easily.

He was mostly dead, like some zombie from one of those horrible movies Wade made him watch back on Providence. Nature said he was dead, his body just disagreed. His healing factor was so focused on keeping vital functions alive and decomposition at bay; it didn’t have as much time for outside interferences like broken bones or poisons. Ironically, cancer wasn’t much of a problem anymore.

Nate frowned and probed deeper. Time did a number on a lot of people, even people with superhuman regenerative abilities. Something still seemed off to Nate, and it took very little searching to find it.

Like some psychically oppressive little stowaway, Stryfe’s presence was there. It was regulating Wade’s healing factor, slowing and speeding up the regeneration of cells as he saw fit – like, say, to allow something as trivial as poison take effect.

“Oh, Wade,” Nate sighed, sure the idiot should have known better than to work for someone like Stryfe. Then again, what choice had he had?

The ribs broken from the collision with the wall were fusing. The poison affecting the central nervous system was being dissolved. It was all happening so slowly that Nate couldn’t help but reach in and try to ease away the presence of his brother in Wade’s head.

Nate found himself warped back under the table as Stryfe entered the room.

“The fool tried to kill me, if you can believe that.” Stryfe removed his helmet as he crossed the room, laying it on the table as he moved toward Wade. “A knife from the kitchen, of all things. I’m not sure if this was an attempt at assassination or suicide. What do you think, Wilson?”

Rather than wait for an answer, Stryfe heaved Wade up by the front of his costume. Nate thought he saw his brother’s eyes flit in his direction.

“What are you doing?” Nate asked aloud, forgetting that no one would answer.

Stryfe dropped Wade onto the cold, metal surface of the table. He took considerably more care in removing his own gauntlets and placing them next to his helmet. “Hurry up,” he said to Wade, and that was when Nate felt it.

Stryfe had eased the restraints on Wade’s healing factor and was even supplying a little extra energy of his own. His breathing eased and his body relaxed. Nate already sensed a few dozen strings of conversation edging in around the corners of Wade’s mind as his cognitive functions returned to normal… well, normal’ish.

Whether he was conscious or not seemed less important to Stryfe who had grown impatient enough to remove Wade’s mask himself, revealing a face very familiar to Nate. This was the Wade Wilson Nate remembered; the disappointments, the people he would kill only because he felt like it, the days when Nate had considered him, if not one of his more deadly enemies, than certainly one of the more annoying ones – the times Wade had made him proud, the times he saved Nate’s life, the times he had tried so hard to be a good friend to Nate… when Nate considered him a friend too.

Stryfe brushed his thumb over newly-grown lips, his mouth quirking to one side in moderate approval. Wade coughed then groaned, blinking several times before his eyes focused on Stryfe. Nate couldn’t help but catch his first thought, a puzzled but pleased mental exclamation of, Nate!

Nate winced inwardly and Stryfe frowned. Wade, realizing his mistake, raised his hands in an over-exaggeration of innocence. “Heeey, Stryfe… Mr. Stryfe… boss. What’s up?”

“Not your number, apparently.” Wade’s belt began to unbuckle itself under Stryfe’s thoughtful gaze. “You’ve caught me in one of my rare, good moods.”

“What’s going on?” Nate repeated, punctuating the small space of silence between the two as he moved closer.

“Was that a joke, boss?” Wade’s gloves seemed to pull themselves off, joining his mask on the floor. “So, since you’re in a good mood and all, what do you say you stop undressing me with your eyes and let me go grab a blanket or something - because I know this table, and when you’re not wearing any pants this table is – Ah!- cold.”

Wade turned his head away, focusing instead on some fixed point in the distance. He seemed to be resigning himself to what would come next, a feat Nate was finding hard to follow. “Since you’re in a good mood, boss,” Wade repeated in bored tones that seemed wildly inappropriate given the situation. “Might I just say that you’re lousy with foreplay.”

Stryfe backhanded Wade with the same flippancy as someone playfully punching a friend on the arm. Blood and saliva was spit out onto the table as he next forced him face down. “Oh, come on, boss. How many times has it been now, and I still haven’t figured out how your armor works? C’mon. Let’s try some other position so I can watch. I mean, that codpiece of yours, alone, is legend.”

Nate had no desire to watch his brother undress, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to look away. Stryfe, meanwhile, only smiled a smug, humorless smile. “Is it, now?” he asked, ignoring Wade’s request by letting the majority of his battle-suit fold away on its own.

“I don’t know. Seems like it should be.” Wade glanced back to Stryfe who was running his eyes over the body beside him, appraisingly; taking in the rough texture and scars and tumorous growths with a thinly veiled look of disgust. “I know I’ve asked before, but aren’t there any post-apocalyptic sheep you could do this with instead?”

Stryfe climbed onto the sturdy metal table, leading Nate to entertain the slightly silly idea that this was the real reason behind his brother’s choice in stark decor. “I think I may have jumped the gun a little on that one,” Wade said in response to a question Nate hadn’t heard. “Even about the friends thing. I mean, it was a long, looong time ago, so my memory’s a little fuzzy. I definitely remember we never had sex, though. I think I would remember that.”

Had telepathic access come at some price, Nate wondered, taking a few reluctant steps closer. Was Wade in Stryfe’s head now, too? If that was the case, then was it the healing factor or Stryfe that was allowing even Nate to listen in. “Let me out of here!” Nate demanded suddenly; as if, even if Stryfe was watching him, he would comply.

“I mean, if he’d said, ‘Hey, Wade, let’s go do the nasty!’ I probably wouldn’t have said no. I think it’s a Summers thing. There’s all this peer pressure. Everyone’s fucked a Summers, and I really wanted to be one of the cool kids - You know, I’m not sure I thought that one through. I think it started out as an, ‘Everyone’s fucked Emma Frost joke’ and got lost somewhere in the delivery. Sorry ab-” Wade swallowed an exclamation of pain as Stryfe began without warning.

“Get off him!” Nate yelled, swinging a fist at his brother before he’d even realized he had crossed the room. His instantaneous relocation to beneath the table didn’t slow Nate down. He tried to interfere a second time; kicking another chair out of his way and clambering to his knees, he grabbed Wade by the arms.

He never got the chance to pull him away. Nate barely had time to close his hands, feel the tense muscle under rough skin before he was back where he had started. “Damn it!” Nate shouted, hurling a chair against the wall as he climbed out from beneath the table yet again. The chair snapped back into place as Nate paced, trying desperately to ignore what was going on in the center of the room and keep his thoughts elsewhere.

But Stryfe wouldn’t permit that. The reason he had allowed Nate to enter Wade’s mind so easily became clear. Not looking almost made things worse. Wade’s thoughts narrated the pain; the placement of Stryfe’s hands beneath his chest and on his hips, the way Stryfe knew his own strength but didn’t care about the bruises left beneath his fingertips – the way Stryfe moved with a rhythm that was too fast and hard and deep because he knew Wade’s healing factor could handle it. Stryfe just liked the friction or maybe just the occasional grunt or groan from the man under him; any sign of pain pleased him – then there was Wade’s shame at his own arousal.

Eight hundred years was a long time to wait, and even before that Wade hadn’t been a real hit with the ladies.

“Can you give me a hand here, boss?” Wade nearly seethed the words through gritted teeth. “In case you were wondering, you can be a very selfish lover.”

Stryfe scowled at the back of Wade’s head and conceded only to changing position. He rose to his knees, giving Wade the chance to support himself. “Get up,” Stryfe ordered when the mercenary paused to catch his breath.

It was too much. His healing factor may have been working double-time, but it was wearing his body out. Nate watched Wade’s arms shake beneath him as Stryfe began again, continuing before Wade could finish pushing himself onto knees. “I hope you take this the wrong way, when I say you’re a fucking stallion during sex. No, this isn’t demeaning at all.”

Wade’s sarcasm did little to mask the conflicting sensations running through his head; Nate could hear it. Somewhere in all the soreness and pain and humiliation, this was turning him on; and, unfortunately, one of the main reasons seemed to be only, You really look a lot like Nate.

He hadn’t said it out loud, and to be fair, it was only one thought in the hundred-car-pile-up of Wade’s mind. But Nate had heard it. He wished he hadn’t, but he had - and if Nate had heard it, so had Stryfe. It was a fair bet to say that Stryfe would be less pleased with this second slip up than Nate.

It was a small miracle when Stryfe said nothing… and it was no surprise when Wade couldn’t just let this go as his own good fortune. “You know, by Nate I meant you-Nate, not him-Nate, right?”

“Wade!” Nate shouted in his frustration, finding himself wishing, of all things, that Wade would just let Stryfe finish so they could both leave.

“I know what you meant,” Stryfe said, pausing. (Not everyone could converse as easily as Wade during sex.) “I’m in a good mood, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but what does that even mean?” Wade took this opportunity to try and pull away only to have Stryfe push him right back down. “Oh, does it mean we can role-play. You be Cable and next time I’ll be Zero. Does Zero do anything for you? He doesn’t have a mouth, and he almost killed me once – seems like you would like both those things.”

“I’ve found other uses for that mouth of yours, Wilson,” Stryfe said, forcing Wade up onto his knees again before pulling him back against his own body. “And, for now, I prefer you alive.”

“Aww, you always were good with the pillow-talk, boss.” Wade tensed under the touch of the fingers roaming his body. Apparently, Stryfe was usually a pretty “hands-off” partner, so the hand sliding along the inside of Wade’s left thigh was making him understandably nervous. “So, you be Cable, and I’ll be the door-to-door salesman who has to convince you to buy his last set of encyclopedias or risk losing the title to his Miata. How does that sound?”

Another humorless smile tugged at the corners of Stryfe’s mouth. His free hand tilted back Wade’s head in one swift motion that was either the most violent caress Nate had ever seen, or the most gentle snapping of a neck. “Acceptable.”

“Really?” Wade clearly hadn’t expected Stryfe to go along with this and didn’t seem entirely pleased. “I mean, that’s cool. I always said y-”

It wasn’t a kiss, not really. Such displays of affection were alien to Stryfe, abhorrent and unnecessary. This was more territorial, an exaggerated, animalistic staking of property that was being preformed for a third party to see.

Nate had the best view in the house, and he was infuriated. He hadn’t grown up with Stryfe. They weren’t really brothers. They hadn’t lived some relatively normal childhood in some X-men funded apartments uptown. Stryfe hadn’t gotten the chance to do the things brothers do then; pick fights, assure the other brother that they were the adopted one, find some long-forgotten favorite toy you hadn’t realized you’d wanted anymore until you saw him playing with it. Stryfe was making up for lost time.

“Hey,” Wade gasped, managing to separate their mouths just enough to form speech. “No, uh, no Jedi mind tricks this time, all right?”

Stryfe pressed their mouths together again, biting down on Wade’s lower lip as if to remind him that he would do as he pleased. To Nate’s horror, the reminder of who was in charge appeared to work. Wade’s nervous rigidity relaxed. He leaned back against Stryfe with a suggestive moan.

“There that’s better.” Stryfe allowed Wade to face him, even wrap his arms around his neck as he straddled his lap.

Nate was almost shaking with rage. He looked away again, but couldn’t stay out of Wade’s mind for long. It was murky, obscured by equal parts manipulation and illusion. An inappropriate voice in the back of Nate’s mind wondered if Wade would do this sort of thing for “Cable” if he wasn’t under Stryfe’s control. These uncomfortable thoughts were quick to dissolve back into hatred for Stryfe. Behind the parts of his mind that Stryfe was controlling, there was still a furious Wade very much aware of what was going on.

No means no, clone, Wade thought. The thought was directed towards his telepathic captor, angry and embarrassed and just a little derisive even as, outwardly, he was lowering himself onto Stryfe’s erection.

His first thoughts ignored, Wade tried again, Stry-

“Shh,” Stryfe interrupted, leaning back on one elbow as his other hand moved to rest on Wade’s thigh, following the rise and fall of his hips. The smile he watched Wade with now was not entirely humorless. “If we’re role-playing, I’m not supposed to break character.”

Oh, you’re the worst kind of clone, boss. Like if Judge Dredd and Boba Fett had an evil love child… then cloned it, that’s the kind of clone you’d be, this thought directed towards Stryfe was Wade’s last.

“Must you abuse all the privileges I allow you, Wilson?” Stryfe put a hand to Wade’s forehead that effectively silenced him. If there was any part of Wade still coherent enough to know what was really going on, he wasn’t making a noise; aside from the occasional desperate moan as he fell under Stryfe’s suggestion completely, body writhing against his captor’s as he rode him. Stryfe moved a hand along the arching line of his back, moved the same possessive touch upward until he’d parted Wade’s lips with his thumb and could feel the ragged, gasping heat of his breath on his fingers. He moved with the mercenary, bucking his hips encouragingly when things began to slow.

Nate swallowed, finding his mouth very dry and more than his face hot. It was so easy to put himself in his brother’s place. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong. Wade couldn’t control himself. Stryfe was a monster, not some avatar for Nate to live his fantasies through. Yet, there was no denying that for all his hatred for his brother, at that moment, he was more than a little jealous.

Wade gave a hoarse exclamation of something unintelligible as he came; but Stryfe wasn’t finished. He was on him like an animal, forcing Wade’s knees back and himself inside. He finished with a ferocity that shook the table, and the telekinetic energy was almost palpable; crackling in the air as Stryfe came inside Wade and immediately pulled away.

Stryfe said nothing. His armor fell back into place as he dismounted the table. He polished a smudge from his gauntlets, tucked his helmet under his arm, and left the room for someone else to clean.

Nate moved to the table. He didn’t try to touch Wade; there was no point. “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh, even knowing Wade couldn’t hear him.

On the table, Wade groaned, putting a hand to his head in a feeble attempt to clear it. Stryfe had let go of Wade’s healing factor. He was already reverting back to the corpse of a man Stryfe had all-but enslaved.

It was too late, Nate realized with a pang of guilt he could no longer stave off. Even if Wade found some way to distance himself from Stryfe, it was too late for Nate to fix this, to set any of this, even remotely, right. Nate could already feel the pull of reality, knew he would wake up in some other time where he had already given Wade the cold shoulder, where he was fighting Stryfe and there was no time for apologies. Nate winced at his mistake, watching Wade’s body begin to decompose once more as, he too, began to fade away. He only had time for one last useless, genuine, “Sorry.”

---------

Nate walked against the crowd fleeing from the construction site. An explosion went off in the distance and he looked up just in time to see two figures disappear into the scaffolding of the half-finished building a few hundred yards away.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. In the end, he stopped just outside the plastic-tarp covering the entryway and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. It was a strange feeling. Hope didn’t need him anymore; the future didn’t need him. There was no more Providence; the past didn’t need him. And Wade didn’t…

Nate bowed his head against the dirt debris of a second explosion. There was the sound of wood splintering and a fraction of a second later there followed a blur of red somewhere to Nate’s right.

…Wade probably needed some help getting that piece of rebar out of his ribcage.

“Need a hand?”

Wade wriggled on the metal impaling him, looking to the left then immediately to the right. He was wearing a dubious expression beneath the mask.

“Down here,” Nate said, stepping a little closer to Wade, who was only stuck a few feet up. “I’m under you.”

“That’s what she said.” Wade leaned his head back, doing an awkward sort of upside-down double-take when he saw who it was. “Nate! See, I told Irene you’d be back! I mean, after totally abandoning us for fun futuristic adventures until your sales went south. It’s not like we needed you here or anyth-uuuhhh… blood loss… do you mind?”

Nate raised his arm, carefully, guiding Wade up off the rebar and down to the ground beside him. “Are you all right?”

“Huh? Yeah, hard to kill, remember?”

“I remember.”

“What’s going on? You didn’t lobotomize yourself again, did you?”

Nate shook his head. “You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself.”

Wade narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed beneath the mask. For a moment, Nate was sure he was going to call him on this obvious display of discomforted guilt. Instead, Wade only shrugged, his expression devolving into something more casual. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, mercenary work, saving the world from Skrulls, and stuff; busy, busy, busy.”

Maybe it was – no, it was definitely very selfish of Nate to be a little disappointed by the fact that Wade seemed to be getting along just fine without him. Maybe coming here was a mistake. After all, this particular Wade wasn’t in danger of getting locked in a freezer for eight hundred years.

“-and I developed like two brand new personalities.”

Well, maybe, he could stay for a little while.

“-and I’ve killed, like, sooo many people while you’ve been away.”

Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to leave Wade behind?

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Wade asked, and by his tone Nate knew he wasn’t entirely sorry about any of this; he didn’t particularly care if he had made Nate proud.

“Not really,” Nate admitted, finally managing a smile though it seemed to confuse Wade more than anything. “Are you busy?”

Wade removed a grenade from his belt and arced it into the window of one of the higher levels. “No, “ he said, falling in step with Nate as the (formerly) half-finished building fell behind them. “So, what are we up to, Pricilla? Building a new Providence? We’ll have to be stealthier about it this time – maybe invitation only. I’ll even give you how-not-to-be-a-pompous-ass lessons so you don’t go all holier-than-thou on the rest of the world again. We can call it, Providence II: This Time it’s Personal. Oh, hey, we could even call it Incontinence; sorta like the Greenland/Iceland thing.”

“We could, but I thought maybe we would just go out to eat first.”

“Mexican. Your treat. It’ll be your treat for a while, by the way. You owe me pretty big.”

“You’re right,” Nate agreed, resting a hand on Wade’s shoulder just to make sure that no time paradoxes separated them this time - to make sure that there was no distance between them. “But we’re not calling any new island Incontinence.”
Current Mood:
aggravated aggravated
Current Music:
"I Touch Myself" (Cover) - Jack Off Jill
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On June 26th, 2009 06:21 pm (UTC), tsuki_fire commented:
"..."
What a way to start the day. Good job, now excuse me, I need to try and stop the stupid fangirl squeals of joy.
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