Hetalia kink meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hetalia_kink) wrote2012-06-03 02:47 pm
hetalia_kink) wrote2012-06-03 02:47 pm
Hetalia Kink meme part 15
axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 15
hetalia kink meme
part 15
Ahh yeah that is the super duper delayed Christmas reveal for 2009 LOL...just found the time to finish it now...
clean wallpaper version HERE
clean wallpaper version HERE
Weep, Little Lion Man 4a/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-22 10:46 pm (UTC)(link)You've never really come across it before, but it's not an obvious play of events, it's not something you charge into and win by force. No, war is so much more than that: it takes time, it takes skill and most of all it takes practice. You have to be careful. You can't attack everyone at once and expect to win just because you have the most weapons. To play war successfully, thought needs to be put into it.
It can also be done in many different forms, just like there are many different ways to play chess. As an Empire in war, you'll be most similar with this strategy.
New pieces can be gained and added to your own collection. Either they are ambushed from the enemy, or as a loose end. Sometimes, the piece to be gained is heavily defended by other pieces, and is all but impossible to gain.
Well, usually impossible.
Either way, winning is about methods and tactics. You might have all the pieces in your hands, but you could lose everything without knowing what had happened. Alternatively, you may think it's all over, that you're down to your last pieces; yet place it carefully, put enough hope into yourself, and you could win a game with just one remaining piece.
A War is made to claim territory and build pieces, Alfred, even it is at the cost of your own. It can mean a lot of things. War can mean claims of territory, much like that one had just been, or it could be to fight for something else, something more personal. Sometimes, you have to fight for your freedom. You have to fight for your rights. You have to fight to be on top.
You have to play for the rest of them.”
-----
“War was never a game, Amerique. Sacrifices have to be made in War, especially for what you may gain for what you lose. The Empire, as is said, is built on war – how else would you gain land? Except for the most barren of places, there is life to a land. It is how it is. If they succeed, they gain a colony.
But it is not how the colony is created and how the culture is elaborated and how the journey rolls into that land becoming it's own; non, it is the aftermath that is the most essential. All Forces have an equal and opposite reaction, yes? So what would occur once a nation becomes free from it's coloniser? The newly free nation claims freedom and a permanent break from pain and isolation – ah, but what happens to the former Empire itself?
Every nation's independence day is a reason to celebrate. It is more important to some than others, but the message is always the same; I am free
How does the original coloniser act? Why, claiming colonies instated greed. Greed was always a sin, mon cher, and so they must take the consequences. A day in agony to pay for the sin of greed they committed at the time. Some nations can fare some days better than others, but it depends on how well the nation in question has moved on. If he is still affected deeply, emotionally by the loss of a colony he will feel it the most. So, to conclude my explanation, mon americain, is that our dear Arthur is in pain right now because of you, and the fight you made. And that is that.”
Weep, Little Lion Man 4b/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-22 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)They all looked stunned. Some of the more sullen countries such as Japan and Spain looked down to the ground at the announcement, rather densely silent. Suddenly, frowns were pulled as the realisation started to sink in, lips curled back into a scowl, in shock. Voices struck suddenly harsher, raising in tense volume. Frequencies strongly read of guilt, of disgrace; of anger.
The trepidation snapped with one sentence.
“Hey, I suppose ya can’t say he didn’t deserve it, mate.”
Alfred lurched onto his feet.
His fists were clenched, and as he turned his head, his expression was burrowed downwards. His voice barely came out as a whisper, but it struck the others more than the silence that had just returned.
“Don’t say that.”
Everyone looked at each other, before India suddenly elbowed the others away and fought her way to the front, before Alfred. Some couldn’t quite believe that she would even try to face America when he was clearly so distressed.
“Why not, America? You can’t say he didn’t deserve it. He treated my people harshly, he even did things to people that he never colonised or never could.”
China looked away, but didn't speak.
“It was his own fault; a lot of resources wouldn’t have been ruined if it wasn’t for him and the countries that he took over by force. There was no consideration, for the people living there, for the future, and especially for any of the nations that he stole from so cruelly in the first place!” At that point, Alfred snapped his head up and gave the impression he was about to charge her, before a hand placed on his arm. He blinked, and looked down to Francis.
Francis held steady, looking at America for a few moments with a patient expression. The teen faltered.
He looked back to the group, and he sighed.
“Of course, this applies to any former Empire and whether they feel for their former colonies or not. Some are worse than others, oui…” He briefly glanced at a corner, almost longingly, for a moment. “However; the point is that Arthur still seems to take quite badly to your claim of independence all those years ago. Have you never noticed that he avoids contact with these people on these days like the plague?”
“B-But there's no way--”
“Amerique, for someone who is claimed to be close with the Englishman, you appear to underestimate or do not understand his feelings very well. Maybe you should ask him yourself--”
France never got to finish his speech, for voices violently rose again at that point, of protests of how nations should be left to suffer on their own, or how this was one large hoax the ex-empiric nations had decided to pull, or how they couldn't believe that such a thing had been hidden from them, the fear, the horror, the disgruntlement clear in a muddle of their faces, all one extravagant palette of emotions building into an abomination of anger and shock in the middle of the lounge. No one could quite let it settle.
Alfred stood amongst the chaos, his expression the single lull of turmoil in the room.
Just as slowly, his arm reached up to rub at his eyes. The rest of them were ignored until he spoke.
He couldn't stand it any more.
“Party's over. A-All of you, get out. Now...”
Canada, from a corner of the room, looked at a photo on the mantelpiece.
Nothing ever quite changed with these two, eh...
Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 4b/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-23 05:47 am (UTC)(link)Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 4b/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-23 09:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 4b/?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-03 04:01 pm (UTC)(link)Weep, Little Lion Man 5a/6
(Anonymous) 2011-02-07 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)The small silhouette was moving its way down the hallway, and from this distance it didn't even look like just twelve hours ago he'd been in absolute agony to the point he could barely walk.
This didn't make sense.
“---Arthur! Hey, Arthur!---”
His footsteps increased in pace down the hotel hallway, and he sought to catch up with the Briton. After sending everyone out yesterday, he had sat around all evening. He tried calling Arthur after getting over the initial shock out of everything that had been revealed to him, then somehow still managed to go find time to watch the fireworks from the hill (albeit rather miserably) and return home and leave more messages on Arthur's phone with no sleep till well past midnight.
Some birthday.
He knew Arthur had a flight later this evening. It made sense to why he returned home today rather than yesterday, though the American wasn't quite so sure he liked what he now knew.
The country in question passed through one of the fire doors, seeming completely oblivious to the call of his name.
Slamming the door back open as America passed through it, he growled.
“England!”
He turned around.
”America.”
“England.”
The room was stiff with smoke, and a bold tinge of alcohol. Arthur didn't even need to take two steps into the room before he felt his eyes sting slightly. Healing wounds became agitated in defence.
“So, I see you did it.”
“I did.”
England made his way further into the room, his jacket folded over one of his arms. He proceeded to place it over the back of a chair.
“I... have to admit. I didn't think you would go ahead with it. Even after everything.”
His blue eyes were hard to read at this point, but the scowl that formed on the other's lips was clear enough.
“Neither did I.”
As neutral as the Briton was keeping his expression, he could note how distressed America seemed. The tense, slight shaking of his hands, the strangled voice...
He sat himself down, and crossed his legs. It was probably a bad idea, as he winced. Leaning forward, he tried to get the other's gaze.
“Well, it's over.”
“Yeah.”
Arthur sighed.
“Alfred, you---”
“Shut up.”
He blinked. As arrogant as Alfred was, Arthur was not used to being plain told to 'shut up' by most people, much less him.
“...--”
“I dropped that bomb, it's over. He's surrendered. The war's over, and we can go back to peace now. I have to concentrate and make sure that Russia doesn't overtake Germany now.”
“Alfred--”
“So we don't need to talk about it any more, alright? It's gone. It's gone. I-I don't need to touch those things any more. They're gone.”
Arthur sighed, irritated.
“--What I was trying to say, is, are you alright? But I suppose you've answered me that. You know you didn't have to drop them. You still had that choice.”
“No... No I didn't.”
“...Why?”
There was silence. His lips were a thin line, and his arms folded. He seemed impatient.
“... Jesus Christ Arthur, answer me on thi--”
A heavy sigh cut him off.
“I have to do it. I don't have a choice, do I?”
“But you didn't tell me--”
“Why do I have to? I'm not the only one who has to go through this sort of pain. We all have to go through pain in general that is ours and ours alone only. That only is up to the bearer on how they handle it. Why should I have to tell you anything? I didn't tell anyone else. No doubt France or someone told you, which they would have just figured from simple logic. I never said a word to anyone.”
Weep, Little Lion Man 5b/6
(Anonymous) 2011-02-07 11:03 pm (UTC)(link)“Who told you that?”
It earned him a glare.
“If I hadn't dropped it and killed those lives, Arthur, it would've earned me an invasion of Japan. That means at least another year of the war, maybe losing 100,000 of my men... and on his...”
He looked up at the elder men, blearily. His eyes were grazed, almost a little bloodshot. It was clear he hadn't slept much, if at all.
“You know what Japan's soldiers are like. I... I couldn't have let them do any more to themselves. I had to protect them, too. A war still going on when the majority were still trying to fix themselves and recover... would've hurt everyone more...”
He didn't look away. Rather, his gaze grew harder.
“England, why do we even have war? Why did we have to have this war? So many people got hurt. I shouldn't have bothered jumping in. My people got hurt. It was nice to win, but we got hurt. You got hurt. Even Germany got hurt...”
“America, you should know full well yourself why.”
“And why.”
“Sometimes you have to have to fight for peace. No matter the pain.”
Alfred had taken a few steps towards the other, almost as though he was advancing on him. The Englishman was clearly not happy with the other but he made no moves to step back himself.
“That doesn't mean you couldn't have told me! At least I wouldn't have spent all that time thinking that you just didn't like me and were still sore about it and that you didn't want to be around me!”
“Shut up.” Arthur hissed.
America stopped.
Alfred didn't reply for a few moments. He gently got a hold of the glass he'd been drinking from, and thoughtfully took a sip. As he placed it back down, he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair exasperatingly.
“Don'tcha thing I know that? Why do you think I decided to do it? I just.... thinking of it now, I don't like the power. I have... I.. I care for people, Arthur. I care for you. I care for everyone, even if they damned well don't like me.”
He suddenly laughed, a hoarse, rather chilling laugh. Arthur blinked.
“Which—Which is why I have to do this thing, right? Don't mean I like it, though. But I'll make pain if I have to so that people can be safe. If that's how you're going to put it... I.. I just want people to be safe and happy, Arthur...”
“Don't you bloody know anything?! What if I did tell you? Wouldn't you be spending every bloody fourth of July and thinking of how in pain I was? Would you be able to enjoy one flipping day that actually means something to you then?”
“But it's still not the truth, Art--”
“Alfred, the truth hurts. You can go on all you want about how much truth is most important, but it can hurt. I'm sure it hurt you – heck, you're here now, rambling and looking like you got no ruddy sleep. You know what, Alfred? You may not flipping believe it, but I don't /want/ you to be hurt.”
He looked down, and sighed. He glared.
Weep, Little Lion Man 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2011-02-07 11:06 pm (UTC)(link)”I'm meant to be the Hero, aren't I?...”
“Arthur, but you don't---”
“--- But even if it isn't my responsibility any more, you.... you're still my family, no matter what you want to call me any more. And that does mean a duty, America. A duty that I follow, even if you've denied me all those years ago. I promised.”
”You can't always be the hero, even if you think you are.”
“I take that pain, even if you don't want me to. You're still family.”
”En... Engwand, you're.. MY hero!...”
“My brother.” Alfred found himself mouthing along with him. He stood there, stunned once again into silence. After a few minutes of both of them just staring at each other, the Briton seemed to get the point. He shuffled his jacket over his shoulders, adjusting the suitcase he was carrying beside him. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Now, If you don't mind, I have a plane to catch.”
“Arthur, I....”
He turned around.
“Yes?”
America gazed at him for the longest time, his expression muddled. He opened his mouth to speak, but resorted to sighing and looking away. England raised an eyebrow, hid his own expression behind a slight frown, before eventually turning away and leaving the other as he trundled down the corridor, disappearing from view.
Alfred whispered, alone.
“... Thank you...”
Nothing had changed.
---
One more part to go!
Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2011-02-07 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)I love England best when he's in big brother mode. <3
You've done a wonderful job with this! I honestly can't wait for the last part!
Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2011-02-09 04:11 am (UTC)(link)This must be such a hard thing for Arthur to deal with, but the way he's handling (and has been handling it, for that matter) only goes to show his strength. I'm loving this fill so far. <3
Weep, Little Lion Man 6a/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:16 am (UTC)(link)---
8:47am.
Alfred stood at the head of the room, fidgeting. He gazed up at the clock, then at the door. Most of the nations who were seated watched him wearily. They all knew that if he was coming, he would have arrived by now.
But Alfred would not lose hope.
His gaze rested on the door for a moment, before jumping out of his skin as it creaked suddenly.
They paused.
“Just the wind.” France murmured to himself, sighing as he took a slow sip of his coffee. The seat next to him was empty.
Alfred looked up at the clock again. 8:51am. India was sat in her seat rather stubbornly and not really making a point to show she was the slightest bit worried. This had happened for many, many years, and if it was really that bad, then surely things would have been revealed before now, or something would have happened.
She folded her arms.
Of course, America tended to put his emotions before his thoughts.
Lithuania looked at the clock, frowning slightly.
“Eh, America, should we start with the---“
“No.”
He didn’t keep his eyes from the clock. 8:53.
The whole conference started to fidget. Canada looked worriedly over to his brother.
He didn’t look too well. Arthur hadn’t turned up thus far, and he knew, he knew what Alfred planned to do if he didn’t turn up to this meeting. Alfred did not like pretending things never happened – he had to face things head on.
And today was going to be the day.
Alfred stared hard at the clock again, before even fumbling in his pocket to look at his Blackberry. He bit back a stiff sigh. Alfred stared hard at the clock again, before even fumbling in his pocket to look at his Blackberry. He bit back a stiff sigh. He paced the front of the table.
Arthur hadn’t turned up.
Why hadn’t he turned up?
He hadn’t talked to him since…
8:57...
He made to take a drink of his coffee, before realising he'd downed his fifth cup over 20 minutes ago.
The other nations were starting to become exasperated.
“Amerika, I really think that the meeting should get a a start right n--”
The door creaked, and everyone froze. Almost simultaneously, every single nation turned towards the double doors leading into the meeting room.
It opened, and Latvia stepped through. He looked at the others, nervously, and scuttled quickly to his seat.
“S-Sorry!”
The second hand clicked onto 9:00.
The polystyrene cup crumpled in his hand, and Alfred hurled it at the floor. He snarled.
“That's it!”
His jacket was thrown over his shoulder, suitcase thrown against his back, and before France could stand up (“America!--”) The door was swung open, and bounced a little as the American exited the room.
Gone.
Weep, Little Lion Man 6b/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:21 am (UTC)(link)The clouds, upon entering into London, were a grey and murky sort. Considering it was the middle of August, it made the heat rather stifling to most natives, though to Alfred there was a bitter chill in the air. He wasn't quite sure why that was, however.
England lived somewhere in a building down on the outskirts of the city. It was an old stone house, something that the man himself probably built with his own bare hands. It had actually managed to stand all this time; miraculously, even through the worst of the Blitz.
The windows to the building had the curtains peeking open, and there was a car in the drive. Some signs of life, then.
Feeling suddenly rather breathless (even after hailing a cab to the station, fidgeting so much on the train over the channel that the Frenchwoman sat opposite him was eyeing him rather suspiciously and practically running from the station what was probably over a mile to Arthur’s house), it was only as he reached the rather pathetic picket gate at the end of his front garden did his lungs contract and all the breath was punched out of him.
He couldn’t just knock on the door and demand to be let in, could he?
Jumping over the gate, he slowly scuttled over to the front window, peeking conspicuously (or so he hoped) through the gap in the curtains.
He jumped back instantly.
Arthur was stood in the kitchen, wrapped in a dressing gown and hovering over the electric kettle that was plugged into the wall. Alfred knew by his more-mussed-hair-than-usual that Arthur couldn’t have been moving around too much this morning.
His breath quickening, he ran a hand through his own blond locks. Could he?...
He yelped as the front door was wrenched open at the side of him, freezing against the wall. Arthur looked wearily to the side of him. As he spoke, he sounded bleary and stuffed.
“Alfred, I know you're there. Come on.”
The door was left open, and he disappeared inside.
Alfred stared at the wallpaper of the Briton's hallway, dumbfounded.
He was... meant to go... in?
Blinking, the American entered into the hallway, passing down the hall until he reached the kitchen. Arthur was still stood there (leaning, Alfred noted, at the hand he saw resting against the counter) and slowly made himself a cup of tea. Alfred, still shocked, shuffled uneasily beside the fridge next to him, which was smaller than even Arthur. He never comprehended how the older man could manage with such a small refrigerator.
There was a soft clink as the spoon was discarded to the side, and Arthur picked up and took a sip of the tea. He breathed out a sigh.
“India's was always an odd day. Sometimes I get just a headache and a dead arm, other times I wake up with a fever, dead arm and my hand feeling like it’s going to be pulled off.”
He found himself staring at Arthur’s arm, though he couldn’t even tell right now whether he was in pain or not. England himself had his eyes closed, and continued to take a slow sip of his drink.
“With Australia it’s always my leg. Horrible, horrible pins and needles. A lot of the time it’s horribly hard to walk on. If I’ve had to work or go out and about on those days I’ve usually had to borrow a crutch or a walking stick. Rather irritating, really.”
However, he paused to smile, fondly.
“But since your brother was the only one to ask for independence rather than fight or demand it, he… I don’t get any pain.”
Arthur looked at the other for a moment, before turning around and opening a cupboard, which contained an assortments of tins. He pulled out some hot chocolate, a mug from the shelf below, and started spooning in some hot chocolate in for the other, absent-mindedly. Alfred could only really watch him do this, and become increasingly irritated with himself.
Weep, Little Lion Man 6c/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:27 am (UTC)(link)America's hands clenched, and he suddenly strode forward to snatch the spoon from him.
“I can do it.”
Arthur looked up.
He stepped away. “Fine, go on.”
It took the American a second to, but he apprehensively lifted the spoon and dumped the powder back in, making sure to fill a good third of the cup up. He honestly didn't know what it was, but food at England's house was never as sweet over here.
He still ate his food though; he called it bland and horrible, but it was clear that when Arthur cook he did try his best and did make an effort with it. He'd generally bring over a rather large pot of stew and dish it out and have seconds and thirds available all for America to down and eat. If he was having a meal at say, France's or Italy's or most other countries, he'd be given a large plate with a few crumbs dotted about. It was very well cooked; almost into an art – but it never seemed to be cooked with the same way that Arthur's was.
Ah, damn. He didn't like this all one bit.
He only stopped spooning hot chocolate in when he felt England cough beside him. Alfred quickly poured hot water in, put milk in, stirred, before lifting up the cup to take a sip from it.
He took a sip from it, yelped as his tongue burnt, and fanned it profusely. Arthur, at this point, was leaning against the counter at the side of him, sipping his own tea indignantly.
“You never were very graceful or patient.”
America frowned, grumpily.
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Suppose not, but it probably didn't help you in a few things. You were always headstrong.”
“Huh.”
“And always very keen to not admit to things you didn't want to believe.”
“--Okay, okay. I know you like pointing things out that you know me and all that and stuff and how I 'never changed' even as a kid but there is a reason I'm here Arthur--- and that isn't to listen to you berate me like you always do--”
“Then why are you here?” Arthur turned to look at him, “If there's one thing I know about you, Alfred F. Jones, is that you don't like dealing with things that you're afraid of.”
“I'm not scared!”
“Oh? Your actions over the past couple of days say otherwise, ever since your birthday. Your bloody hand is shaking right now.”
America promptly put down the cup, and turned to step and face right in front of England, almost as though he was towering over him.
“You know what? Fine. I saw you in agony. I tried talking to you about it. You basically told me to ignore it. I.... can't. You told me that it was part of life and blah blah --- y'know, I don't care. There--- there must be something I can do – there must be some way we can work out to fix these sorts of things – if – if we can get people on the moon then surely we can fix just a little pain---”
A hand took a hold of his arm. He stopped. Arthur sighed.
“You really never changed. You always wanted to try and fix things...”
“But I can fix this, I'll make sure I can--”
“-- Alfred. Have you ever seen, on the streets, in houses, wherever – children? Children playing, children with friends, children with parents.”
“What about it?--”
“Their parents are always there to look after them. They pick them up, let them play in the streets, protect them, nurture them, show them love – right?”
Arthur's other hand raised up to rest on his other arm, so they were both stood in front of each other, his hands held gently around America's wrists. He looked up towards the American, and held his gaze deeply.
Weep, Little Lion Man 6d/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:30 am (UTC)(link)I know we tend to use all these bloody formalities about relations and refer to each other as siblings but you were the closest thing I ever had to a son. You were the only one that chose me.”
His hands tightened.
“Yes, I do think you were a twat. Yes, you did break my heart when you declared independence – and succeeded. Yes, I did hate you for the longest time. We had our arguments, but I suppose in a way that should be normal, what you did, if I'm really going to say you were a son to me.
But after the war, when we were forced together, when we had to band together, when I was forced to rely on you. After the war ruined me – my empire over, when I had to give up all my colonies at the end, it was clear then that you had succeeded me. You've been two hundred and twenty four years as a nation exactly – yes, I do remember. It is rather hard to forget for me, isn't it? - but you've become the next superpower. Whether you were prepared for it, I don't know. It's hard to watch it from a parental point of view. But please, if I've watched you manage to fight and become the only superpower in 200 years of being a nation, when it took me God knows how long – how could I not be proud at the same time?
On your birthdays, when I do have to go through a lot of pain, I could roll about and think about what sort of pain you put me through and why the hell I have to go through it all the time, but that would hurt me more because I'd be lying to myself in a way, I suppose. You want to know I get through it? When I was bringing you up as my own I was happy. I thought someone did care about me. I had someone to care for who appreciated it. To be honest, Alfred, it never changed. I do care for you. I hope I've showed that since, but you know how terrible I am at that thing. But I remember those times. I remember WHY I'm still in pain even now. You are my son. You can think whatever the heck you want at the end of the day, Alfred, but you're my son. You'll always be that and there's nothing I can stop from being in pain because of it. But at the end of the day, when someone becomes a parent, they sacrifice themselves, no matter how that is. And to be honest? If I wasn't prepared for that from the beginning, I would have let France keep you.”
He kept his gaze on Alfred, and kept hold of his expression with a long look. There was an eventual sigh, and he patted his arms slightly.
“You never stopped being a child – my – child to me. I know you feel guilty for what this is, I know you want to do something about it, but … don't worry. This is me you're worrying about here.”
He chuckled.
“You might understand one day, if you bring up a nation or someone for yourself. You might actually understand a word I'm on about. Though that thought is rather odd...”
Alfred didn't even speak, but instead flung his arms around the other in a rushed motion, with a force that pushed them both against the counter.. His grip held tightly and he buried his head desperately in against the Briton's shoulder – feeling the slight scratch of an unshaven cheek, coolness of his neck, and that slight, tired warmth that reverberated from the worn softness of Arthur's dressing gown. He buried himself in against it, deeper, deeper into the safety and bliss that was Arthur's shoulder.
Then again, thought Arthur, actions do speak louder than words.
Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:34 am (UTC)(link)He sniffed, and all Arthur did was smile lightly to himself. He reached around, and rubbed Alfred's back in a soothing motion.
“Idiot,” he said.
-----
finishedfinally.<3 i did enjoy writing this. any comments/questions/etc are appreciated. hope you all enjoy <33
Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:57 am (UTC)(link)Beautiful job, anon. You've made me completely incoherent. ♥
Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 06:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 06:30 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-06-25 11:47 am (UTC)(link)