Witch Hunter Robin Fan Community

FO Banners

2008-10-10T19:29:24Z

I have a pair of Friends Only banners to share: one Amon, one Robin - both of which can be found HERE, at my journal.

whr_rewatch Reminder

2008-08-22T19:57:31Z

We'll be watching episodes 4&5 of Witch Hunter Robin tonight. Join us in the AIM simulchat at 9:30 pm US Eastern time.

Rewatch Episodes 2 & 3

2008-08-14T23:45:06Z

Hi all! Tomorrow we'll be watching episodes 2 & 3 of Witch Hunter Robin, as decided during last weeks re-watch. Same bat time same bat channel (9:30 pm US Eastern time). Yay, organ-playing!Robin and MUMMIES!

If you want to participate in the simulchat, if you haven't already provided me with it I'll need your screen name. Remember to be logged into AIM and visible so I can add you to the chat room.

Hope to see you there!

whr_rewatch reminder - Episode 1: Replacement

2008-08-08T03:38:32Z

For all of you who are still interested, whr_rewatch will begin tomorrow, August 8th, at 9:30pm US Eastern Time. For real this time. Yayz!

If you want to participate in the AIM simulchat, it is invite only, so I will be taking screen names/handles before the ep starts either via PM or you can post it in the comments. That way everyone can press play at the same time. Please be logged into AIM so I can add you.

x-posted to whr_rewatch and confraria

New community and WHR Rewatch Info

2008-07-28T05:42:34Z

I've started a new community, whr_rewatch. If you're interested in joining us in this review, here's where to start.

Witch Hunter Robin Rewatch!

2008-07-24T05:11:17Z

Hi all! I put forth on my journal, possibly doing a rewatch of the entire run of Witch Hunter Robin. It would start in a week or two and I'm interested in getting as many fans involved as possible. Mainly so we can talk about the series in chat during or afterwards, since I had so much fun doing similar chats during the Avatar: the Last Airbender finale.

So yeah, vote in these polls and tell me what you think about this here idea. misora and mscongeniality are already on board.

Cut to polls is ever so fake.

Also, visit capslock_whr as soon as you get a chance and JOIN!!! XD

X-posted to assorted whr comms. Sorry if I'm spamming your f-list!

witch hunter robin original art box!

2008-05-03T18:52:18Z

The following items up on Ebay:
Rei Ayanami Swimsuit Statue

Mulan 2-Disc DVD

Gradius III SNES

PIKACHU Friends plush, UFO catcher, and Easter plush lot Cheap

HAIBANE RENMEI Art Box wHaibane Hakusho

Witch Hunter Robin Art Box

Low starting bids, am willing to trade as long as there are no bids! <3

Thanks for looking! More items like this at my e-store: http://angelchansales.ecrater.com/

Katvara: 128+ Feedback

FIC: Claim To Be A Wise Man [Nagira]

2008-04-28T05:25:20Z

Title: Claim To Be A Wise Man
Author: athousandwinds
Fandom: Witch Hunter Robin
Character/Pairing: Nagira, Amon, Robin. Mostly gen.
Summary: Nagira has his work cut out for him. Set somewhere between Episodes 15 and 23.

( lay your weary head to rest/don't you cry no more )

Robin fanart

2008-04-11T22:54:38Z

Hello, everyone! Long-time Robin watcher here. I finally decided to look for the fandom on LJ, as I drew some fanart and wanted to share.

Over yonder by on deviantART.

Returning to roots

2008-02-24T20:19:22Z

It's been two years since I last picked up my pen (or keyboard) and sat down to work on my story, "Falling". I think that's two years too long, and I think that the story I have in my head definitely needs to come out and be told.

After some prodding by Misora, I have returned to write in the fandom once more, and have decided to rekindle interest with a prologue for the story. FF.net is now cooperating with me, so the link below will take you to the first chapter.

Title: "Falling" Prologue
Rating for Chapter: PG/PG-13
Summary: A hint of things to come. STN-J has returned, following events in the series, and the hunters are once more on the hunt for their prey.

Black trenchcoats always seem out of place...

WHR icons

2008-01-26T21:47:07Z

Hullo, I'm new to this community (and WHR in general, hoh. x)
I made a bunch of icons and thought I might share them~

Teasers:
- -

( follow the fake-cut )

Small warning: the entry is slightly image-heavy ^^;
Hope you enjoy them~

Ages?

2008-01-21T23:06:14Z

I'm sure this is a question which has come up before, but I'm curious as to what all the character's ages are. Dojima, for example, has to be older than Robin, but she doesn't act like she's any older than, say, 22 or 23, and I feel like that's stretching it. Karasuma's probably in her late twenties or early thirties... but I'm terrible at judging ages, so I figured I'd ask what you guys think.

Also, is there anyone else out their in fandom who thinks Karasuma/Dojima would make a good pairing, or knows of any fanworks leaning in that direction?

FF: Sticky Notes

2008-01-12T16:02:24Z

Title: Sticky Notes
Author: Swiss
Characters: Sakaki, Michael
Summary: Michael is chaffing more than usual in the confines of the STN-J offices, so Sakaki decides he needs a day outside. But when the consequences come down on their heads, will the day be worth the price?

Chin propped against his folded arms, Michael watched the team slouch wearily through the doors into the dimly lighted office, shrugging off concerned inquiries and Chief Kosaka’s protestations that they mind their feet, it was raining. The young man was sitting backwards in his swivel chair, long legs draped on either side. They tingled a bit as he stretched them out; they’d been waiting for hours for the others to return from their mission.

It had been a drawn-out hunt, more challenging to their endurance than threatening to their lives. The witch had been a clairvoyant under the hysterical delusion that she was receiving messages from some kind of god. Her senses had gone haywire after a further psychotic break caused her to begin lashing out. After that, her hyperesthesia had made it difficult to track her; she ran from them, out of her mind with fear and overwhelmed with the images she couldn’t stop.

When they’d finally found her the tantrum she’d thrown had destroyed a street and left a building on fire. Immediately afterward she had melted down, curling fatally and sobbing until they put her down with the orbo.

Disheartened and exhausted, the team had turned her over to the Factory and returned to STN-J.

Amon checked over his weapon with a meticulous grace, not having even removed his long coat. Doujima simply fell into the nearest chair, closing her eyes briefly until a diligent office worker offered her a mug of steaming coffee.

“Thanks,” she murmured, and returned Michael’s grin when she caught his eye.

“For I while, I thought you’d never get back,” he teased, and was rewarded with a protruding pink tongue.

Sakaki, perhaps inevitably, had sustained injury. Nothing significant this time, thankfully, but he had received a rather deep gouge in his left arm that warranted stitches. Knowing he would leave it untended, Kurasuma had forced the boy to sit and let her deal with it immediately.

Feeling a pang of pity, Michael winced sympathetically. Black luck followed after the unfortunate young hunter like a kitten after yarn. Left to its own devises, the small wound would probably fester and he’d be on his death bed in a week. And Sakaki was a terrible patient.

He was proving it now as he fought his nurse, flinching dramatically and barking at her to leave him alone, he was fine. Karasuma pinched her partner hard in response, telling him to stop the twitching or take a needle through more than just skin. He sunk sullenly onto the stool after that, face haggard and ill-tempered, but also – Michael thought – very tired. They all looked tired.

Robin was stretching catlike across the room, her skin pale in the dim light from a nearby desk. Her bound honey-touched hair seemed loose and even a little matted. “We’re finished then,” she said in her smooth, uninflected voice. It was obvious she was ready to go home.

Michael felt a pang, a familiar hook in his gut, realizing it. Always, it was difficult to watch them leave. Irrational though it was, there was a feeling of abandonment that always haunted him briefly, the breath of a little ghost on his neck to remind him what he was.

-slave-

“I’m fine, Kurasuma,” Sakaki jerked a little, trying to free himself. He was pulling his sleeve down already over the bone-white bandage, whipping it from memory. Having regained his feet, he snatched up his jacket and strode towards the exit. But before he could reach it a dark boot stepped quietly in his path before the door. An impassable wall, or the wrath of God.

Amon loomed: A month’s worth of field documentation was due. Sakaki was not to set foot out of STN-J until they were completed and filed.

Of course the shaggy-haired rookie had scowled and fussed, but eventually he went to hunch irritably into his chair to address the reports. Both he and his superior knew it was a mere obligatory show of defiance. Sakaki would follow Amon into hell, nevermind a labyrinth of paperwork.

Michael was always secretly pleased with recalcitrant teen’s habitual procrastination, since it inevitably meant he would stay overnight. It made the darkness less lonely, and sometimes the hunter could even be coaxed into taking a break to watch a movie or talk softly for a while as the hours stretched grey and thin in the deep of early morning.

He watched the others file out with much less trepidation, unbothered even when the overheads went out, leaving the room bathed only in the surreal blue haze of hibernating computer screens and the lone orange desk light by Sakaki’s hand.

“Tough night?” the techie tried to open up conversation neutrally.

The older boy grunted, but his cross expression had broken now that they were alone. He rubbed his face tiredly with both hands and sighed, “I hate when they end like that. Tears. I hate when they’re women.”

Or children. Or innocents. The potentials were always the hardest, and the drawn-to-the-end-of-themselves mad. It was a pathologically ignored reality that the Factory actually cleaned up as many suicides as hunts.

Sympathetically, Michael nodded. He watched most of their hunts remotely, but even with the distance they sometimes got to him. He couldn’t imagine being there in person, being forced to do the job they did.

Sakaki liked it though; he was proud of his job. “You did well,” the teen offered, and he was sincere.

A wry snort. “Neverminding the injury, you mean.”

“Well,” Michael felt his lips curl upward. “It hardly counts, being you.”

This was where Doujima would have presented her tongue again, but Sakaki just glared. It amounted to about he same thing.

“That’s right. Feeble Sakaki trips over his bootlaces into the nearest wall or ditch,” the hunter gripped sarcastically. There was a genuine lowness to his voice, however, a grain of insecurity showing through the armor. His malignant fatefulness and the overwhelming talent of his teammates had done damage to his self esteem over time, though he tried to hide it. “And what did you do while I was off proving my incompetence?”

“Sat here,” Michael responded truthfully. And all at once the gloom was back on him, the ghost on his shoulder. He looked around at the shadows and the corners of the room, so familiar, all etched into his brain like his own skin and scars. He’d barely been out of this room in three years.

Sensing his pain, Sakaki shifted. He had compassionate eyes when he focused his energy on the emotion, and they were bright with it now. “You’ve seemed…I dunno, unhappy lately,” he said.

Unhappy? “I can’t imagine why on earth I’d be unhappy,” Michael snapped without thinking. His gut twisted suddenly, and gorge rose in his throat. Acidic, his words rose up too, sharp and unkind, “Perhaps its because I’m trapped in here while you all go out and live. Perhaps its because I’m wallowing here without a life, alone while you can all go and –”

He wasn’t unhappy. No. Always, always, he was just on the verge of despairing.

“Michael,” his friend began, but the teen interrupted him.

“I…it’s nothing, Haruto. I’m sorry I said those things. I’ve just been restless lately.” He searched deep inside for something that might have passed for a grin if only it weren’t so mangled by despondency. “I guess I get a little jealous sometimes of the role the rest of the team plays. I don’t think I’d enjoy the excitement, but at least it’s outside. At least it isn’t here.”

He fell quiet after that admission. When he looked up it was into the stiffened face of his friend, pressed into an expression that Michael didn’t understand. But then the other turned away, abandoning his computer, and went to take up sentinel by the window.

Sakaki paced when he was troubled, an action which usually wound him up like a spring instead of relieving tension, galvanizing him to – often – reckless action. Michael felt a little apprehension watching him prowl like that.

He reassumed typing to break the strangely pervading demi-silence that the room had fallen into, but his attention was divided. The screen burned into his retinas, but the little growls and huffs of breath beneath the unwavering tempo of Sakaki’s footfalls stayed in his ears, distracting him.

When they suddenly quieted long minutes later, the younger man looked up.

“Michael,” the voice of the rookie hunter floated phantom-like from his position in front of the heavy iron framed window. The moonlight covered him like a sheen, draping like a specter over his shoulder and setting his hair silvery and glowing so that it was like a halo around his head. It was an eerie but beautiful thing, offset only by the look of fierce resolution on his face.

The fair-haired youth felt a slight shudder pass through his skin seeing his friend so still. Sakaki didn’t stand still. With him one could always expect movement, action. And standing there, Michael could almost see the kinetic energy building behind his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” he dared to ask.

Violet eyes bore through the night and straight into his heart. They were animalistic, fierce, and unequivocally resolved. Frightening even. Sakaki said, “This is an intervention.”

<>

The next day a row of messages lined the frame of the computer screen, sticky notes that fluttered feebly in the fan’s inconsistent stream of air: “Went out for the day,” said the first one, clearly recognizable in Michael’s neat block print. The second was more scrawl than legible writing. It said, “And don’t burst a vein, Amon. He’s with me.” Sakaki.

“He threatened my life,” the notes went on. One could almost see Michael’s dramatic pout. Then Sakaki, “In any case, we’ll be back by eleven, mommy.”

“This was so not my idea.” Michael.

“I lead him away at gunpoint. So if you want to beat the crap out of somebody, Zaizen, it might as well be me.” Sakaki, out.

For a long moment the group merely stood around the bundle of consoles looking grave. Doujima was tugging on a stray tuff of hair by her ear, eyes wide. The elder members of their team, however, had twin expressions of doom.

“This is inescapably bad, isn’t it?” Karasuma murmured aloud.

Amon didn’t even bother to answer, but stripped away the yellow scrap that contained Sakaki’s brazen slur towards their administrator. He read it again and sighed, slipping it between his fingers to tear it into pieces. The rest he had no choice but to deliver to Zaizen.

<>

It had been easier than he imagined to make their way out of the building.

He supposed that it was his own pathology that made him feel it should be hard; after all, people walked in and out of the offices every day. Sakaki did. But Michael never had. In was the only path he’d ever taken, and it deeply shook him how his friend was able to take him by the elbow and lead him down the elevator and into the lobby unchallenged by a soul. Soon he could see grated exit, framed in the glow of the outside world.

“Crap,” he paused to take a panting breath, to grip his bangs in a tangle of fingers. They were damp and he was shaking.

Michael wasn’t prepared to step out through those bars. But a steady, almost painfully firm grip was against his shoulder, pressing him down and definitely forward. It was reassuring at the same time it was merciless, and even in his fear he allowed himself to be guided by it. Out the doors.

In a way it was like coming out of a womb.

The vivacity of every shade and hue stunned him, undimmed by looming walls or pallid, colorless carpet. One thousand smells came upon a sudden wind – a breeze inartificial, ductless. And in an almost cloudless sky, he found the morning sun.

The sun. It was radiant, brighter than any florescent, than any bulb or screen. It hit Michael’s eyes in a dazzle and became a blanket, so white that he was blind. He swayed, lightheaded from the sudden exposure, but Sakaki caught his arm before he could topple. He waited patiently, close beside the younger man, steadying him until he was sure footed again.

Embarrassed, Michael pulled away as soon was he was able. Turning his back, he rested his hands against the forbidding wrought iron gate before the building. “Sitting around all day, never moving beyond two rooms…it doesn’t give you a lot of exercise,” Michael forced a bitter laugh, but when he looked up his friend wasn’t smiling.

“Lets get out of here,” Sakaki said quietly instead. “It’s damn depressing near this place.”

The technology expert was surprised when he wasn’t immediately lead around to retrieve Sakaki’s motorcycle. So many times he had watched the hunter speed away on it, towards a mission or to wherever he called home. He’d seen the other’s apartment in the background of the com screen a few times, but really he knew very little about the older boy’s life outside of STN-J. Except that he really loved that bike.

“I didn’t ride in yesterday,” Sakaki shrugged when he mentioned it. “Seeing your face if I give you a ride would almost be worth the trouble going to get it, but for that you need to walk.”

And they did walk, away from Solomon and that troubled, smoky brick building. Michael was afraid to look back at it as they strode away, though he found himself briefly wondering if he could find his faceless window high on its facade. He wondered if it resembled a prison from out here, but Sakaki was dragging him onward before he could dwell on it.

“Welcome to the world,” the rookie hunter said, sort of gruff and distracted as could be his way. “Or maybe it would be better to say ‘welcome back.’”

Michael was too caught up in his senses to piddle over wording.

The streets they walked were filled with faces. Human faces. Like the ones he saw daily on his computer screen or from his vantage over the street. But now he was reminded that no matter how advanced the technology, polymer and pixels could never compare to flesh and blood.

The colors were rich and unchanged by light or screen resolution – rich or dark or pale or blushing, animated and moving with each and every inhale, a mass of humanity breathing in and out together all around him so that he could feel their collective sigh against his face, if only in his mind.

There were other, greater differences than the movements – those wonderful, unpredictable movements unprogrammed and spontaneous. There was warmth, like a flickering of pleasure each and every time another body nudged against him as they moved. He felt it like a steady presence in the shoulder pressed into his own, the dark jacket shifting under the movement of its owner.

And it smelled, good and bad and human, perfumes, toothpaste, shampoo, body odor, sweat, and candy – the pavement tar and roadside garbage and the little throng of teenage girls who came past in pink. As he watched, the blues and blacks of their eyes followed him, and their shy giggles and blushing glances stayed with him even as they passed away. Michael felt a puzzled bemusement at their attention.

A soft chuckle interrupted his polite confusion as the older boy ribbed him playfully, “You a flirt, Michael?” he asked, and winked mischievously.

Michael felt the heat rising against his face, causing his companion to laugh again. Sakaki smelled like well-worn leather and exhaust, and his laugh – a laugh he had never heard within the confines of the STN-J – was inclusive and warm.

The techie was startled by a sudden affectionate shove. He followed Sakaki’s pointing finger to a little shop with a colorful flame-colored awning. “They’ve got sandwiches there, with tomato and mustard and onion. You like sub sandwiches, Michael?” came the accompanying inquiry.

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. He was positive he had eaten something like them before, sometime in a past that grew dimmer in his memory every week he numbed his body before a computer screen, but now he couldn’t be sure. Had he liked them?

“If you don’t know, then go find out.” His companion offered another shove; he obviously wasn’t conflicted about the issue.

It was one of the things that had drawn Michael to Sakaki at the beginning of their acquaintanceship – that straightforwardness. Chief Kosaka called it exasperating recklessness, hastiness, youth. But really it was a strength in him too. To doubt Sakaki was ridiculous. He would do exactly as he said, and he said exactly everything that was in his noble, stubborn head.

They had lunch at the little bistro, just under the awning and within the reach of the warming sun. The was a cool day, a little grey and increasingly overcast, but for now the pale yellow beams still lit up the pavement. Michael wallowed in it, trying to store up the memory of its kiss on his skin for the time when he’d have to go back.

He tried hard not to think of going back to Solomon.

After eating, they headed for Sakaki’s apartment to get his motorcycle. By that time, Michael was having second guesses about trusting his life to the machine, but it was too late. Sakaki had decided that his friend would have the experience – after all you only lived once.

There was only one helmet, which the rookie hunter forced onto his head. Then he’d straddled the bike and gestured to the footholds that would allow Michael to swing on behind him. Clumsily, the techie did so, shifting uncomfortably once he was settled. The sound of the engine revving made him cling hard to his friend’s jacket, already fearful he would fall off.

After that they were flying. A jerk and a jar of gravel and they were up on the pavement and away, blazing with a roar and the wind down the long road, through and in traffic, untouchable and very fast. Michael gasped at the rush of it, his eyes wide with wonder and heart-thumping terror. He loved it.

And Sakaki laughed like a mad man, all bubbling over with joy. He loved it too.

They must have toured the city on the bike, up and down lanes sprawling with trees or stark with buildings that jutted to the sky. Sometimes Sakaki would point out places they had hunted, but mostly they just rode in silence.

They were speeding past a school when the final class ended. Sakaki stopped the bike suddenly and he and Michael sat back, watching the crowd of students clear out of the yard in a tumult, meeting friends or parents, walking, ridding, playing, chatting. The two observed the schoolyard in wordless fascination.

“You regret, sometimes, never doing that?” Sakaki asked finally. There was something almost wistful in his voice.

It gave the teen pause. He’d thought about it, of course. School wasn’t something he’d expected to miss, but there were a lot of things he hadn’t been prepared to miss. He’d never though about it in terms of the others on his team. Of Sakaki and Robin, and possibly even Karasuma. None of them were out of their teens, and most had been working for Solomon for years already.

“You didn’t go?” Michael asked.

And for a moment, Sakaki looked unsure. “No? No. I’m sure I didn’t. Not high school anyway. I don’t really remember.”

Weird, but there wasn’t anything to say about it. “Yeah, sometimes I regret not going,” Michael answered his friend’s original question. He watched the kids about his age move around one another, but they might as well have been from another world they were so far away from his life. He whispered, “I regret.”

“Yeah,” Sakaki echoed. “Sometimes me too.”

<>

A little park was the last thing on Sakaki’s list of places that Michael had to see. They left the bike and headed into the expanse of lush grass and trees. The paths meandered and they took their time. A hill somewhere in the center was their ultimate destination. Sakaki plopped down there and reclined, sighing with contentment.

Michael looked around, There was a sweet smell in the air. It was a beautiful place.

“Do you spend a lot of time here?” he asked.

His eyes closed, Sakaki’s head gave an indeterminate wobble. “Sometimes I do,” he answered. “When I don’t feel like I have time to go home or I just need some air, I sometimes come here to catch a nap or relax.”

Michael could see why. It was restful.

Sakaki quirked open an eye. “Hey. I hope that you’ve been okay with today. I know we didn’t go anywhere exciting, but –”

“No!” Michael was quick to reassure. “It’s been…wonderful.” Everyday life was adventure enough for him. He couldn’t remember ever enjoying a day so much.

“Well, good,” the other said, sounding unhappy. “Because you know it has to end. We have to go back. I bet Amon has already exploded all over your desk. He’s going to kill me, you know.”

The techie nodded gamely, thinking about it. It was possible, only he hoped not. He trusted Amon an awful lot, and though he expected the…well, “explosion” he doubted that he would really be lastingly furious, least of all at Sakaki. Michael had long believed that the tall hunter really had a soft spot for his second youngest team member. He treated him as a mentor might, or possibly like a big brother. Though that last distinction might have been pushing it.

“You’ll survive,” he concluded, and put it from his mind. The thought of going back had dampened his spirits, however. “I wish we didn’t have to go back today,” he admitted aloud.

Sakaki looked up at him from his back, that oddly worried expression on his face again. The same one that had lead to their impromptu escape. “Are you going to be okay?” he ventured to ask.

Michael considered it. When he spoke, it was with his hands clasped before him and in his calmest, most unbothered voice. “I am a prisoner,” he said. “A captive, or even a slave. I was so foolish, offering what I did. But I was afraid, and so stupid.”

“You were thirteen, Michael.”

“It doesn’t change that I brought this on myself. It’s lonely, and Zaizen… In a way, I’m afraid of him. Sometimes he seems so fatherly, but other times the look in his eyes…there’s a kind of madness there. And I am always alone. Why did this have to happen to me? I-I…I want to live!”

Sakaki’s hand reached up, gripping his shoulder. Quietly empathetic, he said, “You’re not alone.”

It was the wrong words. Michael pulled away, poison in his voice, “You have no idea what its like. No idea.”

The other boy wore a strange look of knowing, but said, “I’m sorry, Michael. Don’t get upset.”

“It’s my burden. I’ll pay it!”

“I brought you out to help you deal with your pain, Michael. It isn’t’ right that you have no one. We could be great friends. We’re closest in age of all the STN –”

Michael cut him off brutally, “Robin is closer. Barely a year.”

Sakaki looked taken aback for a moment, but his face swiftly sunk down into a quiet gloom. The younger teen read it in his stormy eyes: never good enough. Not to Zaizen, not to Amon, and not to Michael. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Robin.”

Michael realized that he had hurt him…but he was so afraid. He wanted someone to lean on; he wanted to lean on Sakaki. But it had been a long time since he had ventured so much. It had been years, years trapped behind bars.

Before he could work himself up, Sakaki spoke again. “Hey,” he told the conflicted boy. “It’s okay. Don’t get so upset. I’ll back off.”

“No,” Michael shook his head. “You…you are my friend. I’m sorry, Haruto.”

“I just want you to know that I’ll be there for you, Michael. And not just when I put off my paperwork.”

Michael nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He looked up instead, to the churning tumble that had begun to look threatening. It fully covered the sun now, and everything seemed darker. “Looks like rain,” he commented unnecessarily.

Sakaki fidgeted with unease. “I hate thunderstorms,” he admitted, and shuddered. He had such a little boy look on his face that Michael had to laugh. “It isn’t funny!” he snapped in response, but the worried look was still in his eyes as he took in cloud cover.

It shouldn’t have been so comical, Sakaki being afraid of a little noise and rain. But he was usually so brash and brazen that it seemed unlike him.

A crack of thunder split of tableau, jerking the older teen out of his seat like a shot. Nervously, he scanned the sky, festering like wound all mottled blue, yellow, and black. It looked like it would pour out floodwaters at any moment. Another crackling fizzle and Sakaki was bristling like a tomcat.

“Come on,” Sakaki called, dragging Michael up and nodding towards the bike. “Lets go. It’s only going to get worse.”

<>

In the end Sakaki’s apartment had been far closer to the park than the STN-J, and so they’d elected to go there to wait out the storm. Thunder was still clash-banging amidst the sound of wet lashing when they finally made it, soaked, into the dark covey.

Sakaki switched the lights on as they came inside, flipping off his shoes in an disorderly pile by the door. Michael followed suit, shivering in his hooded jacket and thin shirt. Usually he lived in an environment controlled setting, neither hot or cold.

“Hey, dry off,” he barely caught the towel that had been flung at him, and gratefully began scrubbing at his damp hair. Better already. Warm, dry clothes were handed to him next, and he hurried to strip out of his wet things. There was no where to lay them out, so they went by the door with their shoes.

“So this is home, or something like it.” Sakaki had cast off his wet jacket onto a table covered with magazines and coffee rings. A sink in the tiny kitchenette was stacked with chipped crockery, and it was among these that the older youth went to seek out clean mugs for them to use. “Tea, or something stronger?”

Michael hardly heard him he was so taken up drinking in the apartment. “Hm? Oh, tea’s fine.”

“Well enough,” Sakaki said, refilling a kettle from the stove.

The techie took his time wandering around the niche of space. It was all one room, mostly empty with an unmade futon laying haphazardly folded in one corner and a rectangular box in another that probably contained clothing. It wasn’t tidy, but there was more a kind of unkempt feeling to the place than anything else, as though the person who lived there did so as infrequently as possible. There was dust on every surface but the table.

The hum of the refrigerator beckoned him, but he wasn’t surprised that when he opened it the only things inside were a half-carton of milk and a squashed packet of instant udon. “What do you eat?” he asked the other, who had since reclined against the counter looking distracted and sleepy while he waited for the water to boil.

Sakaki scratched his calf idly with one foot, shaking his head. “Ah, whatever I can grab on the run. Solomon pays enough for me to eat out, as long as I’m not picky. It’s just not worth keeping anything here. Things spoil.”

Michael looked at him, thinking for the first time about just how much time his team members spent at the STN-J offices. He was used to calling them in at all hours of the night and day, but he’d never thought about how it really wasn’t much more than a way station he was pulling them away from. At least it seemed that way for Sakaki. Obviously he slept here, but not much else.

“Hunting is your life,” he said aloud, unable not to.

Only paying partial attention, the other nodded. He was poking at the kettle, as if decided whether it was too hot to grab with his hand. “I hardly remember anything pre-Solomon anymore. But heck, what else was I supposed to do. Stay out there, go rouge, maybe? No thank you, I’ll hunt. And where that stupid pendant forever, if it takes that.”

The babble almost seemed incomprehensible at first and Michael just smiled at him. But as he thought about it the words started connecting into a startling coherency. The answer came to him so abruptly that he jumped.

Sakaki was a seed. Apart from the STN-J he was just another name in the database. He was a potential. The very idea staggered Michael.

A cup came down on the table, followed by a gesture that indicated he should take it or sit. The teen gathered it up into suddenly cold hands, thankful for the fortifying steam that rose from it, fragrant in his nostrils. Sakaki put down his whole mug in one swallow.

“Mm, bed,” he murmured. “Between today and yesterday I’m beat.”

A flutter of apprehension. “But what about Solomon? Haruto, I need to get back.”

“Tomorrow. S’late.”

“But –”

Sakaki was already spreading the futon out, spilling the heavy comforter out onto the floor beside it into a crumpled, plumped up mass like a nest in a den. It just made room enough for two. With a wordless grunt he fell upon the makeshift bed, curling and tossing a bit so that he became hopelessly tangled in the blanket. But he’d kindly left he thin mattress and at last a quarter of the coverlet for his friend.

It shouldn’t have looked so cozy or inviting. The whole apartment should have left him unimpressed and ready to leave. But he could hear Sakaki’s long, even breaths already, and the spot beside him that had been made up just for Michael beckoned. The warmth from the tea was in his hands now, and down his limbs. It made feel him sleepy and pliable.

A few more hours away didn’t seem so long. So, unworried about the consequences, Michael gave into his body’s demands and went to cuddle up next to Sakaki, safe and free for just a little longer.

<>

Michael woke up to the door being forced inward on it’s hinges, and the sound like an explosion as it slammed against the wall. Pounding feet followed it, a wave of dark-suited men swarming in over the apartment.

Sakaki sprung up dazedly, panic and fierce defensiveness struggling to take preeminence over the peaceful sleep in his violet eyes. His revolver was tight in his hand even as he regained his feet, but the STN-J logo marked on the breast plate of each intruder’s black jacket made him hesitate to fire a round.

Michael cried out as they came upon his friend, wrenching the weapon from his fingers and throwing him hard against the wall. They pressing his face harshly into the plaster while they dragged his arms behind him.

Rough hands had Michael under the armpits in the next moment, pulling him upright from the safety of the warm blankets and pressing him towards the door. Tall soldiers flanked him on both sides but they did not move to bind him, even as he heard the sharp click of the older teen’s own manacles snapping tight.

“What’s going on?” Sakaki’s voice seemed loud and frustrated. Any further protests he might have made were cut off by a wordlessly brutal cuff with the butt of a rifle. His head hit the wall again and he slide to the floor, only semi-conscious.

Michael saw the blood, and made an attempt to get to him, pushing at the restraining hands of his guard, “Haruto!”

The youth was dazed, but not down. He tried to get up again, his face contorted with pain and anger, “Michael? Leave him alone!” But he may as well as saved his breath and his energy. Another mechanically violent blow stopped his assent, and then they dragged him up and towards the door, one hand in his hair and the other digging hard into his clavicle.

Unable to do anything but watch, Michael could only cry as he was pushed relentlessly down the rickety iron stair to the black van that was waiting for them before the apartment complex. It was stark against what was nearly dawn, onyx implacable against the dull grey sky. They shoved him inside, not ungently. One of the big men buckled a seatbelt around his waist and pressed him back against the seat when he tried to wrench forward.

“Be still now,” he said in a voice that was startlingly human coming from those black, featureless faces. Even their hands were gloved in black leather; no skin, so eyes, no compassion…but for him, also no cruelty.

They were sent to fetch him, he realized. Solomon.

He didn’t even realize when the building swallowed him up again until it was over and he was being ushered into the long elevator and then the office that had, until recently, been his whole life. Overcome, he was startled to find that Amon was there, looking as though he had been waiting. He turned away, though, when Michael sought security in his gaze with round, petrified eyes.

It was Chief Kosaka that came to him instead. His hands seemed to shake slightly when they bore down on the young man’s shoulders, holding onto him. For a moment he almost looked like a father, worried over a son that hadn’t been home by curfew. Almost. Except that his eyes were too afraid.

“Haruto,” Michael managed to gasp. Sakaki hadn’t been with him in the van. “Haruto. Is he alright?”

The head of sparse dark hair shook. Red-rimmed, hollow looking eyes gazed out at him over a mouth like a taught line. Hoarsely, the man whispered, “What have you done? Why would you do this? Don’t you understand the consequences?”

The understanding was hitting him now, bowling him over like a flood, or a rock rolling downhill. Sakaki had made it seem so simple. They’d left a note, they’d gone out but they would come back. They’d come back first thing in the morning, no problem. It was less than a day.

“Haruto,” Michael was almost sobbing. He gripped at the man’s arms. “Where is he?”

“Zaizen has him,” Amon broke in suddenly, and his deep voice stamped each word in the air so barren and black that it stole the younger man’s breath.

No. Zaizen. He’d hurt him. No.

“This is your fault,” Amon continued. The studied blankness of his expression was at its limit under the weight of the situation. Tight lines were drawn at his eyes – anger, or worry. “It was unspeakably foolish! What were you both thinking?”

“I wanted to get out.” His voice was so small. The world was resonating strangely. He hardly felt the grip his boss had around his shoulders, didn’t realize he was being lead again. In this time. The chair rose up to met him almost as his legs gave out. His own hands went to his face. “Amon. I didn’t run. I just…Haruto said we could get out, just for a little while. And then the rain… B-but we were coming back!”

“It doesn’t matter what you intended,” Amon ground out, and his black eyes were snapping now. “Zaizen will not consider your excuses – or Sakaki’s, if he is stupid enough to voice them. You left, knowing that you were never allowed. It was stay or loose your life. And now possibly it’s his.”

Sakaki? No. Zaizen wouldn’t.

“The team had four before Robin, and it could as easily be four again.” The dark hunter could read his thoughts. He demanded Michael understand, “Do you think he’ll be spared for his usefulness?”

It was with those words that Michael broke down desolately and wept.

<>

It would be days later before Michael heard anything of Sakaki. The work that he had left remained for him as it always would, endless. He processed it numbly, and because he had no choice. He hardly noticed the people moving around him, or even the hunters who had been something like his friends.

It was Doujima who finally broke the silence. She came and sat down beside him at his desk, looking up earnestly into his face until he was pulled unwillingly from the solace of his data into an unhappy meeting in her deep blue eyes.

“He’s okay,” she said softly to him, too soft to carry over the regular office chatter. And suddenly she had his every attention. She said, “He’s okay, or else he will be. He gave me this today.”

She slid a folded yellow sticky note up onto the desktop, innocuous among the other clutter. It hardly stuck out at all. Michael stared at it.

The girl nodded toward the message and reached to press her hand briefly against his, still settled over the keyboard. Then she left him just as fleetingly as she came. Doujima was very like a butterfly, he’d often thought before. Lovely and flighty. But she was also a good friend; willful, not unlike Sakaki.

The note stuck to his fingers when he picked it up. The strip of adhesive was dirty with lint and oils and a single long strand of sandy colored hair, but it clung feebly to the pads of his fingertips as he unfolded it.

He had to clinch down hard on his emotions in order to read the short note, a more than usually incomprehensible scribble of wavering lines and half-formed letters. It said:

Michael,

D said you’re sad and you shouldn’t be. He’s a damn bastard, but hell if it wasn’t worth it for the sun. Wasn’t it worth it?

And then a trailing symbol in the far corner, the first of Sakaki’s name. Michael was holding it so tightly that imprints were left in the already crumpled paper. Teeth clinched, he sat for a moment and concentrated on swallowing, on keeping his composure.

But slowly a small, tight smile began to form on his face. It was sorrowful, but also glad in its way. He caught a glimmer through his window, and turned his face toward it and the dim sun filtering through it in lazy streamers. He watched the floating dust, remembering the warmth he’d felt on his day of freedom.

Worth it? There was little that even the wide world could offer that would be worth the price he’d paid. But Sakaki was okay, and he didn’t regret what they’d done. He didn’t regret the park and the school and the warm blankets in the apartment home.

And, knowing that, Michael found that he couldn’t regret those times either, not for anything. The sun was what it was, and though he would miss it he wouldn’t suffer too much without it. But as he tucked the little note carefully into the safety of his jeans pocket, the boy reflected that he would suffer without his friend.

He only hoped he would be back to work soon.

<>

a/n: About a thousands words of this story was written two years ago, and then I lost the sequence of sticky note messages left by Sakaki and Michael. Without this essential scene, I cast the story to the side. However, yesterday night while digging through some ancient notebooks, I rediscovered the missing part and typed out the rest of the story on a kind of accidental whim. Most of this whim took place between the hours of one and six in the morning, which may account for the rough quality. Still, in spite of all these factors I hope you enjoyed it. It always pleases me when I am able to drag a forgotten scraplet out of the dark and refashion it, edited and complete.

I decided to update

2007-11-06T00:25:31Z

Title: In dieing, she lives
Rateing for this chapter: pg-13 to be safe.
warnings: mentions of rape and abuse
summery: Amon tells Robin just what had happened to Her, ten years ago. Where he goes when it rains.

"Ayala was a Witch with possibly the most powerful Craft in the world. She was born with water control, like your fire. However she could also gain any Craft she came into contact with."

Amon picked Robin up and sat her on his lap. They hadn't been together long, not long at all. And she still slipped up and called him 'Mr. Amon' but sometimes he tought she did it intentionally.

"Yelling, running, sirens. All you could hear that night. Ayala and I were running like hell for our lives, from a Hunt gone wrong. It had been a trap, just like she had said, but no one listened to her. She was a fifteen year old girl, so no one thought she knew anything. But she managed to stop us from walking into the main trap, by lieing. I hate to say it bu even though we were dating, I still didn't trust or believe her. She had us running from them, and into a secret tunnel she had located with her Craft. Imagine the day you were almost Hunted inside of Raven's Flat. It was like that, almost. She blasted holes in three walls and pushed me into the tunnel, sealing the exit with Craft."

Amon shuddered and shook his head, it was a painful memory. Robin leaned up and kissed his lips, silently begging him to continue. "I could hear everything. They used their Crafts against her, beat her, tourtured her. She was screaming, trying to break free from whatever bound her. Trying to 'Craft them into oblivion' as she would say. She lost control, I could always tell because her scream when she did could shatter glass. Most of them must have died, but enough were left. They took her out of the room. I couln't hear anymore, except for a few screams every now and then. I should have gone along the tunnel, to get help, but I couldn't move." Robin kissed Amon's lips again, then buried her face into his neck.

"I never told her, except at the very end. I don't think she heard me though. I loved her, more than anything. Like I do you. I found out later, when help came of it's own accord, what they did to her. They tortured her, interrogation style. When they couldn't get anything out of her, they did worse. They raped her, at least ten of them. By the time we finally got in there to save her, it was too late. She would die not matter what we would do, from her injuries or from being Hunted. They may not have broken her the way they wanted to-to get information- but they did break her. They broke her control over her Craft."

Robin wimpered and sat up again. "That's horrible. Did you kill them? To avenge her?"

"Yes. They were exhausted from fighting her, so it was easy. But it wasn't vengence enough. I wanted to Hunt and kill every Witch and Craft user in the world, but Ayala was dieing in the hospital. I couldn't leave her side, nit even after she died. I didn't tell the nurses, so I was wiht her for three more hours. Once a nurse came in to check on her, I wasn't able to be with her anymore. The funeral was three days later, and she was burried in a palace that her family owned. That's where I go." Robin pulled Amon so that he was laying down on the bed, head on the pillow with his arms around her.

"I'll take you to see her sometime. You would love the palace, and I think that maybe if you see the grave of the worlds most powerful Witch, then you might gain more power-or control."

"I'd really like that, Amon. But for now, you need to sleep. I'll stay with you, you shouldn't be alone." Amon looked at Robin questioningly. "It'll give you bad nightmares." Amon nodded and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly. Robin kissed him lightly and lay down to sleep.
***********

Back at the castle- called the Palace of Night, for the view of the moon it gave- a young girl appeared out of nowhere, above a hero's grave. "Amon, I love you too." Words she had wanted to say for ten year, and been unable to. Where was he? Where was she? Ayala stood up and walked around. Palace of Night, that's where she was! She walked to the old throne room, sat down, and tried to recall what was going on. Had she died?

Song Fic.

2007-11-02T16:39:30Z

Title:Stormy night
Author: 1_1dragons
Song: Lullaby for a stormy night by Vienna Teng
Summary: After the fall of the Factory, Robin does not like being alone in the rain. But is she really alone?

Little child, be not afraid
though rain pounds harshly 'gainst the glass.
Like an unwanted stranger,
But there is no danger.
I am here tonight.

A month had passed since the defeat of Zaizen. It had rained almost every day since then, mirroring the moods at STN-J. Robin Sena had come back out of the rubble, but Amon was never found. If STN wanted to erase your presense, they did it. No one could speak when they had heard that Amon was dead. Amon, the leader and constant survivor. His death had hit Robin very hard.

The silence in Raven's Flat was unbearable. Michale didn't blast his rock music, Cheif didn't yell at Doujima, Amon wasn't there telling them about the next hunt. It was a crushing silence, and Robin couldn't take it anymore. She went to her appartment without a word to anyone.

Robin sat alone eating her simple dinner and watching the rain. Even God was crying for Amon. He hadn't deserved to die, but he had. Tap, tap, tap. Was that the rain? No it was too loud. But it was too quiet to be someone knocking at her door. Window? Yes. Someone was throwing rocks at her window. A dark figure with a rather ominous aura was standing in the street below, throwing rocks at Robin's window, she could see him from where she sat.

'Amon told me that I should never open the door or talk to someone I didn't know. I don't think I should... Yes I need to just ignore him.' Easier said then done, untill he vanished. Robin had just taken a bite of her food, and looked down for just a moment. But the figure was gone.

Little child, be not afraid
though thunder explodes and lightning flash
illuminate your tear stained face.
I am here tonight.

Robin cringed when she heard a knock on her door. It had to be that same person. But she still got up and looked out the peep hole. All was dark in the hallway, no lights inside none outside. A loud crash of thunder sounded and a quick flash of lightning followed. The figure was thrown into brightness, for a split second. Could it be? No, no she was just imagining it. He was dead. But Robin had to know. She threw the door open, and started to cry.

And someday you'll know
that nature is so.
The same rain that draws you near me,
falls on rivers and land forests and sand,
makes the beautiful world that you see.
In the morning.

Little child, be not afraid
though storm clouds mask your beloved moon.
And it's candlelight beams,
still keep pleasent dreams.
I am here tonight.

Robin threw herself at the man, hugging him with every ounce of strength she had. Shoe couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was here? With her? It had to be a dream. But no, she wouldn't be able to touch a dream.

Little child, be not afraid
though wind makes creatures of out trees.
And their branches to hand,
they're not real understand.
I am here tonight.
And someday you'll know
that nature is so.
The same rain that draws you near me,
falls on rivers and land forests and sand,
makes the beautiful world that you see.
In the morning.

"Well? Tell me! What's going on? Where have you been?" Robin couldn't keep her voice down.

For you know, once even I was a little child.
And I was afraid.
But a gentle someone always came,
to dry all my tears.
Trad sweet sleep for fears,
and to give a kiss goodnight.
But now I am grown,
and these years have shown
that rain's a part of how life goes.
But it's dark and it's late, so I'll hold you and wait,
'Till your frightened eyes do close.
And I'll hope that you know.
That nature is so.
The same rain that draws you near me,
falls on rivers and land forests and sand,
makes the beautiful world that you see.
In the morning.

Nagira Shunji couldn't help but smile at the little girl's happiness. "Well you see, they found my little brother. Amon is in the hospital, and I plan to take you to him."

Everything's fine in the morning.
The rain will be gone in the morning.
But you'll still be here in the morning.

witchhuntrrobin @ 2007-10-30T22:49:00

2007-10-31T05:49:38Z

Thought I'd share this with everyone.

http://amon-x-robin.deviantart.com/

witchhuntrrobin @ 2007-10-25T16:59:00

2007-10-25T21:11:23Z

Hi I'm kinda new to Witch Hunter Robin, I've only seen twety episodes, but I know what happened.

I haven't seen any long Witch Hunter Robin fics lately, so i thought I'd add one (it's a work in progress) if that's ok.

Title: In dieing she lives
Rating for this chapter: G
Warnings for this chapter: It's a little dark if you turn off the lights and squint
Summery: post series. Three hundred and twenty years have passed since the Coven sank into the dark. Six months have passed since the Factory was destroyed. Six years have passed since Amon's heart died.
There is a grave standing in the ruins of a once-great palace. Beside the grave is standing the ruins of a once-great love. Inside the grave is his heart.
Robin asks Amon one day, who She was. Amon tells her, not knowing that he lifted the Curse by doing so.
Length: This chapter is really short, only 340 words. But it will get longer.
Pairing: AmonxOC and AmonxRobin.

Amon is staring at Her grave, again. He can’t help it; he has to be here as it rains. She loved the rain, but She loved it even more when he would come to stand in the rain with her. He cried as he wished She would return. They weren’t heavy tears, She didn’t like criers, but they showed his loss.

Robin was tired of Amon disappearing. They live together so that Amon could protect her, not leave her to fend for herself. And to make things worse, the storm had knocked out the power, again. There was no point at all to try his cell phone, there was no reception. His work cell phone was for emergencies only. Emergencies by Amon’s definition; you are dead, you are dieing and can’t reach anyone else, you are outnumbered by evil Witches twenty to one. She didn’t fall under that criteria, but she didn’t like the rain and she hated being alone in it.

Two hours later, Amon was back at his and Robin’s house. She had fussed at him in her usual polite way, trying to convince him to stay home with her until the storm had abated. He had agreed, trying to get away from her. How could Robin not like the rain? True he hadn’t like it until She had convinced him otherwise. ‘I miss you. Why did you have to die?’ Amon thought, looking at Her picture. Didn’t She understand that She was needed here?

“Mr. Amon?” Robin was bothering him again. “Can I ask you something?”
“What, Robin?”
“Who is she? The woman, I know she was your first partner, but what happened to her?”
“How did you know about her/”
“Michel did some research…” She saw the angry look on Amon’s face. “Not on you, but he managed to get back into STN-J’s system. Now he can get into everything, nothing is restricted to him anymore.”
“The woman you are asking about is who Kate tried to replace. She was a hero. Her name was Ayala.”

AN: I might make things more AmonxRobin in the next chapter. I think I will, they are together in the current part of this story.

Fic: This Drop Of Time (PG)

2007-10-14T01:56:32Z

Title: This Drop Of Time
Notes/Warnings: Set post-series, so contains vague spoilers for pretty much everything. Also implies Amon/Robin, but no more than the series itself.
Summary: (Silent understanding. A letter sent into the void, and received.)

crossposted to confraria

An odd idea...

2007-10-14T01:06:16Z

Throwing this out for community discussion.

I'm curious as to what people would think of a Witch Hunter Robin-themed RPG either on LJ or over on a forum system? It could be set, say, somewhere else in the WHR universe and players could either be Hunters or witches, or neither.

So I'm bouncing this out for anyone and everyone to read and give feedback on. What do you think? Worthy or no?

Blog crew

2007-10-14T00:43:47Z

Hi there, I made a blog crew for the series recently.

ANIME
♫ Escaflowne
♫ Lovely Complex
♫ Witch Hunter Robin

Over here

More crews

Does anyone know of a WHR rating community out there?

Robin <3

2007-10-13T08:24:15Z

Hello, everyone! I'm, uh, obviously new to this community although I'm no newbie to the WHR fandom. I've been into it for a while but since I bought the entire DVD set last week, I've been obsessing about it a lot, tehe.

Anyway, to add something to my short, dull hello, I'm also here to pimp my first WHR fic. Don't worry, it's rather short. If you prefer to see it on FFN, here's the link: click!.

Title: Roses Are
Author: Jun-Ko
Rating: R
Pairing: Amon/Robin
Summary: She's feigning sleep again to watch him watch her, the virgin girl lying awake to her crimes.

Roses Are
By Jun-Ko

"Roses are red, roses have thorns
Hell hath no fury like a little girl scorned."

--

She doesn't know how to tell him that she's tired of this game; this finger-twined wrist wrapped game of mottled shadows, this foreplay of thought. Cathedral handprints on the whitewashed linen. Dark, but not too dark for him.

Little bird. Bird cage bones, brittle spine that threatens to snap beneath the weight of his conscience. She's feigning sleep again to watch him watch her, the virgin girl lying awake to her crimes.

"Robin."

He sounds sad. He's whispered it again, and his breath is whiskey-soaked. One night, she spies on him through his door, the light stealing into the hallway ajar and forboding, boasting of his most private ministrations, one hand clutching the sheets, his back to her but she knows what's happening. Lust rushes in begging for her to act upon her carnal impulses and enter his chamber but she waits until the blood in her body has stopped and cooled before she leaves him to his monochrome ecstacy -- the image of which makes her blush rose-red and burns itself into her irises, her occular cavities, through the atrioventricular valve and gut.

She smiles and shuts her door behind her, dress unpeeling for the evening. She says his name once before and once after kneeling and clasping her hands together in prayer.

The Immaculate Heart of Mary, Most Blesses Virgin, Merciful Mother, Virgin Most Powerful, Seat of Wisdom, Tower of Ivory, Mystical Rose, Queen of the Apostles Martyrs and all the Saints, Mother Undefiled, pray for us. Me. White Rose of Purity, Winsome One, the Daintiest Jewel that God hath ever made, Great Casket of Mysteries, Princess Fair, that death may be a prelude to thy kiss, amen. Amon.

But she knows roses are red.

That night, when he watches her again, ears perked, eyes peaked, searching for the faintest spark of irregularity in her, he must have drifted off because he murmured, "Touko." And immediately there are sparks. Of tears. Of nightmares. She dreams of burning candy clouds, of a woman with blonde hair burning.

He's lying.

She knows it's her he's dreaming of. Not her...

She's tired of this game, where he pretends that he doesn't want her but she knows he does; why else does he watch? Surely not because he's afraid. He fears nothing. He doesn't even shut his door to her anymore.

She's red and crying, unaware of his stirring, the virgin girl lying awake to her crimes until she isn't.

Witch Hunter Robin Screenshots Gallery!

2007-09-05T00:40:59Z

Heya!

I'm not sure if I posted this before...but I've been looking back the entries and it seems that I haven't. So here goes. @.@

http://anime.akichigo.org/whr/

The gallery isn't tha big, but nor would I call it that small. ^^ So do pop by when you have a chance!

Affiliates are most welcomed! Just email me! ^_^

.xx Hikoto
http://anime.akichigo.org/
http://akichigo.org

366 WHR icons

2007-08-27T20:38:15Z

- 366 bases/icons from Witch Hunter Robin anime (in three batches)

& & &

Icons are very shippy and include slash, het & femme slash pairings.

(Everything is so painfully vivid.) [fake cut 1/3]
(The truth is, we couldn't understand each other,) [fake cut 2/3]
(So I left and didn't look back.) [fake cut 3/3]

Website update, more icons, colorbars...

2007-07-23T02:07:58Z

I've done a major overhaul of my WHR fansite. I currently have a screenshot image gallery, all of my WHR avatars, Winamp Classic skins and links to other WHR resources/fanlistings.

Visit the fansite at Prince of the Narwhals.

WHR Colorbars:

LJ Icons:

_{p r e v i e w}

Witch Hunter Robin
01	02	03	04

05	06	07	08

Avatar alternates here.

Usage:

Right-click and choose Save Image As.. (or appropriate option) to save the icon to your personal hard drive.
Upload as a Userpic in LJ.
When using on LJ, please credit by placing by <lj user="clairejones"> into the Comment box.
Comments here are appreciated, but not mandatory. ^_^
No Hotlinking

witchhuntrrobin @ 2007-06-15T01:15:00

2007-06-15T08:27:04Z

Hello! Joined a while ago, but this is the first post I'll be making. Jumping on the bandwagon and putting up some icons I've been working on. I think there are 54...but don't hold me to that. XD I think I messed up on the numbering when I was saving files. Hey, it's a lot of icons. They're all Witch Hunter Robin, nothing else thrown in. =)

Preview:

The Icons: