Community Hub

Starting from today reanime.cz is our primary domain, this is a precaution to avoid some issues, rest assured we are not taking reanime down. Keep reindex.to bookmarked just in case.

Just wanna give a big big thanks tho those who help made this site and let them know how much I enjoy watching anime and interacting with others here to. TRULY ASTOUNDING.THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART ❤️.

Hi everyone! It’s been a while since I last posted here Life has been a little hard on me, but I’m doing well now So how are y’all doing these days?
I hope y’all are doing well, and may God bless you all! ✌︎˶╹ꇴ╹˶✌︎

All-time best sports anime for me are Hajime no Ippo, Haikyuu, Ping Pong the Animation, and Run with the Wind.
what do u guys think?

It feel like this year is the golden year of anime nonstop too class animes came this year and we are still getting some like space mercenary ,overheard etc.

anybody got something niche to watch that good and not slop bro </3

It's finally been 10 days since i started this here ya go folks:
Alright folks, I figured today I’d pull back the curtain, slow things down for a moment, and tell you the story of how I actually fell in love with writing. For the past nine days, you’ve been reading bits and pieces of my work, stepping into the worlds I’ve built. Today, I want to take you back to where it all began, and share just how deeply, overwhelmingly magical this craft has always been to me.
My earliest memory of it goes all the way back to the quiet, sun-drenched afternoons of childhood—to the sheer, electric joy of learning how to wrap my fingers around a wooden pencil and finally getting the grip right. I can still see little me so clearly, perched on the edge of a chair, reaching eagerly for a crisp, blank sheet of paper. I wanted nothing more than to mimic the graceful loops and steady letters my parents wrote so effortlessly, even though my small, clumsy hands could barely steady the lead. Those first shaky lines felt like unlocking a secret door to the grown-up world.
Not long after, I wrote my very first real story for a class—a tiny, earnest paragraph about how magical unicorns were. Against all odds, I still have that fragile, slightly crumpled piece of paper tucked safely away. Looking at it now, with its lopsided, oversized handwriting and wonderfully terrible grammar, doesn't make me cringe; it makes my heart ache with fondness. That little page is a time capsule of pure, unfiltered wonder, reminding me of a time when imagination had no boundaries and the only rule was to dream.
As the seasons changed and the years rolled by, carrying a notebook became as natural to me as breathing. Whether I was sitting on a noisy school bus, curled up in the corner of my bedroom, or watching the rain streak down a windowpane, I was constantly scribbling. I filled margin after margin, page after page, with every wild, wandering story my mind could conjure. To this day, I have held onto every single one of those notebooks from the past ten years, stretching all the way back to when I was six years old. Stacked together, they aren't just paper and cardboard; they are the physical weight of my childhood, a silent library of every version of myself I have ever been.
Even back then, I instinctively understood the deeper magic of what writing truly is: the quiet alchemy of turning invisible thoughts, secret hopes, and fleeting emotions into something tangible that can outlive us all. To me, putting pen to paper never felt like a chore; it felt like breathing warm life into a cold, blank page and handing each story a tiny piece of my soul to hold onto forever. I truly believed that spark of myself would wake the letters up. I imagined my words building a bridge across time and silence, allowing anyone who read them to step right inside my mind—to see through my eyes, feel the exact pulse of my thoughts, and live every moment right alongside me as if it were happening in real time.
Whenever I sit down today and flip through those worn, dog-eared, ink-stained pages, a soft, wistful smile always finds its way onto my face. Growing up can be loud, confusing, and overwhelming, and so much of our lives is shaped by what others expect of us. Yet through ink and imagination, I was able to carve order out of life’s chaos, trapping the fleeting, bittersweet beauty of growing up before time and memory could wash it away.
Writing—and pouring pieces of my soul into my words—is the one thing in this world that has ever truly belonged to me. No person, no rigid classroom rubric, and no teacher could ever dull its shine, take it away, or ruin it for me. It has always been my sanctuary, my mirror, and my quiet, enduring rebellion against ever being forgotten.

If I could I would revive toji he was my fav character it’s sad how when he died the first time his last thought was megumi even the second death

as a One Piece fan, I’d say this movie’s definitely the darkest one yet

When the Agent of Spring, Hinagiku Kayo, is abducted, spring itself vanishes—plunging the world into unending winter. Refusing to give up, her devoted guard, Sakura Himedaka, searches for her for years.