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sailforvalinor · 19 days ago

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Fears Left Buried—Comfyvember

Monthly Prompt: “Safe and Sound” by Taylor Swift

Harry Potter fix-it AU | The Potters live (but Harry still winds up with the scar | Harry has a younger brother | angst (because heaven forbid I be normal about anything) and fluff | how did this end up being so long? I don’t know

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Harry Potter’s first two years at Hogwarts felt strange to him. The professor with the face of his parents�� would-be-murderer on the back of his head and the basilisk in the basement were major contributors, of course, but more than that, walking around the school without his brother trailing just a step behind felt a little bit like walking around without a limb.

He and Monty had grown up especially close—after the scare with Voldemort that ended with the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, their mum had been a little extra wary about who she let the boys play with, especially when they were very young, and thus the brothers had been each other’s most constant playmate. Ron Weasley had been Harry’s best friend since he was six, and Hermione Granger had also earned that title a few years later, but he considered “little brother” to be an equal, albeit different, sort of distinction.

Harry thought he knew everything there was to know about Monty. He knew that where he was impulsive, Monty always looked before he leapt—maybe for a little too long. He knew he was useless on a broom, but had a mean batting arm. He knew his hair only looked a little bit neater than Harry’s because he actually used his namesake’s magical hair gel. He knew that, unlike said namesake, he rather liked his name. He knew that his favorite jumper was a green one Mrs. Weasley had knitted him a few years ago, and that he would wear it every day if it weren’t considered a social faux-pas. He knew that he put on his clotted cream before his jam. He knew that calling him “Flea” didn’t particularly bother him (but calling him “slow corner” while playing Exploding Snap would end in a wrestling match).

There was one thing that Harry never quite understood about his brother, however. It was an odd sort of question, a wrong sort of question, that tickled at the back of his mind no matter how hard he tried to fight it off.

Does he even care?

He knew it wasn’t a fair question to ask. Of course he cared. But Monty had such a sanguine temper, was so calm, that Harry couldn’t help but wonder anyway. He supposed that with all of the high tempers that ran in the Potter family, someone had to wind up the even-keeled peacemaker, but Monty had taken to this role so entirely that it was almost uncanny. Absolutely nothing seemed to rattle him beyond the surface level. At nine years old, he’d sat at the end of his bed while Harry told him how he’d successfully stopped the Philosopher’s Stone from being stolen and had narrowly missed being killed by Lord Voldemort for the second time, and his only visible reaction was to chew his lip and occasionally raise an eyebrow. The same went for when he told him about the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

That night after he got home from his second year at Hogwarts, the question darted through his mind before he could catch it by the heels and bury it: If I’d died in the Chamber, would he be reacting any differently?

However, the day his name shot out of the Goblet of Fire, something happened that banished all such thoughts from his mind.

Getting his name launched out of a magical cup in front of three school populations when it very much should not have was one thing—being accused of supposedly putting it there by five professors and a Ministry of Magic representative was another. As he listened to them argue amongst themselves (and felt the weight of the much older, much more skilled other Champions watching him), their voices started to get fuzzy like the static on the telly at home, his palms started to get sweaty, and his stomach started to do horrible sinking flip-flops. He felt like he did when he was a small child when people would recognize him in public—only, he didn’t have his mum or dad to hide behind this time.

His childish weakness angered him. The thought that he wanted his mum angered him, however desperate it was. He swallowed, hard, and forced himself to refocus his vision and stare at the tips of Ludo Bagman’s boots.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said.

Harry looked up to meet his gaze.

“Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” he asked calmly.

Harry felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. “No.”

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?”

“No,” Harry repeated.

“Ah, but of course ‘e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime.

“MR. POTTER—“ Professor McGonagall shouted.

Harry flinched, glancing up at her with wide eyes—though Professor McGonagall could be harsh, rarely was she so loud about it—but was surprised to find that she was not looking at him, but towards the door. He followed her gaze, and his jaw nearly dropped—it was Monty, standing in the doorway, his whole body rigid. His eyes darted from Harry, to the professors, to the other champions, and a strange fire blazed in his eyes that he had never seen before. In an instant, Monty was striding across the room towards them.

“Who is this?” Madame Maxime demanded.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, who was the only one in the room who didn’t look surprised. “This would be Harry’s younger brother, Fl—“

“Fleamont Potter!” McGonagall exclaimed. “You will explain to me just what you are doing here!”

By the time Monty reached them, the fire in his eyes had been stamped out, though the embers still remained, hidden by what Harry could now plainly see was a careful veneer of polite respect. Putting himself between Harry and the other professors, he said, “Harry didn’t put his name in.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up behind his spectacles. “Ah,” he said. “And how are you so certain, Mr. Potter?”

“Because he would have told me, sir,” Monty said evenly.

Karkaroff barked out a laugh. “Is this a joke, Dumbledore? We’re supposed to believe this?”

“Mr. Karkaroff, I don’t know what your policy is at Durmstrang,” Professor McGonagall snapped, “but at Hogwarts, we do not believe students are guilty until proven innocent. Perhaps we should begin to wonder at the quality of your students, if you believe they’re all liars on principle.”

Karkaroff opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but Madame Maxime cut him off, “No, I agree with Professor Karkaroff—both of these boys are lying. He must have found a way to fool the Age Line. Perhaps Professor Dumbly-dorr made a mistake.”

“It is possible, of course,” Dumbledore said mildly.

“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake—“ Professor McGonagall sputtered.

The adults launched into another argument over Harry’s guilt or innocence. He desperately wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, knew it would be pointless—even with Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore on his side, he knew that everyone else wouldn’t be convinced by anything he might say. He drove his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

“There’s always veritaserum,” Monty spoke up.

Despite how quietly he’d spoken, everyone’s voices died, and they all turned to stare down at him.

Monty shrugged. “It’s the only way to know for sure. You have some, don’t you, Professor Snape?”

Snape, who had only looked at Harry with judgmental distaste so far, stared at Monty for a long moment. Harry could almost sense Snape’s desire not to oblige Monty warring with his delight at the idea of making them both endure a potion that could make them spill their darkest secrets. Finally, he replied, “…yes, I do.”

Monty nodded. “I’m okay with taking it. Are you, Harry?”

Monty caught his eye. Just go with me on this, his expression seemed to say.

Harry shrugged, matching his brother’s nonchalance, though he couldn’t be further from feeling it—Snape’s cooperation was making him uneasy. “Yeah, okay. Why not?”

There was a long pause again. Monty turned back to the adults, eyes darting from face to face as he studied them. None of them said what they were all thinking—veritaserum was a substance highly controlled by the Ministry, only used in very specific circumstances by magical law enforcement. While Snape already had some, acquiring it was not the reason for their silence, for the use of it within Hogwarts for unsanctioned purposes—on a fourteen-year-old and a twelve-year-old, no less—was nothing short of ridiculous. Bagman shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

“I…do not believe that will be necessary, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Crouch finally said.

Monty muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “didn’t think so.” Harry’s eyes went wide, and he cast about to see if anyone had heard him. No one gave any indication—except for Professor McGonagall, whose left eyebrow arched slightly.

Audibly this time, Monty said, “Well, you’ll just have to take his word for it, then. Harry didn’t put his name in, and he doesn’t want to compete.”

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. Though it had been an entertaining daydream, he of course didn’t want to compete—but admitting it in front of three older students, champions, no less, made him feel like a coward. As grateful as he was to Monty in that moment, he also harbored an urge to step on his foot.

“I’m afraid whether or not Mr. Potter wants to compete is irrelevant,” Mr. Crouch said. “He must compete. We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Can’t you start over?” Monty asked. “Have everyone put their names in again?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire has just gone out, and it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament. It’s a binding magical contract, you know.”

Harry could see Monty’s polite mask slipping. “How clever,” Monty said sarcastically.

“Isn’t it?” Bagman exclaimed excitedly, clearly oblivious to Monty’s tone.

“Oh yes, very,” Monty agreed, deadpan. “I’m sure our parents will be absolutely thrilled to hear about it. And, of course, how their underage son is being forced to compete in a competition that is known to kill full-grown adult wizards.”

Bagman’s face fell.

“The boy’s got a point,” came a voice from across the room. Moody had just entered, limping closer to the fire. “Awfully convenient, don’t you think? That anyone whose name comes out of that cup is forced to compete?”

“Convenient? I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Moody,” Karkaroff said.

“I do,” Monty said quietly. “Somebody put Harry’s name in hoping he’d die in the competition.”

There was a very tense silence. Moody nodded gravely. “Correct, Potter. James is sure going to find this interesting…maybe I should head to the Ministry tomorrow to tell him about it myself.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether or not it was a trick of the firelight, but Karkaroff seemed to pale fractionally. “James…Potter?” he repeated. “The Auror?”

“How many James Potters that work for the Ministry do you know?” asked Moody.

“No, I refuse to believe this!” Madame Maxime protested angrily. “How do we know that someone didn’t put this boy’s name in to give Hogwarts two bites at the apple?”

Monty took a step forward. “I don’t know if you know this, Madame,” he said in a low voice, “but my family and I have a history of people trying to kill us. Harry has nearly died twice just while going to this school. So, no, I don’t think it’s going to be difficult for my parents—or anyone who hears about this with half a brain—to believe that the person who put Harry’s name in that cup didn’t have Hogwarts’ best interests in mind. I’m sure that Harry Potter dying in a government-sanctioned competition is going to look great for the Ministry and any other Wizarding governments involved.”

“Mr. Potter!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, hand flying to her mouth.

Harry couldn’t help it—he was gaping at his brother like a fish.

“Dumbledore,” Karkaroff sputtered, “are we supposed to stand for this insolence?”

“You appear to be doing so just fine,” Moody snapped.

Monty took a breath, appearing to collect himself. “I’m sorry if I offended any of you,” he said, now appearing again the model of respect. “I’m just worried, is all. Now, can we go up to our Common Room? We still need to write to our parents and let them know what’s happening.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I believe that would be wise. It will give us some time to mull over everyone’s concerns,” he said diplomatically. “Mr. Crouch, could the rest of the proceedings wait until tomorrow?”

“Well—yes, I suppose,” Mr. Crouch complied, though he did not look happy about it.

“Well, then, I will bid you each goodnight, boys,” Dumbledore said. He met each of their eyes in turn, giving them both a tiny encouraging nod.

“Goodnight, Headmaster,” Monty said. He then turned and strode out of the room, and Harry found himself following him as quick as his legs would carry him.

Harry’s relief at being out of that stifling, choking room was so intense that he couldn’t even feel bad about what seemed like running away. He could still feel the heat of everyone’s gazes on his back as he left, could still see the wide eyes and gaping mouths of everyone in the Great Hall as he’d been forced to walk its length after that horrible moment when his name was called at what felt like the pace of a flobberworm. Harry thought that night that it would be very nice not to ever be perceived again.

“You okay?” Monty asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

He followed Monty at an almost breakneck pace up to their Common Room, and he was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice they’d arrived until Monty threw out an arm to stop him from walking into the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Hey, watch it, Mr. Champion,” the Fat Lady said, she and her visiting friend Violet fixing him with indignant stares.

Monty directed him to stand to the side. “Wait here,” he said.

“What?” said Harry, confused.

Monty said, “Balderdash!” the portrait opened, and Harry instantly understood why Monty had told him to wait—the explosion of voices and excitement from inside the Common Room made him shrink back out of sight.

“—hey, Monty!” Harry heard Lee Jordan say as Monty stepped inside. “Is Harry with y—”

“—shove off,” Monty snapped uncharacteristically.

The portrait swung shut before Harry could catch any more. He didn’t have to wonder long what his brother was up to, however—less than a minute later, he emerged again, his bookbag slung over a shoulder.

Wordlessly, Monty pulled something small and folded out of his pocket, and it wasn’t until he shook it out that Harry realized it was the Invisibility Cloak.

As Monty quickly draped it over both of them, Harry asked, “Hey, how do you know where I keep the cloak?”

“You really thought I didn’t know? Bottom of your trunk, top right corner. It’s in the exact same place you hide it in your sock drawer at home. Now come on.”

Harry could have asked how he knew that, but he refrained. “Where are we going?”

Monty didn’t answer, but instead took the lead and crept down the hallway again, Harry following. At first, it seemed like he was heading towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but he instead stopped in front of the One-Eyed Witch statue.

“Uh—“ whispered Harry.

“Dissendum!” Monty hissed. As the hump on the statue slid open, Monty grabbed Harry’s wrist and dragged him inside.

“You want to go to Hogsmeade? Now?” Harry asked as they stepped into the pitch-black passage. Pulling off the cloak, he muttered, “Lumos,” causing his wand to illuminate the stone walls surrounding them.

“No,” Monty said. He pointed to the ground. “Sit.”

Mystified, Harry sat down with his back to the wall. Monty sat down in front of him, rummaging through his bag, and then pulled out a bottle of Butterbeer and a big hunk of chocolate wrapped in gold foil. He handed both to Harry.

“Thanks,” said Harry. Giving him the chocolate was especially kind—Uncle Moony had sent them both chocolate through the post last week, a chocolate that he usually saved for gifting on special occasions, and Harry had eaten most of his by the time post came the next day. From the looks of things, it looked like Monty had barely touched his.

Harry held up the bottle. “Where did you get this?”

“Ginny,” Monty explained. “She snuck them from the Kitchens for me.”

“Should’ve known.” Monty and Ginny had been partners in crime since they were toddlers—or maybe “partners-in-Ginny-doing-crime-while-Monty-tried-to-stop-her” was the better term. Though, their making of a new friend by the name of Luna Lovegood—and a very odd but very nice girl that Harry had met over Christmas at the Weasley’s—seemed to be giving their act a little bit of balance lately.

Harry opened the bottle and took a sip, and, despite the fact that the Butterbeer wasn’t hot or nearly as sweet as the Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, despite the fact that he was sitting on the hard stone of a dark tunnel, despite the fact that he knew that someone was probably trying to kill him again, his breathing finally evened out, and an intense sense of relief washed over him. Hiding in the One-Eyed Witch passage, Harry thought, had actually been ingenious—it was one of the few places in the castle where no one could find him. Harry broke off a piece of chocolate and popped it in his mouth. It tasted like home, like Christmas morning in his pajamas, like his mum helping him with forgotten homework the night before the start of term, like him and his dad swiping candy from his mum’s secret stash hoping she wouldn’t notice.

Harry went to break off another piece and offer it to Monty, but he paused midway. His brother had brought a Butterbeer for himself, but hadn’t touched it. Instead, he sat like a cross-legged statue on the ground, so still, Harry wasn’t sure he was even blinking, staring at Harry’s still-glowing wand laying on the ground between them.

Before Harry could say anything, Monty almost seemed to mentally shake himself. He rummaged through his bag again, and pulled out some parchment, a quill, and an inkwell.

“What are you doing?”

Monty spread out the parchment on the ground. He dipped the quill in the ink and began to write, saying, “Writing Mum and Dad?” He shot Harry a quizzical glance. “They need to know what’s happening.”

A jolt of panic lanced through Harry, and before he’d realized what he was doing, he’d shot forward and slammed his hand over the parchment. “Wait,” he said desperately. “Don’t tell them yet.”

Monty jumped back. “What? Why?” he demanded. “They’re going to find out soon anyway.”

Harry’s stomach churned. “You know what’ll happen—Mum’s going to panic, and Dad’ll pretend not to do it, and then stay up all night doing it anyway.” Harry could still picture his parents’ faces in the aftermath of the events of his first and second years—drawn, tight, anxious, trying desperately to hide it.

“Panic?” Monty repeated indignantly. “Harry, of course they’re going to panic—someone put your name in the Goblet of Fire and is forcing you into a competition where you might die!” Monty stood up, staring down at Harry in disbelief. “First there’s that dream you had and your scar hurting, and now this—“

“—did you tell them about the dream?!” Harry demanded, voice rising. As much as he didn’t want anyone to know about that horrifying nightmare, it had been hard to hide it from the person who shared a room with who he woke up with his thrashing and sleep-talking in the middle of the night—so he was forced to swear him to secrecy.

“No, of course I didn’t—but I’ll admit, right now, I’m really tempted!” Monty shouted, voice cracking. “What is wrong with you, Harry? You’re so worried that Mum and Dad are going to pull you out of school to keep you safe, but I keep having nightmares about having to bury your dead body!”

Monty’s voice echoed for a long moment in the tunnel, the sound blithely bouncing along, unaware of the emotion it carried. Instant regret shot through Harry. Monty turned away, his face in profile, scrubbing furiously with the heel of his hand at his forehead. He sniffled. Was he crying? His face was too far in shadow for Harry to tell.

“Flea,” Harry said.

Monty looked up.

Harry patted the ground next to him. “Come on.

Monty hesitated for a second, then sat next to him against the wall.

Harry slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders, then reached for the chocolate and broke off a piece and handed it to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll—I’ll write to Mum and Dad in the morning.”

“…okay,” Monty said around a mouthful of chocolate. He sniffled again. “Sorry I yelled.”

“S’okay.” To be honest, seeing Monty yell at him like that had been a little bit cathartic—it had been so long since Harry had been able to make him that angry, he hadn’t been sure if he still had it in him.

“It’s just…” Monty leaned forward a little, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’ve just got this…bad feeling. Like something horrible is coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…I dunno. It’s just—I kind of was expecting something to happen last year, you know? For another professor to be hiding You-Know-Who’s face on them somewhere, or for someone in our house to turn out to be a Death Eater and try to kill you in your sleep or something. But nothing happened. And I tried to make myself believe that maybe You-Know-Who had given up on killing you, but I couldn’t. And then you heard Professor Trelawney give that prophecy. And then I heard Dad and Uncle Padfoot talking about disappearances at the Ministry. And then you had that dream. And now—this. What if—what if all this time, You-Know-Who hasn’t given up, or been trying to figure out what to do, but has just been waiting? What if you dying in this competition is his big plan?”

The entire time he’d been talking, Harry had been watching his brother closely—watched him make the exact same face he made when Harry told him about fighting Professor Quirrell or facing the basilisk—and now clearly could see the layers of worry and concern that he previously couldn’t spot. Despite the severity of the situation, Harry almost wanted to laugh—the fact that he’d been misreading his brother’s facial expressions for this long was so shameful, it was almost funny.

“Then,” Harry said simply, as much to himself as to Monty, “my job this year is to stay alive.”

He’d said it lightly, but clearly that wasn’t enough for Monty. His brother looked up at him, that fire again flickering in his eyes. “Promise me right now that you won’t die.”

It seemed like a rash promise to make, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. “I promise I won’t die,” Harry said.

“Good. Because if you do, I’ll bring you back from the dead and kill you again.”

“Not if Hermione finds me first.”

Both boys chuckled.

Harry reached across and grabbed Monty’s Butterbeer. “Drink this,” he said, handing it to him.

As Monty obediently took a swig. As he did, Harry asked, “How did you do that, anyway?”

“Do what?”

“Chew up those professors and spit them out like that.”

“I don’t really know,” Monty admitted. “Your name got called, and I kinda just panicked.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were scared?”

“Dead scared.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have known,” Harry said, impressed. “And…thanks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Monty said, giving him a quick smile—but it dropped from his face just as quickly. His eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh no.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Harry, I disrespected two visiting headmasters of foreign Wizarding schools and a Ministry of Magic representative. There’s no way I’m not getting detention.”

“I mean, possibly,” Harry said, not quite seeing what the big deal was. “It’s not the end of the world—Dad got more detentions in a month than his house would get in a year.”

“You don’t understand,” Monty said, looking pained. “If I get my first detention before Ginny does, she’s never going to let me live it down.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed—but he cut himself off quickly at the expression on Monty’s face. “Well,” Harry said, “we’d better get back to the Common Room before someone realizes we’re out of bed and makes one detention two.”

“Yeah.”

As they emerged back out into the corridor, covered by the Cloak again, Harry teased, “The One-Eyed Witch passage? Really?”

“I said I panicked.”

Chuckling under his breath, Harry led the way back up to their Common Room, laying aside thoughts of Dark Lords and death for the moment—the effort made all the easier with his brother at his side.

#honestly I don’t know if I love or hate this #I’m very self-conscious about whether or not Monty comes across as 12 here. I mean he is a mature 12 year old but still #anyway. they’re brothers your honor #if you’re curious the reason that nothing happened in year 3 is because Sirius doesn’t get sent to Azkaban in this AU so there’s no one to #come after Harry #Peter is assumed to have been killed in a duel with Sirius and Remus but did he actually die? who knows certainly not me #also my headcanon is that Harry is named after Lily’s dad so Monty is named after James’#harry potter #fleamont potter ii #Harry Potter fix-it #comfy vember 2024

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ecargmura · 6 months ago

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Wind Breaker Episode 13 Review + Final Thoughts - Second Season Announced For 2025!

With the way this episode ended, there’s definitely no way they wouldn’t announce a season 2 and they did—it’ll come out in 2025! It’s to be expected because this was one of Spring 2024’s biggest hits. I certainly enjoyed this and it’s high up on my midyear anime list that I’ll be posting next week!

Meeting with the Four Kings of Bofurin is going to help Sakura open up a lot more, even though he’s still taking baby steps. The Four Kings have such cool designs. We all know Hiiragi, but there’s also Tsubakino (he’s male), Mizuki and Momose who are very cool on their own! None of them speak, unfortunately. The purpose of the meeting with the Kings and the Grade Captains to let them know that they will always have people supporting them so it’s fine to let them rely on their senpais. Umemiya always knows how to ease someone’s spirits!

Sakura’s taking baby steps as leader of his class! He actually decides to take on Anzai’s matters into his own hands and the rest of the class tags along too because they’re a team. It’s so nice to see Sakura, who was super distrustful, slowly grow into someone who can be relied on! I really liked the scene with him talking with Anzai’s childhood friend Tsuchiya. He normally doesn’t try to start a conversation towards others, so for him to initiate talk is such a novel but welcome feeling! I even liked how Sakura was thinking about Kotoha’s advice on leaving the matter to him. If you look at Sakura at the beginning to the finale of the first season, there’s some solid growth there.

Anzai may be a bit of an obscure classmate in Sakura’s class, but It’s obvious that, while he’s a nice guy, he’s trying too much to take things by himself. He’s also a bad liar to the point that the gullible Sakura can see right through him.You know you’re a terrible liar when Sakura knows you’re lying. His story with Nagato was really sad. It’d break my heart if I learned my childhood friend was hanging out with the wrong crowd. I hope that things can patch up between him and Nagato once Furin goes to beat Keel’s ass. This might be a bit of rambling, but I just learned that his voice actor is Shogo Sakata, who’s known for voicing Aki Hayakawa from Chainsaw Man. I didn’t know he can produce such a childish voice.

Speaking of Keel, the gang is so creepy. Even when I was reading the manga, they gave me cult-like vibes. The member that Sakura meets on patrol is voiced by Junya Enoki. I’m as shocked as you are! I always familiarize Enoki with heroic roles like Totomaru Isshiki from Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective that it’s sort of hard to imagine him as a villain, but he’s here in Wind Breaker as a villain. This will seriously be a treat to watch because this is probably one of the rare times he’ll voice a villain and I can’t wait to hear it! Rambling aside, Keel is very cult-like because they have such a terrible method of discipling their members. If someone failed to do something, they get hit. It’s seriously awful. I do wonder how Nagato got entangled in all of this.

Even in the finale, the animation still is amazing. The way Anzai was fighting off Keel members and even the part where he was catching the purse thief, who turned out to be Nagato, were so good. My favorite part was when Sakura was chasing after Anzai and the camera pans to him going down the stairs and then jumps down to cut him off. Cloverworks really likes showing off why they’re so good with animation.

I seriously cannot wait for next year. It’s crazy how Wind Breaker is getting a second season already! If you’re curious about what happens next and want to read about, please start from Chapter 42, which is the beginning of Volume 6! Season 1 covered the first 5 volumes! I wonder how many volumes the next season will cover. What are your thoughts on the finale?

Final Thoughts

To be very honest, Wind Breaker was one of those animes that I wanted to watch primarily because of the stellar voice cast and that I had a very sour experience watching Bucchigiri, which was also about gang fighting. However, it slowly became one of the most exciting anime watching experiences I had. It’s because of Wind Breaker that I got a lot more online friends! It’s always nice to meet new people who watch the same things as you! While the anime is fun, I think what I gained these past three months feels as precious. Seriously, it’s such an amazing feeling.

Wind Breaker may be a straightforward story about gang fights and action, but the writing is a lot more heartwarming than you expect. It’s more about seeing the characters, specifically the MC Sakura, learn and grow. We learn why Sakura is the way he is and how being around people is beneficial for him. The concept of him going to a delinquent high school, but it’s also a place where the delinquents also have double duty as police officers of sorts. I also love that the fighting is just pure action and not crazy magic stuff. I love that it’s a little different from the usual delinquent stories in that it focuses more on characters and not fighting all the time.

The characters are the highlight of the show. Each of them have their own unique design and personality. It’s just so nice to see how well they mesh together. Not only does Furin have intricate designs, but Shishitoren does too! My favorite part of the characters is learning that their names have a theme! Bofurin characters’ names all revolve around plants. Shishitoren’s names revolve around animals. I can tell the author took so much time and effort to name these characters. As a writer myself, naming characters is both the funnest and the most tiresome aspect of the writing process.

Cloverworks did an amazing job with the anime adaptation. From the memorable first episode where Sakura goes all out against a gang by himself to animating the Shishitoren fights were so great. Though, my favorite part of the animation was seeing the studio elevate some of the characters’ backstories. I really loved how they animated Togame and Choji’s backstory! Togame got a backstory extension and Choji had such quality detail in his! Let’s just hope they keep that quality next season and not turn it into a mess like The Promised Neverland Season 2. Don’t f*** this up, please. The music was also really nice! The OP and ED songs were catchy and the OST were good! I especially loved the song Stronger! I love how there’s a piano remix of it too whenever something emotional happens.

The voice actors are seriously amazing. They legit casted extremely star-studded voice actors for this anime. We’ve got Yuma Uchida as Sakura, Nobunaga Shimazaki as Suo, Koki Uchiyama as Sugishita, and even Yuichi Nakamura as Umemiya. Look at those names! Shishitoren got some big names too like Yuichiro Umehara as Togame and Chiaki Kobayashi as Sako. If they’re going all out for this season, I can’t wait to see who’d they cast for the Keel characters because having Junya Enoki as one of the members is INSANE!

Like I said before, if you want to start reading the manga, start from Chapter 42 because Episode 13 ends on Chapter 41. I hope that you all had a wonderful experience with this manga! I hope that energy returns next year!

#wind breaker #windbreaker #sakura haruka #Anzai masaki #tsuchiya #nagato #keel #Tsubakino tasuku #Mizuki saku #Momose takumi #Hiiragi touma #review #anime #anime review #final thoughts #ecargmura #arum journal

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thecouchsofa · 9 months ago

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round 2. i did not know you didnt do x reader, nor non-canon characters.

54+67 mashup please

draco x harry

can't wait to see it!

thank you

This one I can definitely do!

Fanfiction trope mashup - Secret relationship x Character in peril

“Where the fuck is he?”

The shitty plastic hospital chair creaked warningly as Ron leapt to his feet, pointing his wand at the door. It burst open to reveal a rather harried looking Malfoy with a nurse on his heels. Though Ron’s eyes were red and swollen at that point, stinging something awful, he could clearly see the panic writ across Malfoy’s face. His eyes were wild, like a startled animal, and uncontrolled magic was coming off him in waves. Ron had never seen anything like it, not since–

Malfoy’s voice was low, a rumble that had goosebumps rising on Ron’s arms, as he said “Point your fucking wand at me again and see what happens.”

It would be ridiculously easy for Ron to disarm Malfoy, even in his current state, completely wrecked and running off an hour’s sleep. He was combat trained; Malfoy wasn’t. He’d have the backing of every Healer in the hospital; Malfoy wouldn’t. He had a reason to be there; why Malfoy was there, shouting and carrying on and looking like he might keel over, was anyone’s guess.

“Mr Weasley,” the nurse called out, brushing past Malfoy and placing herself between him and Harry. “I’m so sorry, security is on their way now.”

Malfoy made a choked noise as he stared at Harry, lying silent in the hospital bed. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t … why isn’t he healing?”

Something in his voice made Ron pause. It wasn’t the mocking, aggressive lilt that he’d gotten to know well in his teen years. Malfoy sounded scared, panicked. His whole body was shaking; the tremors in his hands were so strong he looked like he might drop his wand.

“It’s alright,” Ron said quietly. “Let him stay.”

Malfoy didn’t seem to hear him, his attention fixed firmly on Harry. He let out a sob when the nurse left, closing the door with a huff. There was something there, something that Ron wasn’t getting.

“Hey,” Ron whispered. He stepped towards Malfoy, gently grabbing his hand. He took Malfoy’s wand from his shaking fingers, slipping it into his front pocket. “You know I have questions, yeah?”

Malfoy’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Yes.” He didn’t look at Ron; Ron might as well have not been there. “I … it wasn’t my place to say anything.”

A dry laugh pulled itself from Ron’s chest. He nodded at Harry, lying unconscious in the bed. “He’s a bit of an idiot, isn’t he?”

The shakes increased as Malfoy started to gasp. Whether he was crying or not, Ron had no idea. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Go to him.” Ron knew it now, clear as day. “Help him. He needs you.”

Malfoy nodded, the movement jerky. He fell into the chair that Ron had vacated, reaching for Harry and linking their fingers together.

“He’s drained his magical core,” Ron said. His gaze settled on the haze of magic around Harry’s bed, the monitoring spells in blue and red and green. “At first they said that he’d be alright, but…”

“He’s gotten worse?” Malfoy took a deep breath. The chair squeaked when he shifted closer to the bed. “He won’t now. He’ll be fine.”

“You can’t ask your father to fix this one,” Ron joked. He winced as soon as the words left his mouth, but Malfoy didn’t seem to take offence. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards as he pressed Harry’s knuckles to his lips.

“I won’t need to. I’ll do it myself.”

It took hours, but Malfoy made good on his promise. Ron watched as the monitoring spells glistened and lightened, as Malfoy’s magic swirled in the air, rushing into Harry and then emerging again, cyclical.

It was dark when Harry’s eyes opened, only the sheen of magic there to light the room. The first word from his lips – the only word, repeated over and over – was Draco.

Send me two tropes and I'll mash them together

#ask game #my stuff #drarry #drarry fics #hpdm

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jilyydoe · 3 months ago

Text

Harry shifted slightly before groaning out loud.

His voice barley coming out strangled and hoarse. His throat scratchy and dry.

It took a few delayed seconds before he could pry his eyes open before quickly screwing them closed against the assaulting bright light of his sitting room.

He attempted sitting up a bit too quickly before his vision swam, and a wave of nausea turned his stomach violently.

He slouched back against the sofa, the heel of his palm digging into his eye socket while his other hand danced around for his glasses.

"Kreature.." Harry croaked out

"Master Harry called for Kreature sir?" A blurry blob appeared before him

"My glasses Kreature..have you seen them?" Harry reached out with one arms waving in front of him in the general direction of what he now assumed was his house elf.

When he felt the cool metal frames press into his hand he shuddered a sigh of relief. "Some water as well please"

Harry's head hung limply between his knees, glasses dangling from his fingers until Kreature came back handing him a tall glass.

Harry gulped the drink down in three swallows, the chilled liquid cooling his burning throat.

Shoving his glasses back on his face helped only in that things became less blurry but with each sudden movement his world spun slowly In front of him making him clutch the sofa tightly to keep from keeling over.

He opened his eyes wearily and glanced around the place.

His cloak was thrown haphazardly in the entrance to them room. One shoe sat turned upside-down next to the couch, the other near the fireplace. His wand lay nestled on the plush carpet by his feet. His clothes were rumpled and there was a pink smudged stain on his shoulder.

Harry frowned at the swipe of lipstick on his shirt until suddenly the memories from last night came crashing back in place.

He was going to kill George.

Harry and Ron had just come back from assignment. A rather rough mission that hadn't gone well. 2 weeks in a cold damp climate only to lose half their supplies and 1 of the 2 suspects they were trailing to the mountains. It had reminded Harry so much of the horcrux hunt that it brought back nightmares enough to lose sleep.

So when they came back to England they jumped at George's offer to meet at the pub.

Snippets of memories flashed before his eyes making him groan in despair.

A table full of shots.

The celebratory sound of the Harpies winning a match against the wasps on an amplified wireless in the background

George's loud laugh.

Ron's hand thumping against his back.

The scratchy nails of a blonde woman gripping his biceps as she leaned up to his face.

Harry jerked sideways both in the memory and in the present. Bringing his attention back into focus and resting on the low coffee table in front of him.

That explained the lipstick stain.

So what explains the mess of parchment and ink before him?

Another wave of nausea hit for an entirely different reason than the alcohol he undoubtedly consumed last night.

He was going to kill Hermione.

It had been her idea. All those years ago. When they were camped in the forest on the hunt for horcruxes.

His mind, his body his whole being had been at war with his heart. He was having trouble focusing. Losing sleep. All because he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Ginny.

He longed to hold her. Kiss her. Talk to her. Just be near her.

He hadn't pursued a relationship with her because he had a job to do. One that required his full focus and attention, but sitting there in the cold, he could only think of her. And that was dangerous. Because if Voldemort could get into his head, then he would see how much she meant to him and he would use her, and Harry couldn't let that happen.

And that's when Hermiones bright idea came into play.

"Write her a letter. Tell her how you feel. Get it all out. Out of your heart and out of your head."

"And then burn it."

And it worked. Back then. It worked well enough for Harry to be able to push forward and defeat Voldemort.

It worked when the war was over and they had to greive their lost loved ones.

It worked when Ginny had to go back to school and Harry had to start training.

It worked when Ginny had been recruited to the Holyhead Harpies and dedicated all her time and energy on quidditch.

It worked in Harry's mind enough to allow her the life she deserved without the burden of his unrequited feelings weighing her down.

His heart still longed for her, though.

And maybe it was the conditions of the mission. Maybe it was the flirty blonde, maybe it was definitely the alcohol, but last night Harry was sure he wrote another letter.

His eyes widened at the ink stains on his hand and leapt toward the table frantically looking for the letter but coming up quite literally blank.

The parchments were all blank, but Harry could see the words burned into the inside of his eyelids.

"Ginny. Gin. Ginevra.

You're as beautiful as a golden snitch

You're the keeper of my heart

I wish you were mine

All of the time

I love you more than treacle tart."

No.no.no.no.no.no

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't possibly be happening.

The fireplace stood as cold and empty as the creeping feeling, making its way up his chest.

Surely he didn't send the letter...he couldn't have.

That's when Hedwig appeared swooping in through the window.

An invitation to dinner at the burrow written in Ginnys neat handwriting clutched in her claws.

#hinny #ginny weasley #harry james potter #my fic

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amarylliasky · 4 months ago

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Number 30! So close!

Another part of the Daffodils and the Meaning of au! I know this au started centered around Choi Han, but I just have too many thoughts about Cale’s life.

Kim Rok Soo, Cale Henituse

Kim Rok Soo, no, Cale didn’t know what to make of his new family.

They were…nice? He supposed? He really didn’t know enough about them to make a solid judgement. At the very least, they seem to genuinely care for him, which is more than he could say for anyone else prior to his adoption. But then again, he thought his uncle had cared about him too. Of course, they looked pretty upset after being told about how his uncle had treated him, so he couple probably rule out the possibility of them beating him.

Small mercies.

He could tell they didn’t know how to act around him. That much is obvious in the way that Mister Hen-Father addressed him. Like he’s talking to a stranger. One with a very familiar face, who happened to look exactly like his dead wife. He couldn’t imagine how it felt. And he’s not quite sure how to act around the man who claimed to be his father either.

The other members of the family weren’t any less awkward, they might be even more so, actually. What do you even say to the long lost son of your father/husband who’s just up and waltzed into your life after years of established relationship?

On all accounts, he is a stranger in this house. He is the only one who doesn’t belong here.

Aside from that fact, he couldn’t say that the last few weeks have been unpleasant. After all, he had a warm bed, clean clothes, and more food than he could eat in a lifetime. In fact, if he were to spend the rest of his life a stranger to these people and only interact with others when addressed, he can’t say he would mind. Aside from the awkward pleasantries with the house’s occupants, the servants are very courteous and only bother him about his well being, an ideal way to live a peaceful life.

At least, that’s what he thought before he met his personal butler and chef.

First of all, he had frequently stated that he didn’t need any servants assigned to him, but the Henituse couple had insisted on at least two. Not wanting to upset them after he’d been treated so well, he had relented to their wishes. But he had almost wished he hadn’t. He’d almost had a heart attack after meeting who would serve him for the foreseeable future.

While the deputy butler who was primarily in charge of his meals and basic needs was a little awkward and quirky, he wasn’t all that bad to have around. No, he wasn’t bad at all. But the other two were where the real problem lied.

His personal butler, Ron was an utterly terrifying man. With a benign smile and all observing eyes, the old man made him feel like prey in front of a predator. He felt like if he made one wrong move, his throat might be slit in his sleep. The man’s son was no less scary.

Beacrox was to be his personal chef, and he was also terrifying. Cale was sure that his knives had been used for more than just cooking before. He was also a germaphobe, but that was the least of Cale’s worries.

Suffice to say, he’d almost keeled over right there and then. However, he couldn’t turn away the servants that his father had personally picked. And it was only made worse when he found out that they had previously been employed by the man’s late wife. His mother. Turning them away would be like insinuating that his mother didn’t know what she was doing hiring them. And he would never insult the dead, he may be a bad person, but he’s not that terrible.

So he was left no choice but to let them be. At least he got some good food out of it. Seriously, Beacrox’s cooking is heavenly. At this point, he wouldn’t mind being poisoned by the chef if it’s from food this good.

Scariness aside, the two didn’t treat him badly. In fact, they treated him like a king! Or how he would imagine a king to be treated. Was this how rich people always lived? He could see the appeal. Maybe he could learn to deal with having them as servants? Of course he can, he’s lived in worse conditions before anyways.

————-

Lately, Ron has noticed some interesting things regarding his new charge.

Young master Cale, who previously went by the name Kim Rok Soo, was quite a shy child. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, it was always in short sentences and said with the utmost respect, even to the servants. Ron began to wonder what this little puppy-like young master’s life was like prior to being taken in by the Henituse couple.

So he’d done some research. According to the staff, the young master was the lost child of the late Jour Henituse. Well, that much was obvious, but what wasn’t quite as obvious was the fact that the boy had apparently been taken in by a different couple and even received a new name altogether.

Kim Rok Soo was said to have lost his parents at the age of six, before staying in an orphanage, then later being taken in by a “relative.” According to various eyewitness reports and the child’s own testimony, that relative had abused him until the authorities were forced to step in and he was again placed in an orphanage.

Here’s the interesting part. Shortly before his being taken in by child services, the boy had been taken to a local hospital by an elderly couple, who took the liberty of paying for his bills and trying to locate any other living relatives. Well, the story goes that the boy’s “uncle” wasn’t related to him at all and in fact, the child hadn’t even been related to his so-called parents. Of course, the boy was ignorant of this fact until a mere few weeks ago when the authorities were finally able to narrow down who the child’s parents actually were. Imagine their surprise when the boy turned out to be the son of Deruth and Jour Henituse.

After they made contact, the Henituse’s wasted no time in bringing the boy home, much to “Kim Rok Soo’s” utter bewilderment. The poor boy must have faced quite the shock from the whole ordeal. He had gone through so much for a child of merely fourteen.

Ron had only met Rok Soo, or Cale, a few days prior. When he’d been offered the position of Cale’s personal butler, he had wasted no time in accepting. He and his son owed their lives to Lady Jour and thus, it was only right to be the ones to serve her only son. As someone who witnessed first hand how devastated she was by the loss of that same son, he felt it was his responsibility to do whatever he could for the boy now. His son Beacrox didn’t have any objections to the idea, even empathizing a bit with the situation, so they’d both made the arrangements and met with the young master shortly after.

Initially, young master Cale had been quite afraid of them, but he’d soon learned to hide it well enough. Well, for most people anyway. Though it was quite amusing to watch the puppy recoil at the lemonade he served, but drink it anyway, his reactions did strike a nerve with Ron. Disregarding the fact that Ron is who he is, the boy was unusually nervous around other people, especially adults. Well, it’s no wonder, with everything that Ron has heard. And he’s sure that the boy has experienced far more than what’s on paper.

Well, it has been too long since he’d done some reconnaissance of his own, he’s feeling a bit rusty. It might be time to repay all his debts in full.

Nonetheless, Ron will continue to serve and observe his new young master for as long as the child needs him. Who knew that he would find a new purpose in his old age? Ho! This boy will surely bring forth many more surprises in the near future.

#lcf #lout of count’s family #tcf #trash of the count's family #rraes lcf countdown2024 #lcf aus #tcf aus #kim rok soo #cale henituse #ron molan

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