Think someone might be able to help me put a name to some manga i read years ago? i know there was romance and magic and i think the main character did archery as a school thing or a club.
the ONLY part i remember is that she wants to confess her feelings for the male lead, but a jealous other person put a curse on him that if she were to tell him, he would die
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A/N: not sure yet if this is the final chapter but I got more ideas for this au that I'm gonna work on for a minute anyway lol no tag for the second character because they're a mystery :3c
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Over the days--weeks? months??--the void had gotten no clearer, nor any easier to navigate and keep aware of his surroundings.
Still all he could tell from the darkness was the cell, the bed and the table with the radio; he still hadn't had the guts to touch that, yet. Despite all of his time here, he hadn't gotten bored enough. Not yet.
Why was he so scared to touch it, anyway? Was it just the eerie atmosphere? Being one of the only objects in this void room?
There were only guesses, though he had more questions than anything at this point.
Every so often he'd be fed by the apparently disembodied robotic voice, and not unlike the first moment he'd arrived, the food was always soggy, undercooked, overcooked, or something of that nature. Horrendous, but he didn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't eat, either.
His chest ached constantly, as did his head.
Sometimes some dark stain would bloom out on his shirt, right where he'd been shot, but then it'd go right back away, as if it was all a hallucination. And maybe it was. He was probably going crazy in here, there was no doubt about that. But he'd always prided himself on being strong-willed; stubborn, some might say, but it hadn't lead him much astray so far--
Not until this.
Jameson's warnings, the pull of magic, responded to his emotions, as if he could feel it all over again.
The cold ice path beneath his feet as he slid and joked, the skateboard appearing in his hands and then dragging noisily along the ice.
He remembered the way Jameson had held himself higher up to watch for everything. He should have listened, he should have known James was trying to keep him safe. But he was trying to entertain the kids instead.
Instead, he traumatised the whole group. Selfish, selfish, selfish!
He kicked the leg of the table the radio was on before he even realised he was doing it, the table loudly moving, and Chase screeching and cursing in pain.
Then shock flooded his system, because... pain? Non-psychological pain. That was the first bit of anything of the sort he'd felt since he'd gotten here and landed on the floor, thinking he'd broken his back.
A shocked laugh escaped his throat, his face breaking into a grin.
Whatever day it was, it couldn't possibly get any better than knowing that, maybe, he still had a chance at this. Getting out of here? Well, maybe. But living!
The thought made him want to scream to get some energy out, but he couldn't because a moment later a plate was sliding out of the darkness and he ran to it like a dog who'd never eaten, despite the always disappointing taste or texture, grabbing the bowl of soup (that was a first) immediately in hungry hands and beginning to sip at it, not bothering with chit-chat.
His day somehow did get better. It was a basic vegetable soup, chunky with bits of carrots and onions and celery, but also thick and smooth with... maybe a tomato-potato base to the broth?
He didn't care, because it tasted heavenly. And the speed at which he finished it must have said that.
As soon as he placed the bowl back down to gulp the--very metallic-tasting, bleh--water, the voice spoke, close to the 'outside' of his entrapment.
"You enjoyed the soup," it stated, forcing Chase to jump back out of fright and choke on some of his water.
He spluttered for a moment before his brain caught up to him. "Oh, fuck yeah, that was a real good bowl of soup. Who made that? You?" he asked, hoping to strike a conversation. He'd asked this nearly every time food was provided to him, in hopes he might get an answer.
There was a pause and shuffling. "I do not make any of the food you acquire," was all it said, once again.
Chase rolled his eyes. "You gonna tell me who does? Because that was bomb." There was only silence to show for his question. He slid the plate back out into the void darkness, waving his hands around as he talked. "Like, I get you're kinda captive, too, but is there really nothing you can say? I just want to know how I can help you!"
"You can't help," it said in a rush, the automated voice becoming more emotional. Or maybe that was Chase's brain playing tricks on him after so long without hearing a natural voice. Another pause. "I will be back soon."
Chase blinked. That was a first. He wasn't sure what to make of that. Was the one the voice was so scared of out right now that he had more freedom? This might actually be his chance.
He waited and waited, winding up on the bed to rest. All he had to entertain him was his yellow cap, which he tossed in the air and caught on the top of the water bottle, spinning it coolly and chuckling.
"That looks fun."
Chase looked out into the darkness on instinct then turned his attention back to the water bottle. "It's something," he said back. "I'd offer you a turn but, you know."
"I would like to try," the automated voice proclaimed with all the confidence in the world. "If that's okay with you."
Once again, Chase glanced into the darkness. "Well, uhm..." The silence didn't feel as tense this time. "Okay."
He got back up off the bed and sat by the voice, sliding thr two items out of his sight. He worried a little he might lose his hat doing this, but that was a risk he was willing to take if it meant spending more time with, and thus getting more information out of, the only person he had contact with.
The shifting sounds of fabric rang out and he watched as his hat and the bottle returned to his vision and rose up into the air. His jaw dropped open.
Nothing was physically holding them except some sort of wispy mist that hurt his eyes to look at.
The voice was silent as the hat flew up and fell back down onto the bottle with a somewhat dramatic spin.
"That was a hella cool trick!" Chase praised. "You're a fast learner, but I'm confused. Are you disembodied or not? Like, what is all of this?"
He reached forward to gesture at all of the mist but didn't dare actually touch it. The voice seemed to understand, taking a moment to respond; typing?
"It is the embodiment of my soul. The same as what you are made of, though you cannot see, only I can."
Chase pulled his hand back slowly, eyes wide. "What?" he asked gently.
It paused for a second, too. "I'm sorry to tell you like this, but, you already know you are dead, don't you?"
"I- I could have guessed that, yeah. I-- got shot in the fucking chest and fell 20 feet out of the air, man! There wasn't even a chance of surviving that." He held his head as the information, what he'd been waiting for, digging for, sank in and made his temple begin to weep blood onto the shoulder of his jacket. His first wound once again reopening wetly, only to disappear moments later. "Fuck! Why does this shit happen to me, then?!"
"Your wounds are metaphysical. The exist attached to the body you see and feel, but they are not actually there, hence they don't last long. Reminders, so to say."
Chase got up and kicked the table again, grabbing his toes as the pain from that coursed through him once more. "And that?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"Chase Brody, I highly recommend you to calm down."
"You sound like a fucking cop or something!" Chase wailed suddenly, turning back on the voice. "Just give me a straight answer!"
He was cracking, he could feel it. Surprised it took him this long, to be honest, but it felt good to get all of this energy out in a way. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest to burst like this, but if this was just where his soul was residing, it was some kind of hell and it deserved what it got.
"It is the same reason you feel anything. Guilt, shame, those are the things you felt in your last moments, so they will be with you for the remainder of your time here."
"The--" Chase said, suddenly a lot calmer. "The remainder of my time here? Does-- does that mean I'm going somewhere else?"
"Eventually," it said. "Maybe we will both return to the walking world in different forms, maybe we won't and we'll meet one another again in an afterlife. One can never be too sure about these things. Nothing is guaranteed."
Chase's brain fucking hurt. "God, you are cryptic, I-- wait, meet one another again? Again, as in we knew each other once?"
"I." The device became quiet.
"Hey!" Chase called as his hat and bottle dropped to the floor. He went to retrieve them, further out into the darkness than he usually dared to venture. Right where the mist hands were, but there was nothing. No sign anything was even here. "Hello?!"
It remained silent around him and he collapsed to his knees on the floor, another pain washing through him, but now he knew it was fake, a reminder, he abhorred thinking into it too much.
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When I was a kid I used to go to places like flea markets, and dollar stores, and see all of these bootleg toys for various tokusatus shows (mostly Sentai, and Metal Hero), and I heard stories about things like Tacky Stretchoid Warriors, and other attempts to localize Toei properties or at lest their merchandise.
And because of that sometimes when I watch Toei superhero shows from the late 80s, and early 90s I sometimes think I saw them before or at least saw a commercial for the toys that used footage from the shows.
You know when you remember setting alarm but it turns out you didn’t and so you miss something important? My memory scares me man. I remembering setting the alarm, the screen I liked at when setting it, the lighting of the room at the time, even what position I was sitting in but it wasn’t set the next morning so I guess I missed a step some how.
