takaoxhiromi

[takaoxhiromi]

Mayblade Day 6

[previous: chapter 1 & 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5]

CHAPTER 6 prompt: restrain characters: hiromi, salima, max, takao, kyouju pairings: hiromi/takao, max/rei

On some stealthy occasion, Hiromi had begun to habitually chat with not just Emily but Salima and Ayaka as well between classes. Instead of hiding behind books and spending the recess doing the day’s homework in advance, she was being social. Making friends. In Hiromi’s world, the change from before was huge.

Here she was on a Wednesday morning, candidly talking about all the clubs she’d visited so far. It was becoming a game of sorts, for her to collect club experiences so the rest could hear funny stories about them. The girls were looking forward to new tales from her henceforth and she felt almost popular all of a sudden.

“How about coming to the kendo club next?” Salima then suggested, “Since you’ve been checking out so many sports ones already. We have practice every Monday and Thursday, sometimes on weekends too.”

Hiromi’s smile faltered. Digging her thumbs deep into her palms, she fought hard to not let the pang of apprehension show on her face.

“Kendo?” A nervous giggle followed. “Ahaha… Yeah, maybe. I guess it could be, um, interesting…” And, in a borderline compulsive fashion, her eyes threatened to wander in the direction of the number one most bothersome kendo connoisseur that she knew.

Luckily, Takao wasn’t at his desk. Of course he wasn’t – if he had been, she would have heard his voice, the never-ending familiar chatter coming from him and his pals’ way. That guy never, ever shut up.

The kendo club was the one club she had no plans to go check out. But how could she have said so to Salima, her freshly made friend whom she didn’t want to disappoint first thing into their budding friendship? Would Salima be mad if she didn’t go? This was exactly the problem with relationships, with people in general. It was a never-ending war of wading through the troublesome waters of needing to meet expectations, all the while not being too weird but not too boring either. Girls got gossipy the moment anyone in their vicinity did anything worth blathering about, guys pretended to be gentlemanly one moment and turned into animals the next, and she’d yet to make acquaintance with anyone in between.

Speaking of which, Hiromi again noted that Salima was uncharacteristically alone that morning. No sign of Kane in their homeroom yet. Maybe they weren’t as inseparable as she’d imagined while quietly observing the class from behind her notes every day… or maybe something had gone awry between the two.

It wasn't any of her business to be nosy about, though.

During lunch break, there was an unexpected school-wide announcement, a booming voice from the intercom stating that all students were expected to gather at the gym in fifteen minutes.

Hiromi, who had thought she’d have plenty of time to slowly enjoy her home-cooked meal and dessert pudding with a book, ended up running down the corridors while madly shoveling the chocolate pudding into her mouth; then, as she stumbled down the stairs, she dropped some on her shirt and had to waste another minute or two rushing into the nearest bathroom to rinse it off, she’d have rather died than made an appearance in front of the entire school with brown stains on her clothes.

The door she’d stormed through had not been that of a ladies’ room. This only became apparent to her when a now oddly familiar voice greeted her: “You again! Huh, we bump into each other often these days, don’t we?”

It was Max, somehow, again indeed. Washing his hands at the neighboring sink, grinning at her. This was when Hiromi realized it was the wrong bathroom and the already chaotic scene was turning worse each passing second.

“Wow, sorry. I didn’t mean to, uhh… I had an emergency.” Obvious enough – she was borderline swimming in the sink. She quietly hoped she hadn’t stormed in at an inappropriate time just then. Since when had she become such a klutz?

But Max was unfazed. He smiled that goofy smile of his and opened the door to her. “Let’s get going, we’re a minute late already.”

They weren’t the only ones. The main corridor was swarming, everyone scrambling in a mad rush due to the surprise announcement. Max was ushering Hiromi forward and, at the gym doors, said he saw where his friends were sitting and promptly steered Hiromi in their direction before him. She let him guide her, didn’t care where she’d sit so long as they'd get away from the claustrophobic crowd blocking the corridor.

But Hiromi had forgotten whom Max was friends with. A minute later, she found herself at the bleachers, squeezed tight between Max and who else but Takao. It was already too late to run or hide now; they were sandwiched, wedged in place already, the bench filling fast from both ends.

Oh, shit. Their shoulders were touching. Even their arms, elbows were touching. She hadn’t been this close to him in ten years, literally. Hiromi’s head felt hot, her brain frying under the gym’s blasting ceiling lights.

“Hey,” she heard Takao greet her – or Max, or both, or everyone. Hiromi let out some kind of guttural noise in reply that he probably couldn’t hear through the clatter; the ruckus in the gym was beastly, a roar of voices that ricocheted off the tall walls and billowed right back at them.

“Oh, Miss Tachibana,” said the surprised pipsqueak voice of Professor from beyond Takao. The shorter boy was crouching to see past his friend, as if there was something worth seeing about Hiromi sitting there. “Where did you come from?”

“I picked her up on the way,” was Max the one to reply, flashing a peace sign at the guys. This response appeased Professor, and Hiromi wondered if it was typical for the blond to go around “picking people up”. He did seem almost overwhelmingly friendly, brisk and bubbly and bouncy like a superball. Easy to like but rather hard to grasp or follow in his antics.

To her relief, the mass of noise and rumble was finally quelled by one of the student representatives taking the stage. Hiromi made herself as small as possible, drilled her eyes into the representative, and decided to ignore the alarming lack of space between her and Takao who pressed against her right side…

Don’t even think about it. Just ignore it. Pretend we’re not basically glued together right now.

…and no more than ten seconds later thought she caught the nostalgic waft of mint floating in the air. Takao had liked chewing on mint as a kid, hadn’t he? But it could as well have been anyone else in the tightly packed crowd. She mentally kicked herself and felt like sulking.

The point of the assembly turned out to be nothing more but announcing the school’s upcoming joint events. Why this warranted such a dramatic set-up and last minute announcement, Hiromi couldn’t fathom. There was a bake sale event for gathering fieldtrip funds coming up in a month’s time and each class needed students to volunteer, some to do the actual selling, some for auxiliary performances to draw more people in. The latter would be largely delegated to the applicable clubs. A few weeks after the bake sale would be the annual sports day, a big deal for the sports clubs in particular, but everyone else was encouraged to join as well. And finally, the crown jewel of the school year, the annual end-of-year ball that doubled as a themed costume party, would take place in two months. Students had three weeks to submit their ideas for this year’s party theme to the student council.

Hiromi, who hadn’t been attending any of the school’s social events so far, was dismissive about the announcements at first. Then, with crawling anticipation, began wondering if she should try and do some activities after all, now that her school life had been plunged into total turmoil anyway. A bake sale didn’t sound too bad – and she already knew her mother would want to come and support the class efforts. The sports day didn’t interest her as much but would probably be significant to Emily. And the prom… well, that one wasn’t for the likes of her. She bet it would be all about the popular people asking each other out…

Lost in thought, she’d let her eyes meander… and after a moment or a few, noted that they’d landed on the screen of a phone with strikingly orange covers that Max had been fiddling with throughout the assembly. His thumbs continued working the screen, typing a message.

She hadn’t meant to snoop on him. They just happened to be squished together shoulder to shoulder, hardly inches apart, and he was doing nothing to conceal his phone screen from preying eyes. So, in her absence of mind, she fixed her gaze on the messaging app and ended up blatantly staring at his text exchange with someone. The recipient’s name at the top said “Rei”, the round profile icon black and white and too tiny for her to make out.

Hiromi watched Max type a message: “Hey, remember when we talked about the new place that opened at the mall?” Then watched him erase it. He started over: “So, are you free tomorrow?” He hesitated for a moment. Began erasing the message, typed: “So, do you have practice tomorrow?” Then erased that as well. “So, are you with” – this one he didn’t even finish before retracting. And the next iteration began.

It was starting to feel like she was witnessing the most awkward attempt at asking someone to hang out in the history of texting. Then again, said history should probably have included herself as the number one offender. She was terrible at texting and hardly had anyone to message in the first place. At least this boy was trying.

Eventually, Max lowered the orange phone and turned the screen off without sending a thing. This snapped Hiromi out of it; she panicked, realizing what she’d been doing, and turned away. She proceeded to pretend to have been staring ahead all along, nervous sweat dampening her brow at the thought of Max catching her spying. But was he the kind of guy to mind, really? He’d been remarkably laid-back in all their interactions so far. She half expected him to crack a suave joke about it…

But he said nothing. Maybe he hadn’t noticed after all.

As soon as the assembly was over, Hiromi squirmed herself free and bolted out of there, leaving the guys to gush about the sports day among themselves. She didn’t look back – and tried not to think about the hint of mint that still lingered on the tip of her tongue and in the back of her memories.

#type: fic #user: misdre #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

16. Bouquet

a lil tyhil

#type: fanart #user: teabiscs #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

It looks like a cute after school romance (๑>◡<๑)~ ♡

Dear @velox-the-knight, I hope you like your two lovebirds! (* ´ ꒳ ` *) I used the uniforms from your cute Mayblade drawing :3

#type: fanart #user: evallina #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

UNDER THE SAKURAS: MAYBLADE 2023, DAY 19 - TREE

[Note: I am out of station at the moment, with my joint family. Hence I am not able to publish this from Fanfiction or archive. And this is more like a drabble due to lackluster of time from my side.

This is also a side story of my previous fanfiction, 'The Young Lord's Legacy'.]

Header by @[saradika]

Series: Miles to go

Fandom: Bakuten Shoot Beyblade

Genre: Spiritual/romance

Setting: Taisho Era Japan

Major Characters: Takao Kinomiya/Tyson Granger, Hiromi Tachibana/Hilary Tachibana

Minor characters: Yamashita Kane, Salima

Pairing: Takao/Hiromi (main), Kane/Salima (minor)

Rating: K+

Summary: Takao feels different when he is under the cherry blossom tree.

After the heavy toil, Takao ventured out into the forests in the hot afternoon. He felt the scorching rays stabbing his skin, thereby tanning his skin. The sweat bathed his body and drenched his gray-blue and navy blue Hakama and sash. His tired deep maroon eyes were thinned by his eyelids. He was about to faint, till his field of vision caught a group of Sakura trees.

Despite the Spring, there were groups of lush green-leaved trees seen. The Sakura seemed distinct from them.

He went and sat under one of the cherry blossom trees. His light head returned back to its normal state, the tiredness dipped every second. He felt afresh, as if he was about to work. The sudden change short-circuited Takao. He walked around to see if there was anything mysterious. The further stretch of the forest was devoid of anything but those beautiful cherry blossoms. He walked and the scene was extremely serene. There was a beautiful lake tainted with the pink petals aesthetically with swans and ducks. There were rabbits roaming around the lake.

Edo never had such a beautiful site. Much to his awe, he saw a beautiful woman with auburn hair. Her Ruby-red eyes were enchanting, and the warrior could drown himself into them. Her long hair was fluttering in the air. She seemed like a goddess who descended in human form. Her red Kimono knew no limits. It was floating as if it never had an end. She was well garnished with accessories.

She turned to him after noticing his presence. Takao's heart skipped a beat after seeing her. His cheeks were stained with red hues. He walked slowly towards her, taking his time to admire her beauty. A smile bloomed on her face.

Everything seemed slow around them. They were slowly decreasing the distance between them.

Takao asked her, "My Lady, shall I know who you are?"

She didn't respond. The smile was intact.

"Can't you speak?"

Takao was clueless.

'She seems like a celestial from heaven, but why can't she speak?'

.

.

.

Takao found himself under the same Sakura tree, before he got up to see the extent.

"Was it a dream? But why do I feel so fresh here?"

"Kinomiya?! What are you doing here? You were supposed to carry a message to my father in the dojo." A blue-head remarked, coming with a scarlet beside him.

"Yamashita-sama?" Takao stood up.

"You can sit down. You seem so exhausted."

Sarima fed him some water.

"I see you both so often. I don't see you with Goki and Jim. What's the secret?" Takao asked with a smug face.

Sarima bent down. Kane gently smiled, and said in a low tone, "We confessed to each other some time ago."

"Woah! But, what would the elders think of you both?"

"That's none of our business. All that matters to us is we love each other." Kane placed his hand on her shoulder. Sarima snuggled to him.

"I see, then get ready to elope. Or try convincing your families till then!"

"We have some time for that, Takao. Till then, we'll spend our days enjoying each other's presence."

"Well then. I'll reach your dojo. See you later, Yamashita-sama!"

"Don't call me sama, I'm your friend."

'Ah man, Kane... I've gotten a beautiful woman too. Do you know? She is not an ordinary human. Because there are no differences when it comes to love, right?"

1 | 2

#type: fic #user: blossommoonwrites #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

Mayblade Day 7

[previous: chapter 1 & 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6]

CHAPTER 7 prompt: duty characters: hiromi, salima, emily, kane, takao, mao, rei, max pairings: hiromi/takao, implied kane/salima

Something was off about Salima. Despite the novelty of their friendship, Hiromi could tell.

To begin with, the fact that she’d been coming to class separately from Kane for a week was unusual in the inseparable duo’s standards. At first, Hiromi had thought that perhaps her responsibilities in the council had increased, her schedule no longer accommodating doing everything in tandem with him, and while the former was certainly true with the approaching bake sale and all, they no longer did anything together in class either. And Salima, who was so cool and collected and kind, was suddenly sulky, quiet, and miserable like an abandoned puppy.

Hiromi was surprised when even Emily had no specifics to provide about the situation between Kane and Salima. Apparently Salima was above the gossip mill’s reach; everyone respected her too much to drag her into it. “But they’ve obviously had a fight or something,” Emily concluded.

This all was why, when Salima once again slipped in a request for Hiromi to come see the kendo club’s practice, she finally agreed. If someone new checking out the club would help cheer her up even a little, Hiromi didn’t mind doing it. She’d go with Salima after school.

“Honestly, I would have skipped today otherwise,” Salima admitted, sitting on Hiromi’s desk while they waited for the English class to begin. “The council has so much work right now, and there’s only eight of us.”

“One from each class, right? Who’s in the council from 1-B, anyway?”

“That’s Johnny McGregor. Short guy with maroon hair and band shirts.” Salima added the latter at the sight of Hiromi’s nondescript face.

“The one who always looks angry?”

“That’s the one. Though he’s oddly polite for someone so bad-tempered.”

Hiromi hummed in amusement. “I wonder how someone like him got in when there’s people like Mao, Professor and Max in that class.”

“Not many people applying to join the council, I think. None of those ran for a seat.”

“Really?” Perhaps this shouldn’t have surprised Hiromi as much as it did; Bey Town High wasn’t a big school, so while the council was small, so was the pool of students to choose members from. She shifted her legs nervously, crossing one over the other under the desk to keep her feet from fidgeting. “I, uh, actually kind of wanted to run for a seat… I was a member of my middle school’s council. Well, truthfully, I was the president for a bit.” It was the first time she’d told this to anyone in Bey High.

Salima’s grey eyes widened with surprise. “You were? Why didn’t you run for a seat here, then?”

Hiromi looked down at a pencil in her hand. “I only lasted one year in the council… Let’s just say I wasn’t very popular after getting in.”

For the first couple of months, things had gone well in her old school. Many of her previous friends had migrated into her class and she’d also made new ones. She’d been elected to the student council because she was known to be smart and mature. She’d been so proud of her achievements, and vocal about them too.

But girls in middle school turned out to be a petty, jealous species. Back then, Hiromi hadn’t had the common sense to censor her personality and hold back on impulsive behavior; the position of a student council president had brought out her bossy tendencies at full force. She hadn’t realized how bad it was herself, and nobody had bothered giving her kind, constructive criticism about it. From her perspective, she’d only done what was expected of her and acted accordingly. Been a leader. Before long, she’d earned the reputation of a nagger, a nitpicking bitch – or, more accurately due to her unusual hobbies that everyone loved to consequently pick on, a witch. Associating with her had become a burden to her friends.

“I think you’d do great. You should run next year,” Salima said.

“I’ll think about it…” But Hiromi knew she wouldn’t, not ever again.

“How about the bake sale? Would you like to participate? We need a vendor for our class booth and nobody has volunteered yet. Or, well, one did but I’d rather have some variety.”

Hiromi raised her chin. “The vendors can be someone other than the student representative?”

“Not just that, but I can’t be the one doing it. But I do need to coordinate who’s participating from 1-A.”

“In that case, I’d be glad to do it!”

“Great! You’ll be perfect for it!” Salima whipped out her phone. “Thank you, Hiromi. I’ll add you to the mailing list right away.”

A pleasant warmth set in Hiromi’s heart for the rest of the day.

…Or at least for the remaining classes, for she managed to happily forget for a moment that she’d just promised to go to the kendo club afterwards. She positively froze when Salima was again by her desk at the last bell in the afternoon.

“Ah… yes.” Hiromi slowly swept her belongings into her backpack, side-eyeing the two boys with blue hair already taking their leave together. And just as she did, she caught Kane throwing a wistful glance in Salima’s direction over his shoulder before disappearing through the doorway. Wow. Drama. There really was something going on between those two.

Hiromi was, however, confident to stay out of any drama as she rose from her seat and mentally prepared herself to follow Salima to the gym. She was only here to cheer a friend up, nothing more.

They used the second gym entrance, on the opposite side from the one Hiromi had entered before when visiting the wushu club. The gym was partitioned in the middle to supply enough space for two or more clubs to operate simultaneously, and today she was on the kendo club side. While Salima dropped by the changing rooms, Hiromi remained by the doors, not daring to enter without her.

As much as she’d tried to prepare herself, decided that she’d do this for Salima’s sake, now her heart was beginning its mad gallop over nothing again. She could hear Takao and Kane entering the gym from their respective changing room and getting started. She took a small, deliberate peek from behind the gym doors, making sure to stay hidden while at it.

The boys were dressed in dark hakama, bamboo swords in hand, helmets waiting under their arms. They chattered away while waiting for the rest of the members to arrive.

…It suits him so well. The last time Hiromi had seen Takao in the traditional outfit, they had both been the size of a fire extinguisher and Hiromi had found the baggy clothes with big, sloppy sleeves hilarious for whatever childish reason. Now it looked surprisingly refined on him. Not to mention, this was apparently the only occasion he respected enough to take that stupid red-and-blue cap off. His hair was loose for once. It had grown surprisingly long…

When Salima was ready, she came to fetch Hiromi from the door. Told her that she could join the ceremony if she wanted. Hiromi wished Salima hadn’t come for her – or, well, she did want to join because the ritualistic aspect of the ceremony was fascinating to her and all, but at the same time – her step felt dangerously wobbly as she followed Salima into the gym and could feel all the eyes land on her simultaneously. Salima briskly informed them that Hiromi was there to check the club out and would pair up with her today, end of story.

Hiromi had thought she could follow the practice session by sitting apart from the rest and continue avoiding looking at Takao, as usual. What she hadn’t expected was that Takao was, in fact, the club captain. He was the ringleader of this gathering, the one teaching and motivating the rest; in the short opening ceremony (a bit excessive for a ten-member club, but it did set the mood right from the beginning), he gave a brief but inspirational speech about why they were there that day and how important it was to never lose the spark of self-improvement. The rest, Hiromi included, stood listening in a diligent row and bowed their heads at his brisk command.

It's not like Hiromi hadn’t known that Takao was good – he had to be, given that he’d been doing kendo ever since they were friends. But the level of expertise he displayed while going around helping the club members, fixing their postures and guiding their arms to his best ability, came as a complete surprise to her. He was so… well… mature. In Hiromi’s memory, Takao was a bratty little rascal, always getting himself into ridiculous situations and testing the boundaries of his parents and older brother on purpose; in class, too, the Takao she’d been spying on— er, pretending not to spy on was restless, noisy, spontaneous and a lazy student. But here, in this space, he was someone else entirely. He was, she had to admit, kind of impressive.

By the time the club members began their gradual retreat into the changing rooms, Hiromi’s head was spinning. She got out of the gym the same way she came in and figured it would be polite to wait for Salima. She needed a moment to clear her head, anyway. She leaned against the wall in the corridor outside and stared up at the bleak fluorescent lamp in the ceiling.

Had this been a mistake? Or a good idea? She felt a buzz in her chest that hadn’t been there before, a sort of… excitement, she guessed. One she hadn’t asked for. And neither had she asked for the burning sensation in each spot on her skin that Takao had lightly touched during the practice while helping her fix her posture.

As if Takao hadn’t already been in her mind enough. On and off, every day. She had a feeling that things had just gotten several times more bothersome because of a sport fought with bamboo swords.

The door to the boys’ changing room opened and Hiromi’s heart squeezed with panic for the fracture of a second, until she realized it wasn’t Takao who came out. It was the wushu club members – well, two of them, Mao and the boy with the long, purple hair.

“Seriously, you can’t do this anymore,” the boy told her as the heavy door slammed shut behind them. “Have some respect for the newer members.”

“Bleh, I bet they’re just happy! Bet they haven’t seen a woman in her underwear even once in their lives.”

“Mao…”

“Rei-nii. Oh, hi Hiromi!” She waved at her across the corridor. The boy cast Hiromi a wary look, almost scared.

Hiromi raised a hand in reply. Rei-nii?

But she had no time to grasp this thought further as the door to the girls’ side opened and Salima materialized into the corridor. She immediately wanted to know how Hiromi had liked kendo and was of the firm opinion that the sport suited her very well. Hiromi gave absent responses in the vein of yeah, sure, it was nice, all the while distractedly eyeing the pink-and-purple pair who disappeared behind a corner.

And once they were gone, a familiar blond emerged from behind the opposing corner, one hundred percent looking like he was spying on the couple from behind.

Hiromi was rarely still at school at such late hours. By the time she waved good-byes to Salima, the sun had begun to sink into the westward horizon. Salima had gone to the school’s bus stop; she lived in the north-western corner on the opposite side of the city, in one of the more high-end suburbs with big, beautiful houses, all with their own yards and swimming pools and garden sheds. Hiromi knew Emily to live in the same general direction, too, but had never been to that part of the city herself. An eastern district girl like her had no business there.

Hiromi stopped to check whether her mother had started inquiring where she was by now. She hadn’t. Slowly, she began her way home by foot.

She wasn’t very far into her journey before she began feeling eyes on her back. As a girl who habitually walked around town on her lonesome, she was finely tuned to stay vigilant about her surroundings and could immediately tell when she was being followed.

And the guys after her weren’t even being subtle about it. When she tossed a glance over her shoulder, she saw three of the ugliest chumps alive tailing her with idiotic grins on their faces. They were obviously fellow students, her age or one year older at best. Not too hard to deduce that they were members of one of the shitty little gangs who enjoyed wreaking havoc at school. They had to be Shell Killers; these chipmunks were too pathetic-looking to be members of the Blitzkrieg Boys.

Hiromi’s house was so close, she could easily have sprinted and reached home before these guys ever got her. But it had been a long and weird day and she felt somehow different, emboldened, more like her old, daring self from middle school. A side of her that she’d long subdued was boiling over. It still had its time and place.

She stopped, turned on her heel, and set her hands on her hips. “Hey. What are you doing?”

The boys stumbled on each other. They obviously hadn’t expected her to face them just like that, now their script was ruined and their shit-eating grins wavered as they came to a halt in unison, unsure what to do.

“I asked what you’re doing. You think you’re being cool, don’t you? Can’t imagine anything cooler than following random people on the street, wow. Gimme your names, I’ll let the student council president contact your moms about this. Oh, wait.” She took out her phone and quickly snatched a picture of all three who simply stood there, perplexed. “Perfect. And now your names.”

For one hot minute, the shortest of the boys – who clearly had the most to prove by trying to appear intimidating – was about to raise his fists and leap forward at her. The other two were more sensible and grabbed him from behind, muttering something along the lines of “we’d better go.”

“Bitch,” the short one spat before the three turned and ran away comically fast.

“And tell your boss that he’s a clown,” she shouted after them, then couldn’t resist adding: “The Shell Killers are a circus and Hiwatari Kai is the biggest clown in it!”

That felt good. There wasn’t anyone else around to hear her – or so she thought – but it felt great. Unnecessary and stupid as hell and just right.

Sighing contently, she walked the remaining distance home without anyone disturbing her.

#type: fic #user: misdre #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MAYBLADE 2022 DAY 6 - “MOVIE”

▷A TyHil teen romcom AU

Keep reading

#type: edit #user: ashxketchum #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MayBlade 2023 : Day 15 : Battle

TyHil, (RaySal & MaxMar implied) | FFN Rating: K+ | FFN Link ❖ “Draciel!”

At Max’s shout, Draciel rose from his beyblade to block the oncoming attack from Ray and Salima’s blades. It was a magnificent sight, swimming in the hazy summer air, but standing firm against the tandem attack. When its opponents ricocheted back, Sharkrash came out from behind Draciel, moving so fast that it was skimming along the top of the sand, to deliver another blow while they were vulnerable.

“Driger!”

Ray’s bitbeast appeared with a mighty roar as he and Salima regrouped. Sharkrash retreated back to Draciel’s side. Both couples made eye contact, temporarily ignoring their opponents to wordlessly decide on their next moves.

Beside Hilary, Tyson was practically vibrating with pent-up excitement.

“C’mon guys!” he shouted, making Hilary jump and all four bladers’ heads turn his way. “I’m playing winner, so hurry up and finish it already!”

“Tyson,” Hilary scolded, tugging on the fist he was pumping above his head until he obliged and dropped it, “let them concentrate!”

Max, Ray, and Salima laughed, but Mariam had other ideas. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, she called upon Sharkrash. It appeared in a burst of light, heading straight for Driger.

“Noctalon!”

Salima’s beyblade collided with Mariam’s just in time to protect Driger. Sharkrash skidded off course, sending up a spray of sand and Mariam cursed. With a flick of her wrist, a bitbeast strongly resembling a great horned owl soared out of Salima’s beyblade and into the sky. It was midday, but the golden light shining off its feathers made everything in the vicinity glow like the sun was setting.

Hilary must have been the only one entranced by its beauty, because the battle kicked up a notch with its appearance.

All four bladers coordinated attacks and defenses, unwilling to give each other an inch. Hilary found herself squinting to keep the sand from flying into her eyes as every impact sent bursts of energy reverberating outwards. She was going to have to rinse off in the ocean after and she’d still probably find sand in her swimsuit when she got back.

It was worth it to watch her friends battle so fiercely.

“Who do you think will win?” she asked Tyson, almost shouting to be heard over the sounds of the battle.

Ray and Salima were both balanced beybladers on their own. Between the two of them, they had a wide range of experience, allowing them to bounce between a variety of strategies. But Max and Mariam, having a strong defense and attack respectively, were naturally balanced and their style of battle reflected that. As far as Hilary could tell, it was anyone’s game.

For a second, she thought Tyson hadn’t heard her. His brown eyes, tinged honey in the sunlight, were locked on the fight. Hilary followed his gaze.

They watched together as another one of Ray and Salima’s attacks fell on Draciel’s defenses, like water on stone. Sharkrash followed with an attack from the direction of the ocean, sideswiping Driger and Noctalon, throwing them off-kilter for a few seconds. Those few seconds were all Max needed to launch a rare attack from Draciel, covering the battlefield in a rush of water.

The water surged up the beach, seizing Hilary’s ankles, making her momentarily loose focus on the beybattle. Tyson’s grip on her arm kept her from stumbling. When she looked again, all four beyblades were still spinning in the damp sand.

“If Ray and Salima are smart, they’ll use that to their advantage,” Tyson said, his full focus on her for the first time since the battle had started.

Hilary knew, in the back of her mind, that he meant the freshly packed-down sand. In the forefront of her mind, she was still getting used to the fact that dating Tyson meant she was one of the few people he would take his eyes off of a battle for. She flushed and he smiled at her.

“Does that mean you think they’ll win?” Hilary asked as another gust of wind from the battle blew sand and mist their way.

Tyson combed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear once the wind subsided. Both of them glanced quickly at the battle; once again, all four beyblades were still kicking.

“I think, whoever wins, I’ll have one hell of a fight on my hands,” Tyson answered. He grinned, a familiar fire lighting in his eyes and making Hilary feel warm inside.

“Well, yeah, if you plan on taking two of them on at once,” she teased. “It’s not exactly a fair fight.”

Tyson shrugged. There was a familiar bravado in the set of his shoulders when he said, “They deserve a handicap against the World Champion.”

Hilary scoffed.

He winked at her.

“You need taken down a peg or two,” she said, rolling her eyes.

An obliging wind kicked up, blowing Tyson’s hat off of his head. He scrambled down the beach after it as Hilary laughed and the battle continued. Luckily, he caught it quickly. When he returned to her side, he’d laced his hat into the tie of his swim trunks to keep it secure.

“Gee, thanks for your help, Hilary.”

“That’s what you get,” she said smugly, a stubborn smile still on her face. “Instant karma.”

She tried to go back to watching the battle. It looked like it was winding down; none of her friends’ beyblades were spinning as strongly as they had been a few attacks ago. But she could feel Tyson’s eyes on her, sending a prickle of awareness up her spine. She turned toward him curiously.

“What?”

“If I taught you to beyblade, would you battle with me?”

That question caught Hilary off guard. For a second, all she registered was the distant sound of metal-on-metal and Tyson’s earnest eyes, studying her.

“I… I don’t know, Tyson.”

She’d thought about it several times over the years.

When they’d first met and Tyson was insufferable, she’d thought about taking up beyblading just to see the look on his face when Hilary, the “Wicked Witch of the Eighth Grade”, beat him in a match. That was a short-lived fantasy. Back then, she thought beyblading was a little dumb. By the time she felt otherwise, she was friendlier with Tyson and his group and no longer had the need for that pipe dream.

It had become a niggling thought again during the next World Championships and all the drama that followed. She halfway wondered what would have happened if she’d taken it up when she originally though about it – would Tyson have accepted her as a partner in Kai’s stead? Or could she have filled the extra position on the team in the fight against BEGA?

“It didn’t exactly go too well that one time,” she said with a blush.

“Duh,” Tyson teased. There wasn’t any judgment in his expression, but there was a little bit of amusement as the same memory came to both of their minds. “Rule number one: don’t launch in a moving vehicle.”

Hilary’s blush deepened. She hid her face in her hands. “Let’s not talk about that.” It came out muffled, but she knew he heard her, even as the battle intensified again.

Tyson chuckled and pried her hands away. Just when Hilary thought he might say something nice, he responded with, “Max’s dad almost drove us off the road.”

“Shut up, Tyson!” She shoved him back and crossed her arms, determinedly facing the battle instead of him. “You know, this isn’t the way to talk me into being your tag team partner.” That day had been humiliating enough living through it the first time.

Clearly, Tyson had some semblance of self-preservation instincts, because he came closer and nudged his shoulder against hers.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it, Hil,” he said gently. She could feel him seeking her eyes and stared stubbornly straight ahead. “You made our training regimen. I think you’d probably blade better than all of them combined if you took the time to learn.” He nodded to where Max, Mariam, Ray, and Salima were finishing their battle.

Hilary didn’t agree, but chose not to argue. Instead, she looked up at Tyson.

“What about you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Well,” he said with an arrogant grin put on, she suspected, solely for her benefit, “obviously I’d still be the World Champ, but I’d blade with you as my right-hand over Daichi any day. You’d be a close second-best of all time.”

“Gee, Tyson, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the battle once again.

Ray and Salima were mounting a final attack. Static from Driger and wind from Noctalon made the sand around their beyblades suspend in midair as they circled one another, headed straight for their opponents. Hilary could feel Tyson watching just as raptly as she was, as they collided with Draciel’s weakened defenses with a loud, electric crackle.

Draciel cried out and began to crumble under the assault.

“Sharkrash!”

In a flash of light, Mariam’s beyblade sliced through Draciel’s force field from the opposite direction and landed a fast, solid hit to Driger and Noctalon.

Hilary’s eyes widened with realization; Mariam had yet to attack with full power. Now that she and Max had worn Ray and Salima down enough, she laid the attack on thick. It wasn’t an unfamiliar tactic for Max, but seeing it used in a double battle was new enough to make Ray and Salima let down their guard.

Salima gasped as their beyblades were thrown back and landed, completely still, by her and Ray’s feet. The pair of them fell to their knees in the sand, panting and smiling, even in defeat.

“That was a good battle,” Ray said as Salima nodded her agreement beside him, slower to catch her breath.

When the dust settled, Draciel gave one last listless spin, before collapsing. Max fell to the ground, too, and said, “It sure was. I’m beat.”

“I think I have another battle in me,” Mariam said, sending Sharkrash on a quick victory lap around the battlefield and recalling it to her hand. She ignored Max’s answering laughter and whipped around to where Tyson stood at Hilary’s side. “What do you say, Tyson? Still up for playing the winner?”

Tyson ripped his hat off his trunks and slapped it on his head.

“You bet!”

As Max, Ray, and Salima got sluggishly to their feet to make room for the next battle, Tyson made eye contact with Hilary. Quickly, while the others were distracted, he pulled her close and pressed a soft kiss right in front of her ear.

“Next time,” he whispered, so only she could hear, “maybe we’ll both play the winner.”

#type: fic #user: azikarue #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MayBlade 2023 : Day 19 : Tree

TyHil | FFN Rating: K+ | FFN Link ❖ Hilary knew something was off from the moment she set foot in Tyson’s front yard. The normally uplifting atmosphere had an undercurrent of tension that made everything feel way too quiet for a sunny, spring afternoon. And, when it came to Tyson, quiet wasn’t usually a good sign.

With a deep breath, Hilary followed the path to the front door, glancing surreptitiously around on her way. Nothing was visibly amiss, and she was beginning to think that maybe her intuition was wrong for once, until she walked into the dojo and Hiro said:

“Oh, good, Hilary’s here. Maybe she can talk some sense into him.”

“What?” Hilary asked to the room at large as Hiro brushed past her, evidently irritated, and out the door she’d just entered through. “What’s going on?”

“Nothin’ to get worked up about, Homegirl,” Gramps said, his eyes lighting up as they turned from Hiro’s retreating form to Hilary. He smiled at her, even though his knuckles were white from how hard he was clutching his sword. “Hiro and Tyson got into a little spat, that’s all.”

Hilary frowned. It wasn’t unheard of for Tyson and Hiro to bicker, especially after the damage their relationship took when Hiro joined BEGA behind his brother’s back, but any argument that interrupted Grampa’s training felt like more than a ‘little spat’.

“Where is Tyson?”

“Little dude’s out back,” Gramps said, nodding in that direction. They seemed to have an unspoken understanding between them that Hilary was going to go check on him, because he didn’t look at all surprised when she immediately backtracked out the front door and around to the rear of the dojo.

She found Tyson next to the koi pond. His back was to her, but he appeared to be watching the Snowbell blossoms blow in graceful arcs across the surface of the water. They’d had a few stormy nights recently, and the yard was covered in so many flowers that it looked like an actual snowfall. It was beautiful and relaxing, but there was no peace in the slump of Tyson’s shoulders.

Hilary closed the gap between them, careful not to approach too quietly and startle him, but also not wanting to disturb him.

“Hey, Hilary,” he muttered when she came to a stop at his side. He shot her a weak smile that only made her worry more.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking him up and down curiously. He had a piece of paper clutched in his hands, blank side facing out, and the collar of his shirt was wrinkled, like his argument with his brother had gotten physical at some point.

“Did you see Hiro?” Tyson asked, answering her question with his own bitter inquiry.

Hilary nodded. Tyson wasn’t looking her way, so she also said, “Grampa said you two had an argument.”

Tyson scoffed. “It wasn’t really an argument,” he said with a scowl.

When he didn’t elaborate, Hilary probed further. “Okay? Well, is something wrong?”

Tyson’s only answer was a forlorn nod across the pond. Hilary followed his gaze and gasped.

She didn’t know how she’d missed it before, but The Grangers’ Snowbell tree was half collapsed. It looked like the wind and rain had become too much for it; one of the thickest branches had peeled away at the trunk and was dragging on the ground. Upon closer inspection, the wood inside looked almost like somebody had gouged big chunks of it out.

“Oh no!”

“Yeah,” Tyson said sullenly, staring at the tree with a frown.

The Snowbell had been a staple in his yard for longer than Hilary had known him. Judging by the size, it had probably been there for his whole life. What it had to do with Tyson and Hiro’s argument, she had no idea, but there had to be a connection. Like most things when it came to Tyson, she was going to have to be patient to find out.

“Do you think it can be saved?”

Tyson took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “No.”

“Are you sure?” she asked gently, inching closer as his brow furrowed.

“Grampa actually had an arborist come out and look at it.” He turned to her, a brief shadow of amusement flashing in his eyes before the sadness took over once again. “A tree surgeon – did you know that was a thing?”

Hilary nodded meekly.

“Of course you did.” Tyson gave a flimsy laugh and hung his head. “I guess it’s been sick and we didn’t know. They said it’s practically hollow inside and has to come down.”

“I’m sorry, Tyson.” She didn’t know what significance the tree held and it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was significant and Tyson was hurting.

Hilary moved slowly, so he could push her away if she was overstepping, and looped her arm through his. When he didn’t protest, she leaned her head on his shoulder, as close as she could get without outright hugging him. He seemed to deflate and rested his cheek on top of her hair.

She didn’t know how long they stood like that for, quietly letting the breeze toss fallen petals over their feet and breathing in unison, before she thought she should try to lighten the mood.

“What’s that?” she asked, motioning to the paper he was holding with her free hand.

Tyson’s breath hitched and Hilary felt a momentary panic in the handful of seconds it took him to pause, then tilt it enough for her to see. Relief that he wasn’t angry with her question turned to heartache when she realized he was holding a picture.

The photograph was obviously old, but in pristine condition; she could tell Tyson took really good care of it. And it was no wonder – the photo was of a young woman sitting under the Snowbell tree holding a little boy on her lap. They had matching, brown eyes. The little boy couldn’t be more than three years-old, but she’d know him anywhere. It wasn’t hard to guess who the woman holding him was.

“Is that your mom?” she asked anyway, because every ounce of brain power she had was going toward holding back her tears.

“Yeah,” Tyson rasped. When he cleared his throat, Hilary used the sound to mask her own sniffles. “She loved that tree. We used to spend hours out here. I don’t know if I really remember or if I just look at the picture and make the memories up.”

Hilary squeezed his arm, but didn’t say anything. She could sense he wasn’t finished.

“I asked Grampa if we could get a second opinion. I think he knew right away that I’d be upset.” Tyson took another quaking breath. “Hiro kept saying that it wouldn’t make a difference, that it was rotten and had to come down. He told me I’d have to get over it. I said some things back that I shouldn’t have and it just kept getting worse.”

“Hiro doesn’t always have the most tact,” Hilary said quietly, curling her other hand around his arm, too, and pressing so close that he could probably feel her heartbeat against his elbow.

The tension in the air made sense now that she knew what had happened right before she’d shown up. She could picture Tyson and Hiro shouting at each other, Hiro grabbing Tyson’s collar, and Grampa stepping in, kendo sword in hand, to break them up. If she wasn’t so concerned about Tyson, she’d probably be livid at Hiro right now.

“I know he only lashed out because he misses her, too.” Hilary thought that was a diplomatic thing to say – and surprisingly gracious of someone that Hiro thought needed some sense talked into them – but she didn’t comment. “He doesn’t want to have it cut down either, but it’s easier for him. He remembers her more than I do, has other memories. I… Hilary, I don’t have a lot of pieces of her left.”

Tyson’s voice wavered and Hilary felt her heart break. She sniffed again, willing herself not to cry. It was difficult when she could tell Tyson was on the brink of tears himself.

Suddenly, he was pulling away.

“Tyson?” Hilary tried not to sound too worried as he extricated himself from her hold. Instead of letting her arms fall limp, she wrung her hands together to keep from reaching back out.

“Anyway,” he said, like he hadn’t heard her, “they’re cutting it down tomorrow.” With those words, he turned his back on her and headed towards the dojo.

“Do you want me to come?”

“You don’t have to.”

Hilary showed up, bright and early, the next day. Something told her that Tyson would need a friend. She couldn’t, on good conscious, stay away and wait for him to admit it.

When Gramps met her at the door, he didn’t seem surprised to see her. Hiro wasn’t home, as far as Hilary could tell, probably off dealing with any grief he felt privately. She thought that was for the best; Tyson was so keyed up that one wrong word would spark another argument.

So Hilary didn’t say much. She sat outside and watched Tyson train. Facing, stubbornly, away from the tree, he launched Dragoon over and over, too distracted to keep it spinning for longer than it took to run a single drill. For once, she didn’t scold him for it.

In the quiet break after one of Dragoon’s slalom runs, they heard a truck pull up out front.

Tyson froze and Hilary sat forward. Both of them tuned their ears to the snatches of conversation drifting back from where Grampa was greeting the tree cutters. Immediately, Tyson whipped around to take a long, desperate look at the tree, as if he regretted training with his back to it all this time. Hilary ducked her head down; it felt appropriate to give him a minute of privacy.

When the voices started getting closer, Tyson retreated to her side and pretended to be very busy with his beyblade as Hilary nodded politely to the group of men rounding the corner.

After a series of brief introductions where Grampa did most of the talking, the workers circled the pond to inspect the tree.

“They’ve been doing this a long time, T-Dawg,” Grampa said, standing over them with a soft expression. “Said they’d tell us if the last guy was wack and the tree’ll keep kickin’.”

Hardly daring to hope, Hilary watched the workers examine the tree from every possible angle, before looking over, to where she, Tyson, and his grandpa were waiting with bated breath. One of the men shook his head. The other gave a reluctant thumbs down. Hilary’s heart fell.

Gramps patted Tyson on the shoulder on his way past.

Tyson slumped against the side of the dojo and slid down to sit beside Hilary.

Grampa returned a few minutes later with two lunch plates for her and Tyson, but neither of them felt like eating. Instead, they sat on the porch, watching as the Snowbell was methodically sawed into pieces and carried to the woodshed. Hilary snuck glances at Tyson the whole time. He sat stiff as a board with empty eyes watching as the tree was cut down.

“Is it really going to be used as firewood?” Hilary asked, sadness and concern mingling in her tone.

“We might as well use it for something,” Tyson said, sounding completely downtrodden and too much like Hiro for Hilary’s taste. “There’s probably not enough wood left to do anything else with.”

Hilary didn’t answer. An awful lot of the logs they were transferring were hollow inside.

Once the tree was reduced to a stump and sawdust, Tyson got wordlessly to his feet and went inside. She didn’t see hide nor hair of him while she tidied up the dishes from the lunch they didn’t eat. She cleaned up the handful of other dishes littered around the kitchen, too, as her heartache for Tyson and her desire to do anything to make him feel better chased each other around her mind.

“You didn’t have to do that, Homegirl,” Grampa said, appearing as she dried the last dish and put it away.

“I don’t mind,” she answered honestly. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Gramps fixed her with a kindly smile and said, “You’ve done plenty already. That was real groovy of you, keepin’ Tyson company out there today.”

Hilary nodded.

It felt like nothing to sit with Tyson and act as a silent supporter, especially when she couldn’t possibly understand what he was feeling right now and when she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to make him feel it any less. It hurt to see him hurting. She wished, more than anything, that she could preserve even a piece of the tree and its memories for him.

Suddenly, she got an idea.

“Grampa, would it be okay if I took a piece of the wood?”

It felt like a weighty ask. Hilary held her breath and Grampa’s curious stare, until he broke into a smile, nodded, and said, “Sure thing, Homegirl.”

When she left, she left through the back yard and purposefully ignored the lonely stump beside the pond. She crossed to the woodshed and took her time examining the wood she could see, until she found a piece of a branch that was still solid and strong-looking. As she left with it in her arms, she felt better knowing that she was saving at least one piece of Tyson’s mother’s favorite tree from flames.

It was almost a week later when Hilary showed up at the dojo next, with a wrapped parcel tucked under her arm. Tyson had been dodging her calls the whole time she was gone, but she had Grampa’s word that he was doing fine and keeping busy.

She found Tyson out back again, sitting by the pond with his back resting against the remnants of the Snowbell. It was weird seeing the ground covered in petals without the tree’s lush branches fanning out against the sky. It would be even weirder next springtime, when there were none at all.

Tyson was leisurely tossing food to the koi fish and looked up when he heard her approach. “Hey, Hilary.” The smile that accompanied his words was genuine, though, she suspected, out of practice.

“Can I sit down?” she asked, keeping the pond between them in case he said no.

Tyson nodded and scooted to the side a little, so Hilary had room to lean against the stump, too. It felt almost like she was intruding on something sacred, but Tyson patted the ground next to him expectantly, so she sat down.

“How are you?” she asked, studying him carefully, fingers digging nervously into the parcel in her lap.

“I’m all right.” He shrugged and tilted the bag of fish food in her direction, an offering. Hilary reached in and took a handful. “Sorry I didn’t answer your calls.”

“It’s okay, Tyson.” She knew he needed time to grieve. No matter what Hiro said, she’d never expected Tyson to simply get over it. She couldn't imagine what it was like to lose one of the few tangible lifelines you had to memories with a deceased loved one.

She tossed the food into the pond and watched the colorful fish bob up to the surface for it. She and Tyson continued to feed them, taking turns and pointing out their favorite color patterns and making up names for the ones they could tell apart most easily. It felt like a welcome, if not slightly forced, return to normalcy.

The next time Hilary went for the bag of food, Tyson pulled it out of her reach at the last second with a mischievous grin.

“Hey!” Hilary exclaimed and made to roll onto her knees so she could climb over him for it. Luckily, she remembered the parcel before she knelt on it and sat back where she was. Tyson was watching her curiously so, before she could lose her nerve, she held it out to him and said, “I almost forgot – I got this for you.”

“Is it edible?” Tyson asked, cracking another smile as he set the fish food off to the side and took the gift.

“No.” Hilary was blushing, suddenly feeling like maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but there was no turning back now.

“Gee, Hil, I hope you kept the receipt then,” he joked. Once he ripped the paper off, he went entirely silent.

When Hilary had left with her piece of the tree she’d taken it straight to a local woodworker her parents were friendly with. Something about her breathless explanation of what she was looking for, and the confusing story she told to express why, won him over – he said he was working on other commissions, but promised to make hers a priority.

The finished product had turned out better than she imagined.

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay,” Hilary said once Tyson had been quiet for longer than she anticipated. “You don’t even have to keep it. It just seemed like such a shame to let all that wood burn. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry!”

Tyson gently ran his hand over the picture frame, tracing the delicate floral pattern that was carved into it. Hilary was happy that, seeing it in his hands, it looked like it would be a perfect fit for the photo from the other day.

“Like I said, if you don’t like it—”

Tyson cut her off by surging to his knees and yanking her into his arms. Hilary squealed, momentarily afraid that they were going to overbalance and fall into the koi pond, but Tyson had just as tight of a hold on her as he did on the picture frame.

She wrapped her arms around his ribs, surprised and startled to feel them shake with a sob.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair.

Hilary’s only answer was to hold him tighter.

#type: fic #user: azikarue #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MAYBLADE 2022 DAY 17 - “RAIN” 

◉ A tiny songfic based on Sunday Morning by Maroon 5 which was originally supposed to be posted on Day 10. ▶︎ click here to read ◀︎

The sound of rain hitting the ocean was what stirred Hiromi, her eyes blinked open and she took a minute to adjust to the darkness around her. The digital clock on their bedside table told her that in just about 15 minutes or so her alarm would go off and the day would start. She turned and lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling as she contemplated if she should leave the comfort of the bed right this instant or attempt to catch a few more minutes of sleep. Next to her she could feel her husband still sleeping peacefully, unbothered by the loud rain outside and probably unaware that the alarm would start blaring in a few minutes too, and she thought with a smile that he would definitely opt for the latter.

◉ A prompt I had written sometime last year, which features a rainy scene, now edited and uploaded properly. ▶︎ click here to read ◀︎

They ran as fast as they could, their hands tightly holding onto the other and their feet creating large splashes against the wet pavement as the rain continued to fall heavily, with the clouds showing no mercy to the two teenagers who had forgotten to carry their umbrellas to school during Typhoon season. Tyson made sure to tighten his grip around Hilary’s hand after every few minutes to ensure that it wouldn’t slip out of his grasp, with the sound of the raindrops thundering around in his ear already giving him a headache, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to handle her shouting at him as well.

#type: fic #user: ashxketchum #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MayBlade 2022 : Day 17 : Rain

TyHil | FFN Rating: K | FFN Link ❖ It wasn’t Hilary’s place to say anything. That was part of what made it so hard to see Tyson upset. All she wanted to do was tell him he deserved better, but that wouldn’t fix anything. He’d only get defensive and they’d both end up frustrated. So she sat, with pursed lips, watching him stare out into the middle distance.

It was raining, such a contrast to the sunny start they’d had to the day.

“Hilary!”

She let loose a wordless shriek as Tyson spun her around fast enough to lift her off the ground. His excitement was contagious; she found herself laughing, even as she prayed he wouldn’t drop her. In the end, her feet landed safely on the grass.

“How’s it feel to be a part of history?” he asked with a toothy grin. “It’s not everyday a legend gets inducted into the BBA’s Hall of Fame! But don’t worry, I’ll still have plenty of time for all the fans.” He patted her on the head and laughed giddily.

Hilary swatted his hand away.

“You are the Hall of Fame, Tyson.” She’d said it to point out that the concept was so new that it hardly meant anything, but his smile just got wider. “I have it on good authority that they’re inducting more people once you open the exhibit.”

“Well what would a Five-Time World Champ be without some competition?”

“Your modesty becomes you, Tyson,” Hilary said sarcastically. Then, looking around, she realized something. Gramps had greeted her at the door with a fist bump and Daichi an ‘oh, it’s you’. Kenny and Max were at their respective homes – she’d already talked to them each once this morning. There were two someones missing. “Weren’t your dad and Hiro flying in yesterday?”

“Their flight got delayed or something,” Tyson explained with a roll of his eyes. “I’m on my way to pick them up right now – you can come with me!”

Hilary tried to protest – she didn’t need to get in the way of their reunion – but he frogmarched her to the car before she had the chance.

She ended up being happy she went when Tatsuya and Hiro’s plane landed without them.

Tyson didn’t believe it at first. Once the last passenger disembarked and the staff confirmed no one else was on board, he rushed to baggage claim to see if he'd missed them somehow. He hadn’t. When he tried calling, neither of them answered and Hilary could feel herself growing both angrier and sadder as he became more distraught.

It was while they were at the help desk, trying to track down some answers, that one of them finally called back. They were held up at a dig site, but wished him luck.

Hilary watched Tyson’s face fall and wanted so badly to wrench the phone away from him and scream down the line that their precious piles of dirt would have been there for them when they got back.

Tyson went quiet and told them it was okay.

He put on a brave face for the cameras, and laughed along with his friends when he showed up to the BBA last minute, as usual. Hilary was the only one who knew his tardiness was due to the airport kerfuffle. She was also the only one he asked to stay after they were done celebrating and the after party was winding down. She wouldn’t have told him no, even if she wanted to.

Currently they were sitting on the dojo’s porch. Tyson had his back to a pillar, staring blankly out to where the rain was falling onto the koi pond. Hilary was a little ways away, trying to give him space but be within reach if he needed her.

It wasn’t her place to say anything – she knew his family was complicated, knew he’d say he understood their absence – but seeing him so dejected broke her heart. Tyson always showed up for the people he loved and he deserved the same dedication in return.

“I’m sorry, Tyson,” she said, maybe with too much feeling. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep everything else she wanted to say from spilling out. Maybe it would be the right time one day. For now, she could sit with him.

Tyson’s head dipped down. She thought she heard a sniffle and she knew she saw him scrub his eyes with his sleeve. She didn’t get a chance to do anything about it before he slid off the porch and walked out into the rain.

“What are you doing?”

He turned around to face her and tossed his hands up to indicate he had no idea.

“Are you coming?”

Hilary stared at him like he was insane. He honestly looked it, standing barefoot in the grass with the rain pouring down, plastering his hair to his face.

“Are you kidding?” she asked incredulously. “I’m cold just looking at you!”

“Aw, come on, Hil – don’t you leave me hanging too,” he joked with none of his usual boisterous humor. Instead there was a sad acceptance in his eyes and a wry smile tugging at her heartstrings.

Hilary left the porch and gasped when the rain hit her. It was the kind of deluge that instantly soaked you to the skin and gave you the chills no matter the temperature. The closer she got to Tyson, the more genuine his smile looked. She thought he might even be in good enough spirits for her to complain about being drenched, but he didn’t give her the chance.

As soon as she was within arm’s length, he scooped her up and spun her around like he had that morning.

“Tyson!” she squealed.

The world was whipping by in a blurry haze of gray, but his eyes were warm at the center of it all. He was watching her in such a way that made some of that warmth spread to her cheeks. She thought she saw his pupils begin to expand at the sight of her, but before she could think too deep into it, a look of panic crossed his face.

With a shout, Tyson slipped in the wet grass and sent them both toppling to the ground in a heap.

“Oof!” Hilary landed on top and temporarily knocked the wind out of him. Her hair was in her face, but she had her wits about her enough to ask, “Tyson! Are you okay?!”

“Yeah,” he groaned, shifting underneath her. “I don’t think anything’s broken. Maybe just dislocated.”

“Serves you right for dragging me out in this weather!” Hilary struggled to get up without getting overly handsy with him or slipping in the grass. It was hard when the rain was still coming down in sheets, obscuring her vision and making the ground a soggy mess.

Tyson reached up and brushed some of her hair out of her face to help her see better. When he was done, he let his fingers linger against her cheek.

Hilary froze, breath caught in her throat.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispered once he had her undivided attention.

She didn’t know if he meant into the rain or somewhere earlier, but the way her heart was thundering in her chest all of a sudden was very disconcerting.

“You can count on me.”

He smiled fondly at her and said, “I know.”

#type: fic #user: azikarue #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

DAY 2- SCHOOL

A ship has been born-aka one of my favorite ships

#type: screencaps #user: bellaelizabethsmith #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MayBlade 2022 : Day 8 : Sleep

TyHil | FFN Rating: K | FFN Link ❖ “When I said you could stay the night, I didn’t realize it would be an hour before I got my turn in the bathroom.”

Hilary was rubbing the fourth goop of the evening onto her face. It had come out of a tiny fridge she’d brought with her and plugged in on his bathroom counter. It was a brilliant idea, as far as Tyson was concerned, until he realized it contained her twelve-step skincare routine and not snacks for when you wake up hungry in the middle of the night.

When she finished, Hilary made eye contact in the mirror with the most unimpressed look he’d ever seen on her face.

“There’s more than one bathroom in this house, Tyson, if you’re really that impatient,” she said, capping her goop bottle and putting it back in the fridge. Then she picked up something that looked like a rolling pin on a stick and started rubbing it on her face.

Tyson watched her, growing more and more confused by the second.

“I need my toothbrush, whenever you’re done steamrolling your face.”

“I’m not stopping you from brushing your teeth!” Hilary exclaimed, sounding exasperated. “In fact, please do – I think I can smell your breath all the way from here.”

He took that as his invitation to cross the threshold and join her in front of the mirror. The counter in front of him was littered with all kinds of bottles and vials and tools, some of which he couldn’t even identify. He did count at least four separate types of lotion, as long as ‘lotion’ and ‘moisturizer’ were interchangeable in girl language.

“The problem with that is I’d have to be able to find my toothbrush first,” he said, scanning the counter top. “How much stuff did you bring?”

Hilary rolled her eyes and handed him his toothbrush, miraculously plucked from among her things, and claimed, “I only brought the necessities, Tyson.”

“Necessities?” he asked incredulously. “I don’t even know what half of this junk is!”

“Don’t worry, Tyson,” Hilary said sardonically, “it shows.”

“See,” Tyson said, fishing around for his toothpaste, “that might offend me if I knew what any of this was for.” He found the elusive tube and held it up in triumph. “As it stands, I’m happy being able to go to sleep when I’m tired and not after an hour of greasing up my face.”

Hilary scoffed but didn’t make any other comment.

He finished with his teeth at about the same time she finished with her face and took off the headband that had been holding her hair out of the way. Foolishly, he thought that meant they were going to go to bed. Instead, Hilary began misting her hair with another mystery bottle.

“Now what are you doing?” he whined.

“I’m doing my hair – what does it look like?” Hilary looked at him like he had two heads as she pulled a foam cylinder out of a bag and began rolling the ends of her hair around it.

“But we’re going to bed!” If anyone was growing a second head right now, it was Hilary, and it was parasitic, feeding off her brain. “It’s just gonna get messed up.”

“I’m going to sleep in the rollers, Tyson,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I do this every night.”

“Wait,” he said, holding a hand up while the dots slowly connected, “is that how you get it to do that thing?” He used his hands to make a flipping-out motion above his shoulders, where her hair would fall. He could tell by the vexed look in her eyes that she knew what he meant.

“Yes.”

“I thought it did that on its own!”

“Oh, Tyson.” The look on her face turned to pity.

After that mind-blowing revelation, Tyson needed to lay down. He retreated to the bedroom to let her finish her convoluted routine in peace. He was winding down in bed with a comic book when she finally joined him, dressed in a set yellow floral pajamas, hair rollers neatly in place.

“Is Her Majesty finally presentable enough to go to sleep?” Tyson teased, setting his comic to the side. He patted the other side of the mattress as an invitation.

“Hmm… That depends,” Hilary said thoughtfully, but she was already on her way across the room. “Is the court jester done making lame jokes?” Her last two words were said with a yawn as she slid in beside him. She didn’t protest when Tyson pulled her close and tossed the sheet over them both, despite the warmth of the evening. “I’m so tired.”

“I’m telling you,” Tyson said, reaching out to turn off the lamp on his bedside table, “it’s the hour it takes you to get ready. No wonder you’re exhausted.”

“I think it’s being around you,” Hilary retorted. There was enough light shining in from the moon outside for Tyson to watch her pull an eye mask down over her forehead. She paused before covering her eyes, and turned to him. “Thanks again for letting me stay while my parents remodel,” she said sincerely. “All the dust really sends my allergies into overdrive.”

Tyson grinned and replied, “Hey, what are boyfriends for?” He still got a weird, giddy feeling in his stomach when he used that word. It hadn’t been all that long since they decided to put a title on something that had existed for years before either was brave enough to acknowledge it. “You’re always welcome here.”

She leaned in and kissed him, tender and sweet. Whatever concoction of products she had on her face smelled amazing, and her cheek was soft under his fingertips.

“Goodnight,” she whispered into the space between them as she pulled back.

“’Night, Hil.” His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears.

Hilary settled her eye mask over her eyes and Tyson let his own slide shut.

When he woke up a little while later, it took him a minute to realize why. At first, he only registered that it was way hotter with someone else in your bed in the middle of summer. He kicked off his half of the sheet and got instant relief. He was almost back to sleep when he heard the gentle whoosh of wind and water, like he was at the seaside.

His eyes snapped open to scan the room. In his sleep-muddled state, it took him longer than it should have to spy the tiny blue light that signaled an electronic in use. Hilary had apparently also packed a white noise machine.

Tyson groaned and swiped a hand over his face, willing himself to fall back to sleep. Normally he slept like the dead, but the longer he lay there trying to fall asleep, the harder it became to actually do so.

Maybe the key wasn’t to resist the white noise, but to embrace it. He tried closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and listening to the peaceful sounds of the waves. There were even seagulls. Seagulls were nice. Seagulls were squawking every twenty, then forty, then thirty-five seconds on a loop.

Grumbling to himself, Tyson rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head in an effort to muffle the sound.

Unfortunately, all of his shifting around jostled Hilary and woke her up.

“Wha – What’s going on?” she yawned, fatigue etched in her voice. “Tyson?” She fumbled with his pillow, impeded by her sleepiness, before finally lifting it away. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to drown your white noise machine out,” he muttered into the mattress. When it became obvious that this was going to turn into an entire conversation, he propped his chin up on one hand so he could see Hilary. She was blinking at him with bleary eyes. “How do you sleep with that thing on?”

“It’s meant to be relaxing, Tyson,” she explained as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Her mask was on top of her head.

“Have you ever actually listened to it?”

She sighed and dropped her hand from her face to the mattress so hard that it bounced.

“You’re not supposed to listen to it – that’s not the point,” she groaned and swung his pillow back over to land across his shoulders. Then she collapsed, boneless, back onto her own. “You’re supposed to let it fade into the background and lull you into a relaxing and meditative sleep.”

“Hey, I tried!” Tyson defended, hugging his pillow in front of him. “It was the stupid seagulls.”

Hilary let out another deep breath and used a remote on her bedside table to silence the machine.

“If you’re done,” she said, pulling her mask back down, “can we go back to sleep? I don’t know what time it is, but it’s going to be seven before we know it.”

Tyson snorted and said, “I’m not getting up at seven, but you go ahead.” The way he figured it, he’d more than earned his right to sleep in after years of beyblading tournaments and kendo drills. “I’ll be right here if you need me, sleeping in like a normal human being.”

“Seven is sleeping in for me, Tyson,” Hilary said, making his jaw drop in horror. “I can’t sleep past then, even if I try. It’s much better to get up and seize the day.”

Tyson wrinkled his nose. He couldn’t think of many things worse than being physically incapable of sleeping in. He couldn’t fathom why Hilary sounded proud of the fact, either.

“Newsflash Hilary, you’re not superior because you can’t sleep in until noon – you’re sick.”

“Well excuse me if I want to be awake before lunchtime.”

“The only valid reason to be awake before lunch is for breakfast,” Tyson argued. Then he thought about it and added, “Or the World Championships.”

“Ugh – you know what?! Your yammering is worse than your snoring,” Hilary shot back, crossing her arms over her chest and, more than likely, glaring up at the inside of her eye mask. “I could have just gone to sleep on the couch you know, but I was really trying to make this work, and you–”

“Wait a minute,” he cut off her rant and sat up, turning to look at her even though she couldn’t see him, “ is that why you put on the white noise?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.”

Well, now he felt like a jerk. He didn’t want to keep Hilary awake all night, especially if her morning routine was as strenuous and time consuming as her nighttime one. He racked his brain. There had to be a solution. Then it clicked.

“Tyson,” she sighed, “I–”

“Shh, hold on!” Without saying another word, he got up and opened the window. “Now, listen.”

He could feel the confusion pouring off of Hilary until she heard the soft trickling of the fountain and the chirping of the crickets. There was even an odd frog or owl sending their cries up into the moonlight, and a pleasantly cool breeze to go with the sound of leaves rustling.

“Oh,” she echoed his earlier sentiment.

“This always helps me when I can’t sleep,” Tyson admitted, shuffling a little awkwardly back over to the bed. The sounds of the garden outside had always been a comfort – maybe it would work for Hilary too. He took her slack-jawed silence to be a good sign and sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Will this be okay?”

She smiled. He could tell it reached her eyes, even though she’d never taken the mask back off.

“This will be perfect, Tyson.”

He nodded to himself, before laying down on his stomach and tucking his arms up under his pillow to offer his head extra support. If he slept on his stomach, he shouldn’t snore so much. Daichi used to complain, too, though Tyson had never been sure how he could hear him over his own loud mouth.

Hilary, on the other hand, was someone he actually wanted in his bed. It was worth finding a compromise.

“Goodnight, Hilary.”

The sound of her even, soothing breaths was his only answer.

#type: fic #user: azikarue #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

Late entry for @may-blade ‘s coffee prompt!

Tyson told Hilary that the barista messed up their order and they have to share the drink but the truth is…🤫🫣

#type: fanart #user: ashxketchum #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MayBlade 2023 : Day 2 : School

TyHil | FFN Rating: K+ | FFN Link ❖ “I know you’re going with a spring theme, Hilary, but isn’t the canopy of cherry blossoms a bit much?”

Tyson realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn’t need to hear Hilary’s annoyed sigh or to see that he’d asked right as they crossed the halfway point of their time-consuming task. No, he’d known Hilary long enough to know he messed up without any physical evidence to prove it.

“You know what, forget I said anything,” he amended, taking an obedient step forward as Hilary’s legs flexed twice against his neck.

“Smart,” Hilary said dryly and ruffled his hair before reaching up, from her perch on his shoulders, to pin more flowers to the ceiling.

Tyson squeezed her knees in response. “And I’m not even the one in college.”

While Tyson had taken a more relaxed approach to his future – beyblading, working hand-in-hand with the BBA in whatever capacity he could, and training under his grandpa to one day take over the dojo for him – Hilary had always been destined for higher education.

She was a couple of years into her university experience now, and had recently run into Miss Kincaid in town. The subject of Hilary’s future career had come up in discussion and, one thing leading to another, Miss Kincaid had invited Hilary to help out in her classroom for some hands-on experience.

Hilary leapt at the chance, and put her all into it, like she did with everything she set her mind to.

Tyson felt a little sorry for the students and Miss Kincaid alike when he thought back to his own time with her in school. In fact, if their old teacher knew that Tyson was here, alone in her classroom with Hilary, helping drape chains of fake cherry blossoms from the ceiling, she’d probably fear for the integrity of the building.

In Hilary’s own words, she’d nearly had a heart attack when she found out her most memorable set of classroom rivals were a couple.

“If I’m getting too heavy for you, just say something, Tyson.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve told you to move three times now.”

Tyson snorted. The familiar annoyance lacing her voice took him back to the eighth grade in a way the classroom by itself could never.

“Aye aye, Wicked Witch. Your dream is this lowly flying monkey’s command,” he teased and stepped forward.

“Ha ha,” Hilary answered dryly, unwrapping a length of flowers from around Tyson’s neck and reaching up to attach it to the ceiling.

They kept at it, in a constant rhythm of Tyson pacing and Hilary unwrapping and pinning and urging him forward again. Once they reached the edge of the classroom, they started on another row, with a fresh chain of flowers, and so on and so forth.

Tyson behaved for the most part, only pretending to lose his hold on her or pinching her thighs when it wouldn’t mess her up too badly. They had less than a dozen rows to go when he noticed Hilary was beginning to slouch.

“Let’s take a break,” she groaned, pinning one final flower. “My neck is killing me.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

Tyson was strong enough to hold her, but they’d been at it so long that his muscles ached when he switched positions to help Hilary off of his shoulders and onto a nearby desk. When he turned around and held out his arms, she took the hint and fell forward into his embrace so he could lower her safely to the floor.

His hands lingered on her waistline afterwards. She didn’t protest.

“Thanks,” she sighed and rolled her neck to get the kinks out. “Just let me get a drink of water and then we can get back to work.” She slid out of his grip, almost apologetically, and fetched her water bottle from the teacher’s desk.

“Well, I could use a deep tissue massage.” Tyson said, as he stretched his sore muscles and followed her. “You might think its easy maintaining peak human form and maximum strength, but even World Champions need some upkeep every once in a while.”

Hilary rolled her eyes. “Let me guess: that ‘upkeep’ includes no fewer than five square meals a day?” she asked sarcastically, holding her water out to him in offering.

“Not including snack breaks,” he confirmed with a wink. He took a couple gulps of water, before setting the bottle aside. “You know, I think I’ve missed one of each since we’ve been here. So, you’re welcome.”

“Thank you for your noble sacrifice.” Hilary rolled her eyes and hoisted herself up to sit on the desk. “Remind me and I’ll buy you lunch on the way home.”

Tyson grinned and hopped up next to her. “Thank goodness you’re nicer on the other side of eighth grade,” he said, unable to keep the smirk off his lips.

“Thank goodness the swelling in your head went down so you could fit through the doorway to help me today,” Hilary countered.

“I’m just gonna say ‘you’re welcome’ so you don’t revert back to your old ways and rescind the lunch offer.”

“Well, what do you know – I guess you did learn something here, after all.”

Hilary was teasing, but her voice had an oddly nostalgic note to it that made him do a double-take. She was looking out at the desks, and he had the strange feeling it wasn’t the present-day classroom she was seeing. Slowly, so he didn’t startle her, he reached out and covered her hand with is own.

“Maybe we both did.”

Hilary turned to face him with a question in the crease of her brow. Before she could ask it, Tyson captured her lips with his.

She relaxed into the kiss almost immediately and Tyson took the chance to pull her closer over the polished surface of the desk. Miss Kincaid’s name placard got wedged between them and he knocked it to the floor in his haste to get it out of the way.

The clatter made Hilary jump. She opened her mouth – to scold him probably – and he took that as his invitation to deepen the kiss. He was rewarded with the feeling of her hands curling into the front of his shirt and a tiny squeak from the back of her throat.

It was weird, Tyson thought, that the person he would have given anything to be rid of when they first met, was the backbone of his life a few measly years later. And how now, he was back where they first crossed paths, making out with her on their teacher’s desk. Hilary tangled one of her hands in the hair at his nape and he decided it was a really good weird.

“Tyson…” she whispered against his lips, when they finally parted for air.

He kissed her again, chastely, then once more for good measure, not quite ready to give up the taste of her entirely. She hummed against his lips the second time, and he knew he had to stop if they had any hopes of getting out of the school before nightfall.

He pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against hers on the way, and asked, “Are you ready to finish?”

At the mention of hanging more blossoms, she winced and rubbed at her neck. “You might have been right about it being too much.”

Hilary’s brown eyes met his, sheepishly, from under the sweep of her eyelashes. Her cheeks were flushed, hair and clothing more ruffled than when she’d first let them into the classroom. The overhead lights shone through the tiny paper flowers, dappling her skin with pink.

Tyson’s mouth went dry.

“I actually think it’s perfect,” he said and, against his better judgment, pulled her in for another kiss.

#type: fic #user: azikarue #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MayBlade 2022 : Day 6 : Movie

Max/Mariam, TyHil | FFN Rating: K | FFN Link ❖ Hilary couldn’t remember what the movie was called, only that it was something Tyson had picked. It was some mashup of action and slapstick comedy. She’d hazard a guess that it lacked plot, but she couldn’t say for sure because she was more interested in watching Max and Mariam than a car chase.

Max was seated on the floor with his back against the couch, where Mariam sat above him. She had one leg tucked underneath herself and the other was draped over Max’s shoulder. She’d put it there so casually. Then Max had reached up automatically to touch it. His eyes were glued to the television, but there was a smirk on his lips as he pinched her kneecap. It widened when his girlfriend’s leg twitched at the sensation.

While Mariam flicked his ear in retribution, Hilary glanced down to where Tyson was sitting beside Max to see if he noticed. True to form, he was completely oblivious, eyes trained on the TV and one hand in a dwindling bowl of popcorn.

Hilary rolled her eyes, leaned deeper into the armrest, and tried to tune back in.

She lasted maybe three minutes before her eyes drifted to a picture frame near the television. It was of Max and Mariam, probably back from when they’d first started dating if the way Mariam looked more guarded was any indication. Obviously she’d consented to the picture – they were both smiling at the camera – but she definitely wasn’t leaning into Max like she did in more recent photos. There were a lot of them around.

A quick glance at the movie proved it was still not to her tastes, so she snuck another peek at Mariam. She had both legs crossed underneath her now, but she was slouched far enough down that Max could lean his head back against her calves. She was playing with his hair absentmindedly and looking at the movie with disinterest.

If Hilary had to guess by observing them, she’d say Mariam’s love language was physical touch. She’d been sneaking little touches ever since coming with Max to pick her and Tyson up at the airport. Once Hilary started noticing it, she had trouble not noticing.

There was a bright flash of light from the television screen, but Hilary watched Mariam dig her phone out of the blankets and send a text message instead. Max’s phone lit up on the coffee table a moment after she hit send. He was quick to pick it up and shoot her a reply.

“HEY!” Tyson shouted.

Hilary jumped. Max’s phone went flying. Mariam snorted in amusement at her boyfriend. Hilary kicked hers.

“Tyson, you scared me!” she scolded and grabbed the hat off his head only to hit him with it.

“Ow - sorry!” he exclaimed, having the audacity to sound offended. “But you were watching – he just double-crossed his best friend!” He gestured wildly at the TV and glanced at the others. His eyes settled on Max when he asked, “Uh… You were watching, right?”

It was no wonder that Mariam had known from the start how in love with her Max was – he had a terrible poker face. Hilary usually found it endearing, but he was making them all look guilty right now. Tyson narrowed his eyes.

“Does anyone want some more popcorn?” Mariam interjected to get the attention off of poor Max. He took the opportunity to crawl across the floor for his phone now that Tyson was distracted by the promise of food. “Or nachos?”

“Oh hey, yeah!” Tyson snapped his fingers. “Do you have jalapenos?”

“Can you handle jalapenos?” Max asked teasingly as he rose to his feet and tucked his phone into his pocket.

“Uh, you know he can’t,” Hilary answered, earning herself a laugh from Max. She leaned over Tyson’s shoulder for the remote so she could pause the movie, clearly the only one with the presence of mind to do so. “They’ll give him gas and I have to share a bed with him tonight.”

“Hey!”

“I’m putting my foot down, Tyson!”

“The couch pulls out,” Max suggested glancing at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he gathered up the empty snack bowls. “And there’s better ventilation out here.”

Hilary hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch!” Tyson pouted and snatched his hat back.

“Good thing we don’t have jalapenos, then.” Mariam stood and stretched, leaving a veritable cocoon of blankets behind on the couch. “There’s cheese and leftover taco meat.”

“I’ll stomach it,” Tyson said, smiling through his feigned sigh.

“What a surprise,” Max joked as he and Mariam headed toward the kitchen.

Tyson stuck his tongue out at him.

“Real mature, Tyson. Do you two need any help?” Hilary scolded her boyfriend and addressed their hosts in one breath. She hadn’t forgotten her manners. Tyson had never had any to begin with, but she’d been trying to set a good example. There were empty soda cans littered over the coffee table, so she suggested, “I can grab more drinks.”

“That would be great, Hilary,” Max said with a smile.

She nodded back and started clearing up the cans.

“I’m gonna go take a leak and then I can help with whatever,” Tyson proclaimed, hauling himself to his feet. Not exactly how she’d thought he would follow her lead, but he was probably responsible for half of the soda can carnage. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“If you mean ‘don’t eat all the snacks’, you don’t have to worry,” Hilary replied with a roll of her eyes. “We aren’t all bottomless pits like you.”

“Hey!” He pointed at her as he backed his way out of the living room. The serious expression on his face would be more believable if his grin wasn’t stubbornly poking through. “Hollow leg, remember?” With a wink at her he disappeared down the hall.

Hilary shook her head. With her arms full of soda cans, she turned to the kitchen, prepared to discard them.

What she wasn’t prepared for, was the sight of Max and Mariam navigating around each other while they readied the next round of snacks with all the ease of two people who were fully used to it. She didn’t know why it surprised her so much, other than the fact that she’d never seen them together in a situation that was quite so… domestic.

Mariam was using the microwave to heat up the nacho toppings. When it beeped, she took the mixture out to stir and Max slid a bag of popcorn in, before grabbing a platter for her to empty a bag of tortilla chips onto. When they reached for the popcorn bowl at the same time, Max stole a fleeting kiss before Mariam could object.

The way they worked together was cute. It was like a dance. Or a tag-team beyblade battle.

When she thought of Mariam, she still pictured the old amusement park in her mind. Even though it had been many years – and several tournaments – since then, the woman wearing Max’s t-shirt in the kitchen was the same person that had tried to seal away her team’s bitbeasts forever.

It was funny to see her more familiar with Max’s life than Hilary was. And she knew her way around the apartment extremely well for somebody that lived almost as far away from it as Hilary did. She made a mental note to ask Max sometime just how often Mariam was here.

She gave her head a shake and continued to the kitchen.

“Do you recycle?” she asked when it wasn’t immediately clear where she should toss the cans.

Max was on his way to the living room with the plate of nachos, so Mariam answered first: “Under the sink.” She opened the proper cupboard for her and pulled a bin to the front. “You can put them in here.”

Hilary thanked her and dumped them in with a clatter. The sound was drowned out by the commotion of Tyson reappearing. Without explanation, he put Max in a headlock, which started an impromptu wrestling match as the blond tried to escape.

“Watch the food!” Hilary warned as the pair nearly tripped over the corner of the coffee table. “We’re guests, Tyson.” She was about to go put a stop to their antics when Mariam stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She looked at her, confused.

“Max misses you guys, you know,” Mariam explained and let her hand fall from Hilary’s shoulder when she realized she wasn’t going to leave. Crossing to the fridge, she grabbed two drinks and handed one over. “He’s been talking about this visit for months.”

Hilary smiled fondly, seeing the boys’ goofing off in a different light. It had been a long time since she’d spent a weekend making sure they stayed out of trouble and loving every minute of it. The occasional long distance phone call just wasn’t the same.

“We miss him, too.”

It was hard, between all of their work and school schedules, to find time to spend together. Hilary missed the days when all it took was someone like Mariam showing up in town to bring all her boys together for months on end, no questions asked or schedules rearranged. She sighed.

Mariam slid the popcorn bowl towards her.

“Let them go until the neighbors complain,” she said, taking a sip of her pop. “It’s better than that awful movie.”

Hilary laughed at the sheer surprise of hearing Mariam say those words. She knew there was a reason why Max liked her so much.

#type: fic #user: azikarue #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

Mayblade 2023 - Day 4

Note: This is technically my submission for the prompt Sci-fi, you’ll find that word in there somewhere. Though I started writing it in 2020 or early 2021, when I received a dancing prompt request which eventually resulted in Chapter 8 and this piece being shoved into the WIP folder, until today! I read Chapters 2&4 of Life in Colour by @azikarue and felt very inspired to pick this piece up again, remember to check out this lovely fic as well 💗

[post divider by @/cafekitsune]

“Nice of you to finally show your face around here Tyson!”

The whole gymnasium paused and turned their heads to look at Tyson, and while usually, he didn’t mind being the centre of attention, right now the collective gaze of his classmates did make him feel embarrassed. But his annoyance with Chief’s tone and volume seemed to win over the former, sure Chief often scolded him during training and matches but this time the superiority in his voice coupled with the effect from the megaphone seemed to irk Tyson a little too much. Instead of responding with words, Tyson just faced him with a stoic look and it seemed to do the trick because a minute later Chief was hastily climbing down his makeshift throne and making his way to where Tyson and Hilary stood near the entrance.

“What I meant was, I’m so happy to finally have you be a part of our production.” Chief let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly in hopes that Tyson wouldn’t get too mad at him for his outburst earlier.

“Can’t say the same for myself,” Tyson muttered under his breath but Hilary caught on to it and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Anyway, the point is he’s here now,” she said as she turned to face Chief, speaking in her usual bossy tone that Chief had trouble talking back against, “and he has agreed to play the other lead. So, all our problems are solved.”

“Tyson will play the male lead?” Chief almost shrieked in surprise, turning the heads of many of their classmates, who worried that the director’s mood getting worse couldn’t bode well for any of them.

“Ouch.” Tyson raised his eyebrows, not that he was expecting his friend to be all gung-ho about his participation but the reaction was a little over the top even by his standards.

“No I mean, it’s great that you’ve shown interest in our efforts.” Chief retraced his words yet again, “But I’m not sure about casting you in a lead role at such short notice.”

Tyson wanted to tell Chief that their only audience was supposed to be a bunch of bored teachers and even more disinterested parents and students, that his production wasn’t going to be screened at Cannes or be eligible for an Oscar, but in much more colourful words, however, Hilary beat him to it.

“Oh for god’s sake, it’s just a school play.” She rolled her eyes at the hurtful look that settled on Chief’s face, “And it’s not like you have a whole pool of established actors to choose from.”

“Even if it’s just a school play, I have certain standards I like to follow.” Chief adjusted his glasses, his voice and hands both shaking out of the fear of talking back to the brunette, “And this isn’t Beyblading where Tyson can just waltz to the top without any effo-”

“Hils, I’d like to speak to Chief alone for a minute.” Tyson passed a steely smile in her direction as he grabbed the ambitious director by his shirt collar and dragged him out of the gymnasium with much ease, not waiting for Hilary to respond, he shut the doors and pushed his pipsqueak of a friend against them.

“Okay, now here’s what going to happen,” Tyson began in a low, threatening tone as Chief cowered slightly under his glare, “we’re going to stay here for about ten minutes, keep an eye on your watch.” Chief nodded in acknowledgement, so he continued, “Then we’re going to go back inside and you’ll tell Hilary how convinced you are by my acting skills and now love the idea of me being the lead.”

#type: fic #user: ashxketchum #mayblade recap

[takaoxhiromi]

MAYBLADE 2023 - "SCHOOL"

#type: edit #user: ashxketchum #mayblade recap