#mybeybladefanfic

[maxmiz]

Okay, If Max were to propose Mariam on her 23rd birthday, what would it be like? Please write something on this, I am eagerly waiting to see this content written by you.

Firstly, thank you much for the ask @velox-the-knight. I thought I’d do one better and write a short one shot fanfic on this. But I’ve tweaked the facts a little. I’ve made it so that they’re both 28 (23 feels a bit too early for someone like Max to marry idk?) and I’ve not made it on her birthday. But I’ll hope you’ll like this!

Also tagging @stroblitzfalborg, @bakutenmayhem @araingirl @midnightstarr8 @gingericywolf @luxahheart @dangpanterita @turquoisewisteria @tshjortile @hiwataris-bitch and anyone else who would like some Max/Mariam content. Feedback is appreciated from anyone who likes Max/Mariam in the fandom! (This is a hurriedly written short fic, so it may not be great lol)

FAIRYTALE

The path to the dojo was covered in chrysanthemums and a young, blithe man strolled down the road, inhaling the fresh scent of spring into his lungs in the hopes that it would inspire him to finally pop the big question. The golden strands of his hair mirrored the bright beams of the radiant sun above, and twenty-eight-year-old Max Mizuhara strode into his best friend’s house with every ounce of his courage tucked away in a little black box in his pocket. Today was the day that he would ask her to marry him.

The familiar, idyllic setting of Takao’s house greeted him at the entrance and comforted him as he tried to pull himself together and calm his nerves. The oddly mature words of wisdom of his precocious younger sister, Charlotte, surfaced in his mind – if you know she’s the one, then she is. If she’s not, you can move on to other things. Like buying me a Playstation.

His eyes scanned the dojo. He half hoped that Daichi would not spring out of some corner with a bowl of soup in his hand and ruin the bouquet of wild flowers that Max was carrying, by tripping and falling over some rock as usual. Max’s mother, Judy, had not appreciated Daichi’s clumsiness when he had all but destroyed her immaculate designer pantsuit by spilling a drink on it by accident.

I can’t believe that I brought flowers, he thought to himself amused. Max had never really been the flowers-and-chocolates type of boyfriend. Romantic gifts were more of Rei and Takao’s domain. Mariam and Max had always had a jovial, easy-going relationship. They did many things together – from trekking to mountaintops and sleeping under the stars together, to skydiving and dancing at carnivals to which Raul and Julia often invited them. But romantic cliches had never been something that either of them was particularly fond of.

Growing up with parents who rarely lived in the same city, Max had never had the occasion to watch any romance blossom between them. Family dinners were often a cold affair, with his mother being an emotionally distant workaholic and his father being in blissful denial about the crumbling state of their marriage. Even as things had improved between his parents after he had won his first world championship, Max’s faith in romance and marriage had forever been marred by the shadow of his childhood in a dead home.

Yet, here he was, ready to ask the love of his life to marry him, with flowers no less. The irony was not lost upon him.

Oddly, it was his two friends Kai and Hiromi who had suggested that he take flowers with him as he proposed to her. Max could swear he almost choked on his drink as he heard those words leave Kai’s mouth. It made him wonder if, in private, Kai had actually ever given his nature-loving boyfriend Brooklyn any flowers. The thought of a romantic Kai seemed almost as inconceivable to him as the thought of Yuri and Takao’s errant brother Hitoshi hooking up. But stranger things had happened in their world – Balkov becoming a reality show star, for one. He certainly gave the Kardashians some stiff competition in the vanity department. Yuri almost retched at seeing Balkov’s vainglorious Instagram account.

Chuckling, Max looked down at his bouquet as the memory of his last conversation with his friends popped up in his mind.

“You listen to me Maximilian Mizuhara…”

“Actually, it’s just Max,” said Max, cutting her short, meekly.

“Did I say that you could interrupt me?” growled Hiromi, rolling her eyes. “Now, as I was saying…you have to get her flowers! You can’t propose without flowers to a woman who has been raised in the mountains in the lap of nature. Back me up, Hiwatari!”

Kai put down his drink on the table and shrugged. “You heard the woman.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Max, surprised. “And what if she does not like flowers?”

“Then you can take off your clothes and hope that she forgets about the flowers when she sees you in your magnificent birthday suit,” said a drunk Takao, laughing at his own joke without a care in the world.

“Takao!” said Hiromi, smacking him lightly on his head.

“Ow, what was that for?” said Takao, crossly.

“Your jokes are getting worse every day. Soon you’ll give Ivan a run for his money and that is not a compliment. Ask Yuri and Boris. They had to make a jar specifically for him in which he has to drop a penny every time he makes a terrible joke. There was enough money in it by the end of the year for Yuri to buy Julia a gift pack from Victoria’s Secret and have money left over for Boris and Sergei to go drinking expensive wine at Ralf’s vineyard. Do you want me to make such a jar for you too?” said Hiromi, narrowing her eyes.

“If it helps get you your favorites from Victoria’s Secret, why not,” said Takao, playfully.

Hiromi blushed and pretended to text on her phone.

“Okayyyy, get a room you two,” said Rei, laughing.

“Alright, guys, can we deal with my problem before Mr. World Champion here starts his drunken monologue? Is it yay or nay on the flowers? Won’t it be too cliched for Mariam to appreciate?” said Max, frowning.

“Make it so that it isn’t,” said Kai, in a deep voice.

 Make it so that it isn’t. I hope I’m doing this right.

Max walked further into the dojo to see Mariam sitting on the porch, with her long blue strands of hair casually tied up on top of her head in a bun. She was dressed in a white shirt and red skirt, while a tattoo of Sharkrash on her smooth, porcelain skin glimmered under the light of the sun. Max gasped as he watched his beautiful girlfriend concentrate on the book that she was reading, one that Max instantly recognized as his favorite, personal copy of Bitches Gotta Beyblade. Ming Ming had written quite the tantalizing but wonderful biography of her life as a beyblading and singing sensation – and though Max had initially found her annoying during her BEGA days, he had come to admire her over the years. Juggling school and Beyblade while winning Grammys every year was no mean feat.

As Max stepped into the garden by the little pond, Mariam lifted her face from her book and looked at him with a smile on her face.

“Maxie. What’s up? Why are we meeting at the dojo when neither Takao nor grandpa are here? Feels a little weird,” said Mariam, suspiciously.

“Weird? Why is that? We’re always hanging out at the dojo on weekends,” said Max, hiding the bouquet behind his back.

“You know…like we’re trespassing or something while he’s not around,” said Mariam.

“Trespassing? Did your conscience prick you like this when you were stalking me day and night to seal my bit-beast?” teased Max.

“For the last time Max, I wasn’t stalking. I was just gathering intel,” said Mariam, feigning annoyance.

“Alright, Mata Hari, pipe down,” quipped Max. “Ozuma can’t hear you, you know. We both know that you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Oh yeah, and who was the one putting on all the moves in a collapsing building? Seriously Max, who flirts when they’re almost about to get crushed by a building?” said Mariam, playfully.

“Guilty as charged, m’lady,” said Max, laughing.

Mariam uncrossed her legs and leaned against a wooden pillar casually. “What have you got behind you?”

A romantic cliché, that’s what.

“Hmm, let’s see,” said Max, pulling out the bouquet and presenting it to her.

“Flowers…” said Mariam, surprised.

“Not just any flowers,” said Max, handing her the bouquet.

Mariam looked more closely at the bouquet and Max could see her face lighting up.

“Orchids…from my village in the mountains…” said Mariam, looking touched.

Max knew that Mariam missed her village frequently. Even though she quite liked her life as a marine biologist, free from the shackles of her tribe’s strict and conservative rules, Max often found her wistfully longing for the mountains that she called her home. He knew that if flowers were the way to go, he would personally write to Yusuf and request him to send them to Japan, where he and Mariam were living temporarily after taking a sabbatical from their jobs in California.

“What…what’s the occasion?” said Mariam.

Oh boy, here goes.

“Well…I don’t know how to do this…” mumbled Max, as he slipped his hand into his pocket.

Mariam watched him curiously as he pulled out a little black box.

“Oh…my…” said Mariam, intuitively, the minute that she laid her eyes on the box. “Are you asking me to…”

Max stared at Mariam, unsure about how to proceed with it. He stood quietly staring at her for a solid two minutes until Mariam said, “Uh…Max?”

Kneel, you moron. You can gawk at her later, thought Max as he mentally slapped himself, before going down on one knee.

“Mariam…I never thought that there’d come a day that I’d find myself asking you…or anyone, to marry me. I have never believed in fairytale endings or happily ever-afters. And I don’t believe that being with you is my fairytale ending, because nobody knows what the future holds. But you certainly are the beginning of my fairytale. Now I wish I had Rei’s eloquence to be able to come up with a romantic poem on the spot, but that’s not me. I’m all smiles and jokes and mustard on noodles and we have had always had an unconventional relationship. So, in the spirit of that…” said Max, opening the box, mid-sentence.

Okay, here goes nothing.

Much to Mariam’s surprise, Max pulled out a red, silken bandana from the box and tied it around her forehead.

“I could have got a ring…and I will after this, but I don’t do cliches. Now, I’m 14 years late, but here’s a long overdue replacement for the bandana you tied around my arm when I injured myself protecting you in that collapsing building. I’m tying this around your forehead as a promise to protect you for as long as I can, no matter how many buildings collapse on us and no matter what hurts me in the process. So…will you…marry me?” said Max.

Mariam gasped. She looked like someone had punched her in the gut.

“You know, Takao’s garden has just been hosed an hour ago. My jeans are getting soaked in the mud. Could you answer faster?” said Max, sheepishly.

“Well…yes, you idiot!” said Mariam, throwing her arms around Max and hugging him tenderly.

Kissing her softly on the cheek, Max pulled away and looked into her gorgeous green eyes. He had spent many a night looking into them, but this was the first time that he had seen a touch of vulnerability in them. If anything, her eyes looked even more beautiful now.

“Oh, that was so fucking cute, I’m going to faint!”

“Hell yeah, go Maxie!”

“Max, you dawg…”

Shocked, Max and Mariam looked to the left to see their friends peering at them from behind the dojo and giggling amongst themselves. Kai and Brooklyn did not seem to partake in their laughter, but smiled approvingly at him and Mariam.

“How long have you guys been there?” said Max, going red in the face.

“Long enough, buddy,” said Takao, bellowing with laughter.

“You promised you’d be out,” said Max, embarrassedly.

“And miss this? Never!” said Hiromi, slyly.

“Oh yeah, Kyouju even taped it,” said Rei, giving their bespectacled friend a nudge.

“It’s time for some celebration!” said Hiromi.

“Drinks in the garden?” said Takao.

“On it,” volunteered Brooklyn. Kai joined him to go into the house and fetch the celebratory champagne.

Max looked at his friends and then at Mariam, and smiled. He had finally found a sense of contentment that had eluded him for most of his life.

The beginning of a fairytale indeed.

[maxmiz]

So I wrote some fanfiction of the Blitz Boys - specifically Tala and my headcanon about his mother. Read on!

Okay so I decided to come out of my shell and write some fanfic after a while, so I’m a bit rusty. It’s a one shot and not too long. I hope that you guys will find some time to read it and hopefully shall like it. If you do read it, please leave some feedback if you feel like it. It’s always nice for us writers to know that we’re not screaming into the void. 

Please keep in mind that this fanfic is based on my headcanon which you can find here. There might be a bit of swearing here, so fair warning to all. Also I’ve used dub names. I’ve written it in two small parts on this post itself. So it won’t take a lot of time to read. Happy reading and thanks!

P.S. I have imagined them as fully grown adults here. Not written them as per their anime/manga age.

FAMILY

Part 1

“Ballerinas? Really? You bought a fucking magazine on ballerinas?”

“What? C’mon, Bryan. If they can twist and turn the way they do while dancing, imagine how flexible they can be elsewhere,” said the petite young Russian, winking at his skeptical teammate. The constant downpour outside did nothing to dampen his spirits as he put the magazine on the table and snuggled up against the wall next to his chair under an enormous blanket that could have easily been mistaken for a carpet.

“Ohh, you do not want to say that in front of Tala,” said Bryan, shaking his head. Kneeling down on the floor, he pulled the ottoman away from under Ian’s feet towards himself, causing Ian to scowl and mumble an indistinct, “Oi!”

Bryan ignored his younger teammate’s protest and relaxed his legs on it.

“Anyway. Why wouldn’t I talk about it in front of Tala? ’The fuck would he have to say about that? It’s not like I make eyes at him for his choices or question his kinks,” said Ian, rolling his eyes.

“Kinks? Tala? Please,” said Bryan, chortling.

“What? Even someone as mysteriously quiet as Kai is a serial bangeroo. Don’t tell me that Tala’s a saint,” said Ian.

“Oh no, Tala’s as much of a saint as Boris is a legitimate member of the clergy, but the guy’s asexual. You know that too. Give him a break. Or is the concept too difficult for you to wrap your tiny head around?” said Bryan, frowning.  

“Why are you always so defensive about Tala? It’s like you’re in love with him…oooh, Bryan wuvs Tala,” said Ian, teasingly.

“What are you, five?” said Bryan, disdainfully, refilling his glass with some more vodka.

“No, he’s just a twenty year old with the IQ of an intoxicated hamster,” said a slightly rough voice from behind them.

A burly young man walked into the balcony carrying an oddly discoloured sack over his broad shoulder.

“Ah, Spencer. How nice of you to make an entrance with your…whatever that is,” said Ian, unenthusiastically. “So, were you out there knocking out people’s teeth and labelling them in alphabetical order for your personal collection?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous,” said Spencer, dismissively. “I don’t label them in alphabetical order. I just keep them all in colour-coded jars.”

“You know, with you, it’s actually hard to say when you’re joking,” said Ian, passing Spencer a drink. “What is in that sack, anyway?”

“I bet you my right nut that it’s a collection of some really questionable DVDs,” said Bryan, chuckling.

“I could add your teeth to my collection. Maybe we could tape that on one of my blank ones?” suggested Spencer, cheekily.

“Aww Spence, are you being threatening? Weren’t you the one who cried watching Harry Potter?” said Bryan, mockingly.

“Well, Dobby really was a nice elf!” protested Spencer.

“Cut the crap, guys. What’s in the sack?” said Ian, clearly impatient for an answer and disinterested in all the banter.

“Flyers,” said Spencer, flatly.

“Flyers? For what? Are you trying to enter the Mr. Russia contest again?” said Bryan.

Spencer dropped the sack on the floor and aimed a kick at Bryan’s shin, but Bryan lunged out of his chair before he could touch him.

“Oho…someone shares my taste in bendy ballerinas,” said Ian, pulling out a flyer from the sack that had fallen at his feet.

Bryan’s face turned serious for a moment and he looked at Spencer curiously. “Why do you have a sack full of flyers about ballerinas?”

Spencer shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask Tala. He asked me to pick it up from that collector near the electronics store. These are really old flyers. Almost as old as us.”

“Where is he?” said Bryan. As calm as he tried to sound, there was a hint of panic in his voice.

“Why do you ask?” said Ian, noticing the change in his tone and expression.

“Answer the goddamned question,” said Bryan, impatiently.

“I don’t know. He went for a walk. Try his cell,” said Ian.

“His cell’s at a repair shop, you forgetful little shit,” snapped Bryan.

“Whoa…what’s got you all riled up? You sound–”

But before Ian could complete his sentence, Bryan had already left.

Walking down the staircase towards the gate, only one thought kept echoing at the back of Bryan’s head. He’s figured it out.

Part 2

Snow and rain. These were the two things that he had bitterly cried about on several occasions in his somewhat distant past when he was out on the streets, scavenging for food and hoping that some kind stranger would lend him a blanket to sleep in with his friend. But now he walked over the damp, slippery road with an umbrella in his hand knowing that if not anything else, the snow was at his command.

He had very little memory left of his time before the Abbey. The few scraps of it that had remained in his mind after Boris’ efforts at deleting them were like tattered photographs that floated about in a dark unending void – unfathomable and unconnected. Sometimes he felt as though Bryan remembered snippets of their time before the Abbey – maybe even about his family. But for some reason Bryan never talked about it and he never asked.

It was also not entirely unexpected for him to find that there were no official records of him or his family anywhere in the databases of the government. Boris was a man with infinite connections in high places and it was not too far-fetched for him to imagine the depths to which he would have sunken to dehumanize the boys and turn them into his slaves.

Walking down the musty lanes of Mardov, an old forgotten street in a corner of Moscow, Tala debated with himself for a moment as to whether or not he should close him umbrella. Even as the rain had stopped, the water, that had collected over the slanting rooftops of the houses on either side of this unusually narrow lane, kept cascading down over his head mercilessly.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his trench-coat and pulled out a small newspaper clipping.

Faced with a severe cash crunch, acclaimed former ballerina Olga Ivanova-Lipovsky to tutor prospective ballerinas at her humble residence at Mardov Studio.

Tala glanced at the title of the clipping again and sighed. As a celebrity himself, Tala had never been much of a fan of such tabloids. So it was with much disdain that he had read through the article to find out about the colourful and possibly exaggerated life of this once exuberant and well-known ballerina. It was riddled with stories of her period of substance abuse, multiple affairs, political involvement, four failed marriages – including one abusive marriage from which she claimed to have escaped after her drunk husband had beaten her, done everything to extinguish her career and relegate her to nothing more than a ballet teacher – and two children. One alive and pursuing a career in architecture and one dead.

One dead. Tala pushed down the lump in his throat and proceeded to walk down the lane, wrinkling his nose. The stench on the street was unbearable.

He had wondered for several years, as he had watched Wolborg materialize, as to why his bit-beast was different. His bit-beast was artificial and was created at the Abbey according to what would be compatible with him. Yet, by tapping into the minds of his teammates, Boris had created bit-beasts that symbolized nothing more than the creatures that were best suited to their personalities.

He had even summoned Wolborg and tried to connect to her spiritually, hoping for some answers. But the only reply that he had got to his question of why she appeared as a woman whenever he released her was, “Watch me, little one.”

Her answer had confused him to a significant degree until the rather odd dream that he had had one night about a beautiful red-haired woman twirling around endlessly to Tchaikovsky’s tunes. He had woken up bathed in sweat the next morning, utterly befuddled, and since then had devoted himself to finding out the connection between his bit-beast and ballet.

Watch me, little one.

Under all his layers of warm clothing, the voice inside his head still ran a chill down his spine.

After almost an eternity of walking and silent contemplation, Tala came to a sharp halt near a window. A board with the word ‘Lipovsky’ hung from a nail on the door next to it.

Unable to help himself and unsure of whether he could bring himself to ring the doorbell, he peered in through the window of the dimly lit room.

It was a quaintly untidy room, with clothes strewn all over the couch and books lying open on a table with tiny cigarette butts surrounding them. Frowning, Tala looked at the wall. A number of photographs hung from the wall – some with pictures of the red-headed ballerina smiling and dancing, and some with another young red-headed girl standing next to her.

However, it was the last photograph that really surprised him. Tala gasped as he saw a photograph of himself holding the Beyblade World Championship trophy hanging right next to the photograph of his mother. An unwitting smile appeared on his face and he stared at the photograph in complete disbelief.

“Pick up your clothes from the couch, Nina,” said a sharp voice from inside.

Tala instinctively moved away from the window and hid by the door, carefully positioning himself in such a way as to be able to continue to look into the room.

“I’ll do it, mama,” said a young woman in a bored voice, entering the room.

Soon after, a middle aged woman glided into the room, with a cigarette in her hand.

A wave of indistinguishable emotions, both happy and sad, washed over Tala as he stared longingly at the woman who stood inside the room chiding his half-sister. Even as she was barely forty five, there were visible wrinkles on her face and a hint of cynicism in her eyes. Be that as it may, she was still breathtakingly beautiful, and age and her battle with addiction had done little to rob away the grace in her step and the touch of youthfulness in her smile that he had seen on the flyers containing pictures of his mother.

Tala felt his fingers inching towards the doorbell when he was broken out of his reverie by Nina’s voice.

“Mom, Alex drew a portrait of me and framed it. But where do I hang it? Just look at how cluttered the wall is. There are no more nails to hang anything from!” said she, irritably, waving a rather unflattering sketch of herself in front her mother.

“I’ll make space,” replied Olga, casually taking off Tala’s photograph from the wall and tossing it into the small dustbin by the couch.

The frame shattered inside it and for a moment, Olga glanced at it and frowned. Then she looked at her daughter and gestured at the wall, before walking away without another word.

Tala felt his hand shaking as he lowered it from the doorbell. An unexpected tear trickled down his cold cheek and he took a step back, feeling strangely crushed.

“Need a drink?” said a familiar voice from behind him.

Tala glanced over his shoulder to see Bryan standing there looking at him sympathetically. He hastily wiped his tear and turned around, his expression as cold as it had always been.

“You knew,” said Tala, unceremoniously.

Bryan shrugged. “I did.”

“Hm.”

“Your family is waiting for you with a couple of bottles of vodka on the balcony, you know,” said Bryan.

Tala made no response and quietly joined Bryan as they walked back past puddles and patches of snow.

“Tell anyone about this and I bench you,” said Tala, coldly.

“Aye, captain,” said Bryan, smiling.

For a brief second, Bryan could have sworn that there was a smile on Tala’s face as well.

You’re welcome, buddy, thought Bryan to himself, as they made their way together through the unforgiving weather towards home.