[IMOG] Bobsledding Years 4-7 [finished] - page 4 - Koldovstoretz

29 Apr 2026, 07:11

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It was no secret, in Durmstrang or anywhere his complex reputation reached, that Madhup was magically inept. His adopted caretaker, his trainers, and his professors had taken turns throughout his life expressing disappointment in his lack of arcane prowess. It was in Quidditch that he finally found his breakthrough, and the player had thrown himself full-heartedly into flying ever since. Competition was the lifeblood of he and Dee alike, for similar (if equally unaddressed) reasons. This was how they proved themselves. When she propositioned him to IMOG, Mad had seen the event as a chance to put their power couple status on display for the magical world at large to see. Now he was hobbling through the snow with one boot, shooting a desperate look after the other racers, panting a panicked "We can still-!" But there was no "still". This professional track was incredibly short, unforgiving towards mistakes, and this one put them too far behind for any hope of redemption. Bravado bled from him while the air left his lungs. Physical performance had never been an issue for him- it was what he was known for- and to fail went against the self-image he'd painstakingly built. It wasn't the thousands of eyes watching that worried him. Mad was gripped by the fear he'd just soured the last opinion on earth he still cared about.

Only when Mad looked to Dee, she wasn't giving him the all-too-familiar frown of unmet expectations. "Babe...?" She was laughing, and letting go of the bobsled as if it never mattered in the first place, falling into the snow with a fit of giggles. He would take disbelief over disappointment any day. Making a show of wrenching off his helmet, collapsing to his knees and dragging his gloves down his face, Mad's groan of despair echoed out towards the crowd. It was stupid. He'd been amped for IMOG, overly confident, just to be thwarted before they could even pass the starting line. The flyer reasoned he'd hear a snide remark from one of his trainers about gear checks. Yet so long as his partner was having a good time, so, too, was Mad. He hauled her to her feet, using the back of his palm to push streaks of tears from her cheeks. There was a kicked puppy shine to his eyes, as though he wanted to apologize, face flushed from cold and stress and adoration all at once. Instead he sighed with a strange blend of disappointment and relief, "I love you, too." It was the proudest bronze medal of his life, a permanent reminder that at least in @Dealla Prince's eyes, he didn't have to be perfect all the time. He would make up for it the rest of the time. At her suggestion to congratulate the others, he made a loud sound of disgust, but hooked his arm in hers after digging his boot out of the track. Mad pressed a conciliatory kiss to her cheek before trudging towards the sideline.
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(PC: Pericles Dralt)

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	It was no secret, in Durmstrang or anywhere his complex reputation reached, that Madhup was magically inept. His adopted caretaker, his trainers, and his professors had taken turns throughout his life expressing disappointment in his lack of arcane prowess. It was in Quidditch that he finally found his breakthrough, and the player had thrown himself full-heartedly into flying ever since. Competition was the lifeblood of he and Dee alike, for similar (if equally unaddressed) reasons. This was how they proved themselves. When she propositioned him to IMOG, Mad had seen the event as a chance to put their power couple status on display for the magical world at large to see. Now he was hobbling through the snow with one boot, shooting a desperate look after the other racers, panting a panicked "We can still-!" But there was no "still". This professional track was incredibly short, unforgiving towards mistakes, and this one put them too far behind for any hope of redemption. Bravado bled from him while the air left his lungs. Physical performance had never been an issue for him- it was what he was known for- and to fail went against the self-image he'd painstakingly built. It wasn't the thousands of eyes watching that worried him. Mad was gripped by the fear he'd just soured the last opinion on earth he still cared about. Only when Mad looked to Dee, she wasn't giving him the all-too-familiar frown of unmet expectations. "Babe...?" She was laughing, and letting go of the bobsled as if it never mattered in the first place, falling into the snow with a fit of giggles. He would take disbelief over disappointment any day. Making a show of wrenching off his helmet, collapsing to his knees and dragging his gloves down his face, Mad's groan of despair echoed out towards the crowd. It was stupid. He'd been amped for IMOG, overly confident, just to be thwarted before they could even pass the starting line. The flyer reasoned he'd hear a snide remark from one of his trainers about gear checks. Yet so long as his partner was having a good time, so, too, was Mad. He hauled her to her feet, using the back of his palm to push streaks of tears from her cheeks. There was a kicked puppy shine to his eyes, as though he wanted to apologize, face flushed from cold and stress and adoration all at once. Instead he sighed with a strange blend of disappointment and relief, "I love you, too." It was the proudest bronze medal of his life, a permanent reminder that at least in @Dealla Prince's eyes, he didn't have to be perfect all the time. He would make up for it the rest of the time. At her suggestion to congratulate the others, he made a loud sound of disgust, but hooked his arm in hers after digging his boot out of the track. Mad pressed a conciliatory kiss to her cheek before trudging towards the sideline.
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IMOG Bobsledding Years 4-7 finished