mine: gale hawthorne


Peeta and Katniss’s daughter slowly began to learn about the games and the Capitol and the rebellion in school. One day, she came home and told her parents that a real soldier rebellion veteran came into school to talk to them. She turned to her mom and said “Did you know a soldier named Gale Hawthorne?

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Gadge Week - Day Five: Blame

AU. Gale and Madge were reaped for the 74th Hunger Games.

The uproar is deafening, even far up from a dark attic like where they’re currently hiding in. Gale paces back and forth, back and forth as he runs his hand through his hair over and over, a habit he’s been doing since as long as he can remember. He doesn’t listen to what Haymitch is saying to Madge. No, he’s heard that lecture. Something along the line the games doesn’t end when you left the arena.

“This is all my fault,” he mutters angrily. Madge stops her conversation with Haymitch, and sighs before walking to him. Her hand rests on his arm, pulling him to a stop. The blue in her eyes seem oh-so-comforting that he wishes he could just swim into it with her and never to come back.

“It’s not.” She says softly, caressing his cheek with her other free hand. “Quit blaming yourself, it’s definitely not your fault.”

But of course he knows it’s not true. It is his fault. “No, it is my fault. Snow said so.”

Haymitch’s eyes seem to bulge out of their socket when he finishes. “Who said so?”

He sighs. Of course, sooner or later he would have to tell them anyway. And so he does. About Snow’s visit in the early morning before they departed for their tour, warning him that the berry stunt he pulled off in the arena was the beginning of everything. If only he would stick to the rules. Follow the games as he was supposed to, there wouldn’t be any chaos, riots, nor deaths all across the country.

Madge’s jaw has fallen open as she listens to him recount the story. Suddenly her head spins as she remembers what could have happened to her father, her mom—her fragile, bedridden mother, and her body sways. Gale’s hands snake around her waist before she could make any painful fall, and she shoots him a grateful smile.

He smiles back. The feel of her close to him is enough of a reassurance, for now. Their romance originally was an act, a plan Haymitch came up with to gain sponsors—which then turned out to be a whole different cause. But as time passes by, it becomes real. She has always been crushing on him, for one, but he also always has an eye on her. The games just gave them an opportunity to really nurse their sentiments toward each other, and he’s grateful for that, though not for the consequences he brought her along. All this mess, this rebellion stuff; he has never intended to harm her, making her stuck with him her entire life, those weren’t something he had accounted for when he pulled out the berries.

Her hand that isn’t gripping the fabric of his shirt touches his cheek. “Don’t.”

His brows shoot upward. “Don’t what?”

Madge sighs, her hand drops from his cheek to his arm. “Don’t put all the blame on yourself. It’s not your fault, okay? If it weren’t for you… I wouldn’t be here. I would be six-feet beneath the ground, in the dingy and creepy Twelve’s cemetery.” She was about to say, probably next to my aunt’s grave, but decides against it. She knows her aunt is still a sore subject for Haymitch, even though almost a quarter of century has passed since then.

Out of instinct, Gale tightens his hold on her, pulling her closer. To imagine of her going back home in a casket, the mayor’s daughter never to be seen anymore—it sends shiver down his spine.

Madge stands on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek. “We’re in this together, right? And we’re going to go through this together too. So stop blaming yourself because no one do. Not even in the entire nation. Got that?”

A tiny smile slips into his face. “Aye-aye, ma’am.”