to the anon who sent me a prompt (thank you!): i'm hard at work on my super belated gadge week contribution/christmas fic and therefore probably won't be getting to your prompt until after christmas but know that i have seen it and i am thinking up some ideas!
note: this is not something i am proud of, but it is some gale/madge for gadge day and that’s what matters. [another note: i wrote this in between writing a criminal law paper and a moral philosophy paper, so please, go easy on me. my brain was a little muddled and it probably doesn’t make much sense. take the gale/madge for what it is.]
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Madge sighs, and it’s the most annoyed she’s been since—well, since yesterday, when she was seeing the same damn thing she’s seeing now. As much as she wants to, she doesn’t waste much time cursing her timing and the officer hell-bent on screwing her out of her money; instead, she darts across the street and waves to the cars that stop for her as she yells, “Hey! Hey, I’m here!”
Pairing: Gale/Madge
Words: 2046
Chapters: 1/4
Summary: Madge is Britain’s young and unbeatable star, the newest Undersee to hit the courts in her family’s royal tennis lineage. Gale Hawthorne is her opposite as the up-and-coming American with a rough past-of course that means he’s making waves. Among the endless chatter, they say Hawthorne’s impossible to break when he’s got the serve. Madge might just be the one to challenge that.
Note: Modern AU half inspired by the Wimbledon 2014 tournament (and the success of my countrymen—go Genie and Milos!) and half inspired by the 2004 film “Wimbledon”. Mostly I’m just crazy. And admittedly know very little about tennis, though I’ve been trying to learn!
Pairing: Gale/Madge
Words: 4523
Summary: When he agreed to help Peeta and his art friends with a project, he didn’t think he was signing up for this.
Note: Modern AU based on that FIRST KISS video that was all over tumblr and then it wasn’t. It kind of got away from me… I just wanted to write something sorta fun. Enjoy!
Gadge April Prompt: Promises
(Also filling prompt #51 “Restaurant” from my table)
Words: 2962.
Note: This is absolutely the sappiest thing I have ever written and oh, God, don’t judge me. Just try to accept the romance.
"You promised, Gale," Madge sighs. Her voice comes through the line sounding exasperated and disappointed and he wishes he was there to comfort her better than his word by phone. But if he were there, she wouldn’t be feeling this way in the first place. "You promised you’d be back early…"
"I did," he confirms.
"…And that we’d get there on time."
"Right," he shifts in his seat, feeling entirely too restless and uncomfortable in the cheap office chair.
"But you’re not even here yet and we’re already late for the reservation. Again."
this is beautiful because it could mean anything. its like they have left you to finish off the sentence for yourself. it could be “let her know right now that she’s beautiful, that you love her, that you cheated, that your have cancer or that you are depressed, but there is one definite meaning to this and its: let her know right now before its too late, before you hurt her even more (if its bad), before its the wrong time and she doesn’t feel the same way (if its an emotion). that is why this is my absolute favourite picture on tumblr
You should do Gadge in the 1920s. Like Madge being a flapper or whatever you want
finally got this done for you, anon, although i can’t say i’m proud of it! i was super happy to get this prompt though because i love the ’20s and loved coming up with some sort of situation to drop these two into. this was loosely inspired by the diviners by libba bray which i read earlier this year and loved. anyway… here it is, 7500 words, with the potential of more, and much longer than i had wanted it to be.
Ain’t We Got Fun?
The city glitters at night and it draws her in. Maybe it shouldn’t. Her father’s always saying that she’s a good girl, and isn’t she so? She’s top of her class, daughter to the mayor, and a regular churchgoer. Why, these kinds of nights out on the town aren’t made for ladies like her. Certainly, her father wouldn’t be very happy if he knew about them.
Well, Madge always did like shiny things. It’s just like that pretty pin she got from Aunt Maysilee, the one with the bird. Mother doesn’t like it when she takes it out, but she can’t help but admire the way it looks against her shortest white dress. What’s the use in getting all dolled up without a little sparkle?
"I just… I don’t get it." Madge’s voice pleads for him to explain; her brows furrow inward and she chews on one of her pretty pink fingertips.
Gale’s hand scratches at the back of his neck—a nervous tic—and musses the overgrown hair at his nape. He needs a haircut, but he likes the way Madge plays her fingers through his hair when it’s just that little bit longer. “What is there to get?” He grunts his response because this is really not how he imagined things would go. She’s confused and now so is he. There was supposed to be some romantic admission, Madge would fall into his arms, and they’d jump into his dad’s old Firebird and drive off into the sunset. Or some shit like that.
They say April showers bring May flowers, but Gale has never really cared for that. He’s not much of a flower-lover, or flower-anything (though he always appreciated the sight of the meadow back home in full bloom); all he knows is he hates the feeling of being soaked to the bone and squishing through puddles in his boots while wiping the heavy raindrops out of his eyes. Growing up beneath the poverty line, he had the choice of an old, sort-of-warm coat or none at all—a raincoat was out of the question—and the rain used to impede his vision when he was out hunting and make survival that much harder that week. Suffice to say, he’s not a fan.
Anxiety pools in her belly, manifesting itself in the sweat of her palms and the thudding of her heart. Madge passes through the hospital doors with her head down; she hopes to slip by unnoticed to avoid the uncomfortable fibbing she would have to do in order to get where she needs to be. Not that she wouldn’t do it. She has all the information she needs—“he’s in 4C, just this dreadful cupboard of a space,” his mother had mentioned in their last conversation, and Madge had not missed the gleaming twinkle in her eye—and her only job now is to be her unassuming, overlooked self.
gadge week. day two: lonely + holidays
note: oh my god. oh my god. i can’t believe this ended up being 8000 words and a full-fledged one shot, but it did and i don’t feel too bad about it, except that it means i’m posting it late and way past the end of day two. i’m sure you gadge fans will accept it, anyway. i just hope you enjoy it!
“Okay, what’s gotten into you?”
Madge knows she’s all smiles, but she didn’t think it’d be so obvious that even Katniss would pick up on it. She shrugs at her friend—nothing’s gotten into her—but the wide grin on her face seems to say otherwise. Johanna rolls her eyes at the exchange and her drink sloshes over the sides of her glass when she gestures wildly at her.
“Tsk, tsk, Brainless, how could you forget?” She shakes her head. “Our little Madgelet here has a visitor coming in—what? Two days now?”
When Johanna looks at her for confirmation, Madge nods. “Three days.”
gadge week. day one: sneaking + snares
note: i wasn't really sure if i wanted to publish this, because it may be a sensitive subject for some (most?) people. the following contains an extramarital affair and i definitely don't endorse such activity, but i wanted to write something different. hopefully i don't offend anyone and that you can enjoy or appreciate my effort, anyway!
For as many snares he set in his youth, Gale never imagined he’d find himself in one. Physically, he was as free as the birds he watched fly above him, but he felt as trapped as the creatures he caught in his devices. Those snares, however, were quite different than the one in which he found himself tangled.
He didn’t think it would ever come to this. When he first kissed her there was hope; when he proposed there was promise; and when he took her home after the toasting there was security. She was supposed to make things right as his new wife, the newest Mrs. Hawthorne after his own mother. After six months, hope turned into doubt, promise turned into uncertainty, and security turned into caged melancholy.
It’s his fault, he knows. Lily Larkspur was as innocent as she always seemed to be; it was when she became a Hawthorne that he started to prove just how fucked up and sinful he could be in comparison.
But he blames her, too.
“You’re late,” Madge tells him now, with none of the anger he could expect out of the statement. She’s sprawled on her side on the stiff mattress he shoved into the shack he came across a few years ago in the forest and he knows he woke her when he stepped in moments before. The greyish light of dawn illuminates half her drowsy face and her hair shines even under the dying moonlight.
“Did you think I’d forgotten about you?” he mumbles in the dreary silence over the rustling noise of removing his coat. He unties his boots next, sitting in the chair across from her, glancing up every so often to appreciate her presence stretched out in front of him. When he’s done, he moves towards her. “You know I can’t.”
And that’s his problem, isn’t it? If he could just forget her…
“Come here,” she says, muffled by the arm she leans on, peering up at him. He sits beside her on the makeshift bed and she rolls over to make room. He still has to squeeze in beside her, but that just means he gets to pull her half on top of him when he gets situated. She curls into him and he wraps himself around her and they no longer feel the cold of the early morning. “Did you make it out okay?”
It’s her way of asking if his wife seemed suspicious at all. He makes a noncommittal noise as always because this isn’t something they actually talk about. The truth is he was late because Lily wanted him to stay in bed, to skip hunting this morning. He told her they’ll need it if they want to get through the week. Maybe they won’t, but he will.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
She blinks at him and he can tell she’s acknowledging the fact that he is here, holding her close—but only for now. And she could say it, and he could tell her all the reasons why there’s nothing he can do, but they know all of that. They know that this is just one of their stolen moments, their time away from his wife and her loneliness. Until they can sneak away again, this is all they have, so why waste it on conversation?
He leans down to kiss her and she meets him at his touch; it evolves quickly from there until her back is pressed into the mattress and she claws at his scarred back. The pain reminds him of the morphling that saved his life after he got caught for poaching—before Lily, before any of this—when they were just two kids that watched each other from afar (and that reminds him of the past and missed opportunities, the thoughts that plague his happiness). So he grips her harder and leaves bruises on her pale hips, hoping she’ll feel the same way he does.
Afterwards he drops gentle kisses to the purple marks he gave her and whispers apologies. He hands her one of the strawberries he never fails to bring and lets them sweeten her swollen lips. Then he makes it up to her in other ways, sweet and slow as if time itself could stop.
It doesn’t, and eventually he has to pull his coat on again and watch her lace up his boots before he heads back into the cold. He still has to pick up the game from his snares and they both have to get back before the district starts to wake. He pulls at the pocket watch hidden in his jacket (his father’s father’s, once upon a time) and finds it’s later than he wants it to be, meaning they really need to get a move on. Normally he’ll walk her to the fence before looping back for the snares, but today he asks if they can get his game on the way to the district. They’re running on borrowed time as it is and he should get back.
When she agrees, they get moving, sharing the strawberries between them. He asks her about her week and she tells him everything; she asks the same and he tells her what he can. She knows he leaves things out and he can tell she hates it. She’s always hated being kept in the dark—and he hates that he has to do it to her.
But it’s like the divide between his side of town and hers: these two lives are separate, or he tries to make it that way.
“This isn’t right, Gale,” she says, and it wouldn’t shock him if he hadn’t been expecting it. He doesn’t say anything in return, just collects his game from the first snare they come across.
When her silence drags on, he finally replies in a low voice, “Then let’s stop. Is that what you want?”
She squirms under the weight of his words while he moves on to the next snare. Before he gets on his knees he looks at her. She shakes her head. “That’s not what I want.”
Gale sighs. “Then what do you want, Madge?”
“I want to stop hurting people every time you see me and I want to stop being hurt every time you leave,” she closes her eyes, tightening her hold on the basket of berries. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
“Well, it is,” he tells her. It’s not a harsh reply, only an honest one.
She looks defeated. “Then I want more options.”
“Can’t do anything about that, either.” He stops at the third snare and faces her. Gale has the urge to kiss away the crease between her eyebrows, but he doesn’t. “I can’t give you up, Madge. Not again.”
Madge steps away from him out of weariness and shrugs. “How long do you expect this to last? Hm? I’m just supposed to sneak into the forest once a week until—God knows what could happen to make this okay. I don’t want to lose you either and I would do anything for you, Gale, but I can’t live like this forever. Neither can you.”
“Then what do you want me to say?” he snaps. He blames her; God, he blames her and he blames himself. “I feel trapped, too, Madge.”
She looks away from him then and zones out on the mossy bark of a tree trunk. The air feels heavy and he doesn’t know what else to say anymore. He’s too worried about the next few moments and what will come out of them to busy himself with his snares, even, and all he can do is wait for Madge to fill the void.
“I’m going to walk myself back,” is all she says, turning around to head in the direction of the fence.
“Madge,” he calls for her to stop. “What are you thinking?” He needs to know.
She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know.” She keeps walking, and he waits until her yellow hair goes out of view until he turns back to his snares. He wonders if that will be the last time he sees her out here in the woods but the thought just serves to flare his anger and he gets through with his snares faster than usual.
When he comes across one with a squirrel hanging on to his life by a thread, he lets him go. He’s still stuck, but at least he can set something free.
Madge isn't quite sure how it all happens, but her Thanksgiving isn't quite so lonely this year. Instead, she spends it with her friends... at the Hawthornes. AU.
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