hesperusbolestonechalicesage

[hesperusbolestonechalicesage]

Welcome! Hi! Hello!

This is my Hunger Games fanfiction blog. I just like to write, and I want people to enjoy my writing. Please ask questions or give your criticism. I try to follow accepted canon as much as possible, so feel free to correct me on details, but in the end most unknown stuff is left to headcanon.

Current Works-

Blanket of Snow-

Takes place during the 72nd Hunger Games, and follows District Nine tribute Stone Hazelwood and her District Partner Hesperus Bole Hammond. This is Titus' games!

Chapter One

Fanart is allowed and appreciated!!!

[hesperusbolestonechalicesage]

Blanket of Snow- Chapter Two

Thanks to anyone who's made it this far! I'm sorry if it's a little slow, I'm trying to add a lot of detail. On the bright side, District Nine Covey!

Prev

Trudging down the steps, I fiddle with my temporary jewelry. I smile softly. Hyde will be begging to see it. My little brother is only seven, so reaping day hasn’t set in as a tragedy yet. My parents are always in the fields, so Hyde trails after me when I’m not running. 

I take off, running back to my house, weaving through the fields to cut back to the small cabin, tucked among others just like it. Hyde is in the front, playing with the laundry bucket. I bolt towards him, and when he turns and sees me, his face splits into the widest gap-toothed grin I’ve ever seen. 

“Stone!” I sweep him up in a hug, and he cuddles against my shoulder. What a sweetheart… He starts to squirm, and I only squeeze him tighter, his giggles like a song.

“Hey buddy. You all washed up?” I set him down, smiling at how he looks in his best clothes. They’re sewn from old grain sacks, buttons carved out of our furniture. It’s a shoddy attempt at luxury, but I love it all the same.

He nods, saluting as I ruffle his dark brown locks. He doesn’t have my hair, no frizzy curls or thick textured strands. He has my father’s hair, straight and thin. His eyes are honey brown instead of dark, skin is lightly toasted. “I’m all ready.”

I duck inside to clean up, greeting my mother with a small smile. She’s hunched over the stove, the smell of cinnamon rising to fill the house, sinking into the wood. I am a copy of her, with dark molasses skin, brown eyes, and frizzy black hair. She turns and smiles when she sees me, the lines around her eyes deep, as if plowed into her skin.

She shuffles over to take me in her arms, holding me tight. There’s worry in her grasp that won’t pass until after the reaping. “Hello, darlin’.” She murmured, pressing her lips to my hair, trying to breathe me in. “Set out a dress for you.”

I hug her back tightly, her worry only increasing mine. I take a deep breath to push it away, knowing that this is her day. Her day to fret and worry and cry. “Thank you, Mama.” 

We stay like that for a moment, until she shoos me to the bedroom to change, wiping her eyes. My stomach has started to churn, but I force it down. My name is in the bowl five times. My parents have always refused to have me take tesserae, even in the worst of times. My running job gets me some payment, and the Peacekeepers take care to feed me enough for me to build some muscle. They can’t have a runner dying of starvation. 

Hyde and I share a bedroom, him tucked up in the loft while I have my nest of blankets below. Although I usually end up in the loft anyway, Hyde slotted against me like when he was a babe. My dress lies out on the old oak desk my father made for my mother as a wedding gift, a pale green like sage leaves from my mother’s herb garden. The collar is white, either wrinkled from lack of ironing or made to be ruffled. I am unsure.

It hugs my skin, and I squirm. The clothes of grain sacks and cotton are somehow more comfortable. I suppose I am used to clothes I could run in. But there will be no more running on reaping day. That earns you a bullet in the skull. I pull on a pair of socks and lace up my mother’s old dancing shoes. They’d been given to her by her previous lover. From the stories I’d heard, he was a charmer, suave, dancing through life until the day he was caught under a cultivator. 

I step out into the main room, where my father has awakened and holds my mother. They straighten when they notice my presence, and my mother smiles shakily. “Oh, look at you. So grown up.”

She hurries over to adjust the collar of the dress, brushing my curls out of my face. “You look beautiful. Here, I made cinnamon toast.”

I share a glance with my father. Mama only makes treats like that when she’s panicking. He clears his throat, taking her hand. “Is Hyde all washed up?”

Mama takes the bait, even though she knows it’s a distraction, moving outside to keep Hyde busy. Or herself. I am unsure. My father sets my breakfast out for me, and I reluctantly take a bite. He and I aren’t particularly close, work keeping our paths from crossing most days. 

His rough hand settles on my shoulder awkwardly. “You’ll be alright.” He mutters, sitting at the table beside me. 

I just nod, shoveling food into my mouth, savoring the spice of the cinnamon. I was almost named Cinnamon, as it’s my mother’s favorite spice to use. It’s rare, only in certain herbal shops for a high price, but the lady who owns it has a deal with my mother. Three ginger roots, a bushel of cloves, and a handful of thyme will get you wonders. She decided on the name Stone instead, claiming her daughter would be as sturdy as a rock. She got that part right. It’s hard to phase me.

“I know. Thousands of kids out there. Not like I’ll be picked.” I murmur, trying to convince myself. He nods, but both of us know our worry won’t pass until we’re back here tonight. Hyde bangs on the door, and I swallow the last of my breakfast. “Come on! Come on! We have to go!”

Reluctantly, I follow my parents down the dirt path. Other families follow, and soon we’re all trudging in one long flood towards the clearing where they’ve set up the stage for the reaping. I spot Hebna Barker, one of my classmates, leading her younger sister Soya by the hand. I wince, reaching out for Hyde. It’s Soya’s first reaping. I’m thankful Hyde won’t come for a few more years. Hebna and I aren’t friends, per se, she works mostly in the fields, but I make sure to brush my hand against her shoulder, and she accepts the comfort. 

I separate from my family once we reach the stage, though Hyde has to be picked up by my father and carried. He watches me until they vanish into the crowd, and I take a deep breath. I head to check in, bumping into Annabel Lee Cherry, one of the Hammond kids. She’s a year younger than me at fifteen, but she’s a runner, and we get along very well, sprinting through life together. 

The Hammond family is an odd bunch. They have a house full of instruments but half of them don’t know how to play. They name their children after poems and colors but they seem to have lost their meaning. They pass down songs and sound so wistful when they sing them. Annabel Lee Cherry’s mother, Nightingale Smoke, used to stay back and watch the children when we all were little. She’d sing us tunes and her children would carry them on, teaching the rest of us. 

Annabel Lee Cherry has two brothers, Khan Cardinal and Hesperus Bole. Khan Cardinal is a cheeky bastard, always causing mischief he can get away with, and using his sweet voice to talk his way out of it. Hesperus Bole has always been serious, working away in the fields with a scowl, but I’ve seen his foot tapping to working songs when I run by.

I remember when we were younger and Annabel Lee Cherry first started running. She gave every runner a Hammond name. Mine was Briddes Stone. I didn’t mind at the time, I thought it was fun. 

“Are you worried?” I ask her quietly, coming to stand by her in our roped-off area. I watch her dark brown hair float in the breeze, ribbons already lost.

“A little.” She whispers back, catching my hand. She’s dressed in a faded red dress, stockings up to her knees. “It’s too much.”

I nod in agreement. There are so many peacekeepers out today, patrolling and herding us like cattle. There’s a bitter taste in my mouth as I realize Soter would have been here if he hadn’t broken both his legs. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. 

“How many times is your name in?” I ask her, feeling her hand clench tighter around mine. I squeeze it back reassuringly.

“Twenty-four.” She mumbles, swallowing. She’s taken out tesserae for herself, two brothers, and her parents. I squeeze her hand again, taking a deep breath. 

“Just breathe. Pretend you’re about to run all the way out to the outer fields.” I whisper, before my attention is caught by someone tapping the mic. 

[hesperusbolestonechalicesage]

Blanket of Snow- Chapter One

Hi everyone! This is my first time posting a fanfiction, but I'm doing it now! This takes place in the Hunger Games universe, during the 72nd Games, with District Nine tribute Stone Hazelwood!

Please keep in mind this is mostly headcanon and fanfic. If you do have a question or some criticism, please drop it below so I can improve. Thanks!

The morning of the reaping, I am already running. Dawn has barely begun to rise, my favorite time of the day. I am a deer, swift as the wind, bounding down the trodden paths until the home I am looking for is on the horizon.

I am a runner. In District Nine, the leanest, strongest children are chosen to run messages and errands instead of fieldwork. Sprinting for a medic when someone gets in a work accident, delivering letters to the Peacekeeper’s offices, spreading word of when to get off work. It’s not an easy job. The hours are grueling and I go home sore and aching most nights. 

I am the fastest of our messengers, and therefore am still working on reaping day. I like my work, though; it’s better than working in the grueling fields, and my mind gets to wander. I focus on my breathing as I round the corner to Head Peacekeeper Tacta’s house, watching the smoke rise from the chimney. She always has a fire going, even in the middle of summer. The house itself is built into a small hill, with a wooden staircase going up to the door, the house itself painted gray, like a bleak rock in the middle of the green. 

When I slow, my breathing does as well. I am not out of breath; I have trained on this route since I was young. My fingers reach into my pouch, grasping the letter I was given by one of the medics. An update on Soter, I think. The young Peacekeeper recruit had fallen from one of the silos the other day and broken both of his legs. I like Soter quite a bit. He always runs after me as far as he can when he sees me on duty, and we chat. I had to run for the medic after he fell. 

Tacta’s already at the door when I hop gracefully up the steps, offering the letter with a polite nod. Tacta’s not the most friendly head Peacekeeper we’ve had, but she’s at least somewhat respectful. 

She eyes it with a heavy sigh, and I can see her age lines around her lips. I do not know how old she is, but my guess is in her early fifties. She’s a stocky woman with pale skin that shows she doesn’t patrol outside, and graying hair always in a bun. Her blue eyes are piercing, like ice, and it makes me shiver.

“What have you brought me now, Stone? More work on reaping day?” Her voice is flat, as it has been consistently since she arrived. I don’t think I have ever seen her smile. 

“It’s from the medics' office-” I start to say, but she cuts me off, waving her hand dismissively as she buttons up her uniform jacket. “Yeah, yeah. Soter. I know.”

I nod and stand up straight. I’m taller than her, but that’s no surprise. At sixteen, I’m already 5’9, and my Mama says I’m still growing. My legs are long and well muscled from all the running, and my skin is a dark, muddy brown. 

Tacta eyes me for a moment, and I’m unsure if she was going to dismiss me, before she turns back inside the house and sets the letter down, grabbing something in her hand. 

She trudges back over to me, clasping my shoulder. “You go get dressed up for the reaping. Remember-”

I nod again, mildly surprised by her actions. She usually just grunts, dismisses me, and tosses a few coins in my hand. I suppose I am her favorite runner because I get my job done quickly. “The odds are never in my favor?”

Tacta squints at me, then shakes her head. “No. You’ll be fine. I can’t have my best runner dying in the bloodbath.”

I suck in a breath, my skin prickling at the thought of the bloodbath. I’d be forced to watch it in just a few weeks… I shake myself free of the thought, meeting her gaze. “Thank you, Commander Tacta.”

She shakes her head, grabbing my hand roughly and putting a few coins into it. “You don’t believe me. You’ll be fine. Here-” She slides a simple ring off her finger, silver, molded in the shape of a snake eating its tail. I’d say it was made in District One, but it’s so unassuming, unlike most Capitol jewelry. “Take it. Good luck token. Run it back to me tonight.”

I blink in surprise, slowly taking it. It fits around my middle finger nicely, molding to the shape of my hand. “Are you sure? I-”

“I said, take it. Run along, Stone.” She barked, clearly an order. Whatever camaraderie was there is gone now, and I salute back, dismissed from my work.