#what if hob wasn't just the only being who saw dream as a person before his function

[landwriter]

Dream as The Velveteen Rabbit, loved to life by Hob:

Dream is an Endless. Hob has loved him for a long, long time, but nonetheless they are parted, perhaps forever. On this dark night of the soul, he thinks of his life with Hob, what more he would have wished for it, and cries. One of his tears is a real mortal tear, and from that tear a magical flower blooms, and from that flower The Fates emerge, and they say, in their strange and three-voiced way, that he has become Real to the boy that truly loves him, and now they will turn him all the way Real, and he will have a different ending. And although he may no longer rule the Dreaming and it is no longer a part of him, he still visits it every night, when he falls asleep next to the mortal called Hob Gadling.

It is known that an Endless may never love a mortal, but there are no such rules about a mortal loving an Endless, and no one knew the consequences of being really loved by a human, not just played with and set aside, except perhaps The Fates themselves, who were watching it all, and smiling.

@give-to-oblivion <3

[mimisempai]

Something new but not unknown

Summary:

It's their first date, and yet it's not really their first.  Hob and Dream learn to navigate between what they know and what they have yet to discover about each other.

Notes:

As I get to know them while writing them, I hope they are not too ooc

On AO3

Rating T - 2051 words

Hob took off his jacket and put it on his bed and went to get another vest from his closet. He pulled it over his shirt and, looking at himself in the mirror, sighed before sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

He was such an idiot, he was over 550 years old, had had his share of dates, romance and he was acting like a teenager on his first date.

Even though since 1989 it had been more about scratching an itch than anything else, no emotion involved. Because from the moment he had explained what he was doing in the bar to the bartender, he knew for a fact that his emotions were only directed at one person.

"Are you waiting for someone?" 

"I think I've been stood up. We had a fight. Last time we were here. bartender: Ah. It was my fault. Wish I could say I was drunk at the time, but I was just an idiot."

"I've seen plenty of friends get in fights in pubs."

Friends.

The thing was, even though it was his friendship that he had given to Dream over a hundred years ago, he now felt much more than friendship for his mysterious friend. 

That's why, since their missed encounter, he had gone to the bar every day, to the old one and then to the new one. 

He had marked the way to the new inn, just in case. Which hadn't stopped him from being surprised when he'd seen him walking towards it last night.

He must have looked completely smitten, but honestly he didn't care, he didn't care if he looked stupid, if Dream smiled at him like that again.

Hob decided to stay as he was and without another glance at his mirror, he headed for the door of his apartment.

After all, Dream had seen him at his lowest moment, so Hob had nothing to hide from him anymore. In a way it almost made things easier. It was like going on a first date without trying to impress the other.

A few moments later he passed through the door of the pub, automatically heading towards his usual place.

He couldn't hide his surprise when he saw that Dream was already sitting there.

Of all their meetings, the only one where Dream had been there before him was the one where he was at his lowest. When he had to almost force his way into the tavern.

Otherwise it had always been Hob staring at the door from the first minutes, his heart racing as soon as the door opened and feeling the disappointment when it wasn't the one he was expecting.

Of course he couldn't help smiling when he saw the object of his thoughts waiting for him and especially when he saw the same smile, although more discreet, adorning Dream's mouth when he spotted Hob coming.

Hob went forward and sat down at the table where Dream was waiting for him.

Their knees touched but neither of them made a move to put distance between them. 

"Good evening Dream." 

Hob tasted the pleasure of finally being able to use the name of his stranger.

"Hob." Dream pointed to the glass on the table and continued, "I took the liberty of ordering, it seems to me that this is the beverage you seem to prefer."

Hob thanked him with a nod, touched, " You noticed that?"

Dream replied softly, "I pay attention to everything about you."

Hob, a little embarrassed by Dream's straightforward words, noticed that Dream also had a drink, a glass of wine. 

He uttered, "Don't think I haven't noticed, that even though you had a glass or a cup in front of you the last few times we met, except for yesterday, you never took a sip and you always refused what I offered you to eat. I'm a little surprised, I must say..."

Dream replied with a small smile, "I see I'm not the only one who pays attention to detail. Well, to make a long story short, until now, I hadn't felt the need to."

Hob asked, curious, "What changed?"

Dream took a sip of wine and began to tell his story, or rather part of his story, and the reason for their missed encounter.

By the time he finished his story, Hob had already ordered his second beer.

Dream waited in silence for his friend's reaction. The man might have lived several hundred years, what Dream had told him was so huge that he might not accept it.

"You know if I had any idea, I would have come?"

Hob's voice pulled him from his thoughts, "What?"

Hob repeated, "If I had known what had happened to you, your imprisonment in that madman's house, I would have come, or at least, though I had no idea how, I would have tried in every way to help you. I probably would have failed, but I would have tried. I am sorry that..."

Dream interrupted his rambling with a laugh that Hob had never heard from him.

"What? What did I say that was funny?" asked Hib with a confused look.

Dream shook his head, "I tell you something incredible, about dimensions, about my kingdom, about all sorts of things unimaginable to a human and your first reaction is to be sorry you couldn't help me. You're really a strange one Hob Gadling."

Hob shrugged, "Five hundred years of life helps put things in perspective you know." He then looked down at the table and, smoothing out invisible folds in the tablecloth, continued in a lower, less confident voice, "I think there's a lot more strangeness tonight."

Dream said simply, "Explain."

Hob looked up and replied softly, "Well, although this is our 'first' date, it's not really. Although theoretically it is, well, it's nothing different from our previous ones..."

Dream replied, smiling,"I hope Professor Gadling is more eloquent when he teaches his classes."

Not giving Hob time to retort, Dream slid his hand over Hob's as he pulled threads from the tablecloth, causing him to stop immediately and then he resumed, "Nothing different, really?"

He caught Hob's hand in his and stroked the back of his hand with his thumb while looking at him questioningly.

Hob smiled gently as he nodded his head before turning his hand underneath Dream's, palm to palm, their fingers intertwining.

Dream raised his glass and said softly, "As you so rightly said last night, here's to something new."

Hob raised his glass and replied, "To something new." He shook his head with a chuckle, "There's going to be a lot of new things I think."

Dream tilted his head and asked playfully, "Is that bad?"

Hob glanced at their hands still entwined on the table and replied, "No... on the contrary."

"Speaking of new..." continued Dream, "The tag on the fence that shows the way to the new pub... did you do it?"

Hob wondered how many times he was going to look embarrassed throughout the evening, "You really want to know everything, right?"

Hob wanted to withdraw his hand and Dream held him back, and plunging his gaze into his, he declared, "Yes, I want to know everything about you, Hob."

Hob, unable to escape Dream's scrutinizing gaze and grip, swallowed before answering, "Yes, I did it, in the hope that if you come, you'll find the new establishment. Pathetic isn't it? Pathetic that since that day, I've been coming to this pub every night, just in the hope that you'll walk through the door one day."

Dream thought of Lucienne who had waited for him, of Death who had worried about him and immediately retorted, "How could I find that pathetic? While I behaved rather detestably the last time we saw each other, you still did everything to make sure we could meet again, without even knowing if I would ever come. I may be millions of years old, but I can assure you that I have rarely encountered such loyalty."

Hob laughed self-deprecatingly, "Is it loyalty or just because you're the only friend who won't disappear while I live on? Isn't that more selfishness than loyalty?"

Dream countered, "You just told me that if you had known what was happening to me you would have come to help me. And even if it's selfishness, it's my presence you wanted, right?" Then, seeming to realize something, he asked, "You've really been coming here every day since our missed appointment?"

Hob gave the same self-mocking laugh, "I haven't missed a day."

Eyes downcast, he didn't see Dream leaning over the table and looked up in surprise when he felt his hand grab his neck and pull him closer. He didn't have time to react as Dream's lips were on his.

Hob had just enough time to think that this was again something new, and then he wasn't able to think anymore because Dream was kissing him in a way he had never been kissed before in the last five hundred years.

It didn't matter that they were in a pub, that there were people around them, the world had ceased to exist from the moment Dream had put his lips on his.

He had never felt anything like it. Dream's lips were soft as they moved against his. It was better than anything Hob had allowed himself to fantasize about. 

He reached up to caress Dream's cheek, but they had to separate because someone cleared their throat next to them. They looked up at the young waiter who said sheepishly, "I'm sorry to bother you, but... uh... we're closing."

They looked around and realized that the pub was almost deserted. Visibly reluctant, Dream removed his hand from Hob's neck and leaned back in his seat.

"I'll, uh, I'll give you a few minutes," the waiter added before leaving with an eager step.

Dream and Hob looked at each other and chuckled softly.

Hob said softly, "Well. That was..." 

Dream replied playfully, "New?" 

Hob shook his head and laughed again before taking out his wallet and paying the bill that the waiter had left on the table. Then he stood up and held out his hand to Dream, saying softly, "Shall we go?"

Dream simply smiled and took his hand. They walked out of the pub holding hands and like the night before, stood for a few moments in front of the door.

Then Hob turned to Dream, grabbed the lapels of his coat and, pulling it towards him, he put his lips on Dream's. They spent a few more minutes pressing soft kisses on each other's lips. Then after a last kiss, Hob withdrew while leaving his hands to linger on the lapels of Dream's coat.

He asked softly, hesitantly, "And now?"

Dream took one of Hob's hands and kissed the palm of it before answering, keeping it in his, "And now, you go home and I go where I must be, and we'll see what happens. The good thing is that you being immortal and I being what I am, we have all the time in the world."

Hob chuckled softly, "As long as you don't tell me we won't meet again for another hundred years."

However, Dream had seen the hesitation in his eyes, and reassured him, "My time in the glass cage has made me realize that some things can't wait. So at the latest we'll meet tomorrow night at the same place or-"

Hob interrupted, "How about my place?" and before Dream could answer, Hob had taken a pen out of his pocket and was writing his address on a piece of paper that he put in Dream's pocket with a challenging look.

Dream laughed softly and, leaning over Hob, he pressed a lingering kiss to Hob's lips before whispering, "Good night Hob Gadling, have sweet dreams."

As he stepped back, Hob asked, cheekily,"Will you be there?"

With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, Dream replied as he trailed off, "Don't doubt it."

Hob didn't care if he looked like a lovesick man so he just watched as Dream walked away, not moving and not hiding. When suddenly, Dream turned around and they exchanged a last smile before Dream disappeared in a cloud of sand.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Dreamling Masterlist here

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

Hi 💖 I love your blog and I have a very silly question. I'm not through with the comics yet so I'm skipping a lot of posts for now (I already have had the Worst Spoiler from elsewhere though so) but yeah anyway I saw your tags about Dream only eating dream food and I'm just. Wondering. If the food is in the Dreaming, it's part of the Dreaming, correct? Except the Dreaming is also Dream, like, he's part of him he's part of it etc idk? So... If he eats Dreaming Food™... is that like the thing on the show with Gregory and he's in a way just. Reabsorbing bits of himself into his uhhh more concentrated Self. Is he eating a part of himself. Net zero food acquisition, that food was already him to begin with. What is he doing. (Possibly I am overthinking this and possibly you are the wrong person to ask this! Please do not feel any obligation to respond to this in any way, and have a good whatever time of day it is for you!)

overthinking is what we do here, i love this question!

and, it sort of is, in the sense that all dreams are Dream in some form, but in that sense the endless are all self perpetuating anyway (and they don't have mortal bodies, there's no reason why our food would be particularly good fuel, i think the ones who eat it just do so because they like it)

dream, meanwhile, can eat waking world food? he just hates it

(interestingly he seems to have less of a problem with drinks, he's turned down every bit of food he's ever been offered no matter how impolite it was to do so at the time, but he'll order drinks in his meetings with hob, and he drank coffee once with his brother)

but to your actual question - he doesn't have to eat food that just he created. we don't get this in the show but in the comic when he gets out of the cage the very first thing he does is search other people's dreams for the first one with food in, because he does still get hungry and he hasn't eaten since uh. 1915

so like. there's dream magic and then there's Dream's magic. gregory had to happen because he had none of his own magic left (Stuff Happened, before he got captured, which is spoilers for overture, but the only reason he got caught in burgess' trap at all is he'd used up most of his own magic and wasn't strong enough to resist what was actually a fairly weak summoning spell. death wasn't summoned bc she would have barely even noticed it being cast), so if he wanted to actually start using his magic to fix things, he would have either had to wait for it to recuperate naturally (would have taken a long time if it happened at all, given the state the dreaming was in), or he had to artificially boost it

but the dreams of mortals are still there - that's also what he does to summon the fates, he has nothing of his own to offer them so he takes from the collective dreaming

and in terms of just keeping his body going, that food works fine

(and like. dream is a being created out of the dreams of mortals anyway, so it makes sense that those dreams are his source of energy)

(normally he doesn't have to steal it though, that was a very desperate situation, he has palace cooks who are capable of dreaming literally any food on request)

(as shown when he has delirium over for dinner and he orders a fairly ordinary meal and she orders freshly squeezed mango juice and "some little chocolate people, about three inches high, filled with raspberry cream")

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part five: Click here, butters, elpacho, last meheecan.

Part six: You're here, dumb!

Part seven: Finally here!

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Peeta and I end up helping Haymitch to his compartment, the reek of vomit and alcohol wasn't exactly pleasant.  Since we couldn't set him down the bed, we ended up hauling him to the bathtub, setting the shower on him. 

Peeta gave me an odd look when I laughed awhile ago; there was no humour in the situation after all. Forming a good impression wasn't really on my agenda. "It's alright; I can take it from here," he said.

I nodded, "Okay," I nodded, putting my lips together. "Do you—need me to call those Capitol people?" I asked, stumbling over my words. My confidence seemed to have been drained at some point.

He shook his head "No, I don't want them," he responded. I nod for the last time and head to my own room, relieved that I don't have to wash putrid vomit off Haymitch's chest hair, or something. Though it would be the perfect "revenge" for the people working here, I get why he doesn't want to see them. 

I wonder, why does he want to help such a wreck? Was he simply kind like the time he gave me bread? Or was he using this to gain Haymitch's favour? A feeling of nervousness bubbled up within me, a kind Peeta Mellark was way more dangerous than an unkind one. Not everyone in the district can afford to be kind, so kind people make such a mark on me.

I looked at the packet of cookies at the table beside the fancy bed—a lump formed in my throat. Kindness would've been nice, but not in this situation. I sighed, taking my attention to the window instead. 

There stood a lonely yellow flower, a dandelion. It took me back to the schoolyard, all those years ago. My eyes had just left Peeta's bruised face when I saw that dandelion; hope rose within me that moment, I plucked it gently from the ground and hurried home. I grabbed a small, broken bucket and grabbed Nal's hand and headed to a meadow. It was filled with the same flowers.

It was the first moment where Nal smiled after our Father's death. He loved the way the flowers smelled and looked. However, he was quite upset because we had to eat them, with the rest of the bakery bread. My father loved his plants, maybe a bit too much. 

I remember countless hours we spent in the woods looking for a specific type of plant, whether for eating or for medicine. He had me memorize them by heart, which took a couple of years because I got distracted halfway through. 

The next day, we were off to school. I hung around the edge of the meadow after, contemplating whether I should jump the fence. My mother couldn't get a job, well, she didn't want to. She thought the whole District would shame her the moment she stepped out of our crumbling home. It made no sense to me; we had nothing to lose anymore.

Which is exactly why I went under the fence, retrieved the old, leather-bound daggers my father made from scraps and wood. It was pretty frail, but if you handle it carefully and throw it properly, it won't break—most of the time.

I didn't go beyond twenty yards that day; I didn't feel confident enough to go deeper, fearing I'd get lost in the forest. I took home a small rabbit that day, we hadn't had meat for months, so it honestly looked like a full course meal, like the one we were served in the tribute train.

My mother isn't the greatest cook, so she burnt a couple of bits, mainly the thighs. But it still filled us. The woods became my second home, escaping the sad atmosphere my mother gave off and the pressure the Peacekeepers would regularly make us feel. 

The hunting started slow, but each time I went under, I went deeper. I stole eggs from nests, jumped from tree to tree and managed to shoot a squirrel or two down. I struggled with the fish; my father would always throw his dagger to the fish with little to no effort. Whenever I'd throw mine, it would miss. It took me a couple of times to figure out the water distorts my vision.

The plants were no effort; I knew which one to pick, which ones were poisonous. The signs of danger used to terrify me back to the fence until I gathered enough courage to climb the tall trees, then I stuck with it, not liking the feeling of being chased. The wild dogs would always leave me alone after a while.

On July 15th, I finally signed up for the tesserae, carrying the first batch of grains and oils in the same broken bucket I used to gather those dandelions. I patched it up with some scrap bark. On the 15th of every month, I would put my name once again. I still had to hunt; grains weren't enough. We still needed soap, milk, thread and many more things we used to have. I began to trade in the hob, learning how to hold my tongue in the process. My father used to trade there as well; he used to do all the talking while I watched, stayed silent. 

And so I simply tossed the game I had to their tables. They caught on fairly quick; I'd only speak up when it came to bargaining or when I'd change what'd I'd buy. Or when I would insult wild dog soup. My father was a charismatic man, always able to persuade people to buy whatever. Not me, though, I was like a sore thumb. Painful, to talk to at least.

My mother wasn't very enthralled with the fact that I had been hunting, too much like my father, she said. That's when we argued, "Don't be stupid like your father!" she shouted. I remember my face contorting to anger, how my fists clenched as she continued to scream. 

I finally exploded, "Why don't you go out and get a job if you don't want me hunting, then? You'd rather we starve?!" I said, slamming the table. "I won't die, I won't end up like father! I won't be Capitol's pig, neither was he!" 

"But if you do die?" She argued back, tears flowing down her cheeks as she gripped both my shoulders. "I'm only thinking of you, Y/n!"

I scoffed, glaring at her, "If you're thinking of us so much, then why aren't you helping us?! If I don't die being accused of rebellion, then I'll die because of those stupid games because of you!"

"Don't blame me for this! It was your father's fault for being brash—" She reasoned, but I cut her off by pushing her off me. I stared at her as if she grew three heads. "They asked you," I whispered, "All you did was nod, you could've lied."

Her green eyes shook at my words, "Lie to the Peacekeepers? The Capitol? And get us killed as well?! I only what your father wanted," 

"They didn't have anything on father! It was your voice that gave it away! It's your fault that he's dead, now we're over here starving because you can't get over yourself—"

Then there was a sting on my cheek. She had slapped me. My eyes landed on a crying Kunal; guilt surged through me, so I ran. I ran to the woods and slept on top of a tree, humming a soft tune to the mockingjays next to me. They listened and sung back. I fell asleep to their lullaby, surprisingly, not falling off.

I found my hand on the same cheek my mother slapped that day. I was going to die the same way I said, how ironic. I won't be able to apologize or tell my mother I loved her anymore. A sigh left my lips as I continued to stare out the window. 

I clenched my fists, punching the wall as my breath hitched. I let out a groan, holding the stinging part of my hand. I glared at the wall, grumbling under my breath before I decided to fall asleep, not wanting to think of my regrets and what I could've done. As I closed my eyes, I only hoped my dreams would be pleasant. 

"Up! Up! Up! It's a big big day!"

Effie Trinket's voice awoke me from my dreamless slumber. I groaned, muttering profanities as she left my compartment. I tried to imagine what it was like in that stupid wig--- well--- head of hers, it made my head hurt.

I had fallen asleep in the green shirt, causing it to become wrinkled, the. Not that I cared, there will be some stylist stripping me anyways. I shuddered at the thought of Capitol people touching me, what a nightmare. My eyes landed on the packet of cookies on my bedside table. I decided to grab it.

I entered the dining compartment, still half-lidded and yawning. Effie Trinket brushes me with a cup of black coffee. She was muttering obscenities, probably because of Haymitch. Peeta held a roll, looking somewhat embarrassed  "Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch said.

Peeta flashed me a smile, amused by how dishevelled I look. To be fair, I wasn't a morning person, I find waking up to be a tiring task. I rubbed my eyes, the packet of cookies still in my hands as I slid down the chair.

They served an enormous platter of food. I'd hate to admit it, but I was starving. So for the first time, I decided to stab it with the fork, not sure what to do with the cookies so I pocketed them. I figured I'd eat them much. . . much later.

I chewed slowly, glare on my face as my eyes struggled to remain open. I didn't even notice the orange juice next to me because of it. Peeta nudged me, handing me a cup of brown, rich liquid. It was quite warm. "They call it hot chocolate," he said. "It's quite good,"

My green eyes moved from him to the cup, then back to him. As if asking for permission. I sniffed, muttering a "thank you," before I took the cup from him. The moment the hot chocolate touched my lips I felt awake.

Not only was it hot, but it was also amazing. I've never tasted anything like this before. Coffee was a luxury, this I cannot even fathom. After I've drained my cup, I put it down and muster a sheepish smile. "Is there more?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Effie seemed to be excited by my sudden interest. "Glad you're finally appreciating the finer things," she quipped as another cup was passed to me. "Right," I responded, gripping the cup tightly.

I stopped eating when I felt somewhat full, only asking for more hot chocolate. Peeta is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in his hot chocolate.

Haymitch hasn’t paid much attention to his platter, but he’s knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it’s some kind of spirit. I don’t know Haymitch, but I’ve seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He’ll be a mess again by the time we reach the Capitol.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. He grinned, "Here's some advice, stay alive," then he burst out laughing.

My brows furrowed, "Ha. Ha." I let out, unamused. I glanced to Peeta, surprised to see Hardness in his eyes. Usually, he looked mild. "That's very funny," he said as if adding to my remark. He suddenly lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hands. It shattered, spilling the blood-red liquid on the floor. "Only not to us,"

Haymitch took this opportunity to punch Peeta straight in the jaw, knocking the boy out of his chair before turning around to reach for more spirits. I stopped him, driving a knife into the table, between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers.

I expected some sort of retaliation, but that didn't come. "Oh, well what is this?" he said. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Peeta rose from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He started to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.

"No," Haymitch stopped him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena."

"That’s against the rules," said Peeta. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better," said Haymitch. He turns to me. “Can you hit anything other than the table?"

I shrugged, pulling the knife off the table. "Your head or. . ." I said, before tossing the knife in between the seams of two panels. If I was confident at one thing, it's my aim. But not so much with a bow.

"Stand over here. Both of you," ordered Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. “Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.”

Peeta and I don’t question this. The Hunger Games aren’t a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors. Though I do enjoy the fact that the stylists are likely going to have a hard time styling me.

"All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you," said Haymitch. "But you have to do everything I say,"

Of course, there's a catch. "Fine," Peeta said while I shrugged carelessly, sipping on my hot chocolate. "In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station. You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don’t resist," Instructed Haymitch

Oh, well there goes my plan on being a general nuisance. Damn you, Haymitch.

He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it’s as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains made them easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Peeta and I stood in silence. My finger raised, mouth opening but I decided it wasn't worth it and awkwardly shuffled to one of the windows. He seemed to have caught on, however. "Nice view, isn't it?" he joked.

"I guess if you're blind," I answered dryly, raising the warm cup to my lips. "Sophisticated darkness, my favourite type," I finished.

He chuckled, walking next to me, the train slowing on cue. My muscles tensed as the sunlight entered the compartment. It was blinding. After my eyes adjusted I finally saw the Capitol.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't beautiful. Rainbow hued buildings that tower to the sky, possibly beyond. Shiny cars rolling on the fancy, clean pavement streets. The cameras failed to capture its beauty. It would've been perfect if not for the fact that the oddly dressed colours, wearing blizzard wigs and painted faces exist.

They looked painfully artificial. I much prefer the natural tones of district 12. "Eugh, how do they look at themselves?" I muttered, catching the attention of Peeta, who chuckled at my comment.

Huh, I forgot that he was there.

The same disgusting people began to point at us, enthralled. I was sickened, they couldn't wait to watch us kill each other like wild wolves. I suppose that's better than ending up at soup.

I stepped back, a scowl on my face. No longer able to stand the obnoxious attires and the mocking smiles of scums. Peeta held his ground, smiling and waving at them.

He only stopped when the train stopped at the station, blocking up from their view. "Who knows?" he said. "Some of them may be rich."

My body seemed to freeze as I took one last sip of the now-luke warm hot chocolate. That's when I realized, I had misjudged him. Not that I can read people well.

Which made sense, if I could I would've known that his father visiting me, offering to help Haymitch only to challenge him and now, waving and smiling at those slugs. He had a plan in mind.

He hasn't accepted his death yet. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread was fighting hard.

And that terrified me.

word count: 2.8k

Hey guys! sorry for the long wait! Had to take a break!

tags;

@nin3s