#sheltered rich boy dream & feral child hob

[cuubism]

unfortunately for my sanity i am thinking about them again [sheltered rich boy dream and feral child hob]

--

In retrospect, it was fitting that the first time Dream met Hob, he was breaking a rule.

It hadn’t been easy. Dream did not like to lie, and wasn’t very good at it besides. And breaking rules made him nervous. Broken rules carried consequences. But he’d needed to get out of the house, just for a moment. To clear his head. And just going for a walk was not a good enough reason to leave the house when he could be doing something more productive. Something better. Make some use of yourself, Dream.

So Dream had crafted a little story of extra studying, extra work, and managed to slip out. Dream did not always tell the truth, could not, but usually he lived in the shadows left by omission. The outward lie was bitter on the back of his tongue.

But he’d been freed. And now he was wandering. He did not often get the chance to wander, untended, unobserved. Making his unsteady way down the winding road leading out of the estate, and then into town, where he’d never really walked before. It was just getting late, almost sunset on a Thursday evening, and the streets were fairly quiet, only a handful of people about. And Dream wandered, not quite knowing what to do with himself but enjoying the quiet in his head.

Possibly meandering about on his own was a bad idea. Possibly he’d be hit by a car or attacked by a madman. He didn’t think he much cared.

And that was when he met Hob. That first dip of his toes into freedom.

He was sitting on a bench in the park, watching the small scattering of pigeons pecking for seeds by the fountain. Dream had always liked birds, but it wasn’t often he had the chance to sit and just watch them. He studied their patterns, mentally tracking the shapes they traversed, their mathematical lines. He should have brought his sketchbook. It would have been nice to work from live subjects, for once.

He was deep in his thoughts, in the calming trickle of the fountain and the repetitive paths of the birds, when another boy about his age plopped down on the bench beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so depressed while feeding birds.”

The birds had fluttered up in disarray at the sudden motion, but settled down again quickly. Dream looked at the other boy askance, irritated at his rare peace being interrupted.

“Do you often speak with people who are busy feeding birds?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone.

“Only when they’re broody and mysterious,” said the boy. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but he must have been college age, like Dream. Dream was still wearing his jacket and trousers, for his own part. Everything about this boy was looser, really, from his longish brown hair, to his jeans and t-shirt. It made Dream feel very uptight in comparison, which was not a fact about himself he needed reinforced. He already knew it. “Do you often feed birds?”

“I am not feeding them,” Dream said. “They are eating what was there.”

“Just spying on them, then,” said the boy teasingly. Dream did not know what to do about being teased with what seemed like lightheartedness rather than mockery, and so didn’t respond.

“Seriously,” said the boy. “Are you okay?”

Then Dream did look at his face properly. He had very kind, very genuine eyes, was the first thing Dream noticed. It was not something he noticed about a lot of people. Perhaps it was not something a lot of people possessed.

Then the boy smiled at him, a soft, kind smile. It transformed his whole face from something merely pleasant to something lovely.

“Is that why you have come over?”

The boy shrugged. “You looked sad and alone. I’ve been sad and alone before, so I don’t think anyone else should.”

Dream bristled. “I am not sad and alone.”

“Just alone, then?”

Dream’s mouth popped open in affront, and then shut. Then he said, “Are you always so familiar and impertinent with strangers?”

“‘Familiar and impertinent,’” echoed the boy, with a laugh. “Sure. Are you always so snooty and aristocratic?”

“Yes,” said Dream, and he laughed louder.

“Honest though.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Hob.”

Dream nearly said, What kind of name is Hob? but swiftly realized the hypocrisy. Gingerly, he took Hob’s hand. “…Dream.”

“What kind of name is Dream?” said Hob, and Dream sighed. “And you really don’t have to shake my hand like a king deigning to touch the peasants. I’m not diseased.”

“I don’t like to touch people,” Dream said, taking his hand back. “Peasant or otherwise.”

“Peasant or otherwise,” Hob echoed. He didn’t seem offended. He was smiling.

“Are you here because you felt I should be taught a lesson? Is that it?”

“Nah. I just get bored easily.” Hob turned to watch the pigeons again, tapping his fingers restlessly against the bench. “I was out and about. You looked interesting. You wanna go for a walk?”

“…Why?” But Dream knew why. He had learned it as he’d wandered the streets, freed for the first time.

Hob shrugged. “Just to do it.”

Dream had stepped out of his comfort zone once today already. He supposed he could do so again. If Hob turned out to be an adolescent serial killer at least the end of his life would hold intrigue. “Very well.”

Hob grinned, so bright it struck some deep, static bell in Dream’s chest and set it ringing. “Come on.”

[cuubism]

Good Horses? 👀👀👍🐎

Horses! it's a high school au--sheltered rich kid dream x feral child hob--about growing up in an abusive household, and being different. with a twist :)

--

Dream pressed his hands to his mouth, holding back a smile. When he finally tore his eyes away from the darkness the fox had vanished into, he found Hob looking at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “What?” Dream asked. “You’re smiling,” said Hob. So Dream hadn’t been so successful at hiding it. But perhaps he did not have to, when it was only Hob here. “It’s cute.” Cute. Dream’s mouth popped open, and then shut again. “It is—” he started indignantly, on instinct, and then stopped. Because the quick flush that had come to him at Hob’s words wasn’t the flash of hurt and indignation he was used to from criticism or backhanded compliments. The feeling was sweeter. Foreign. He was blushing, he could feel the heat at the tips of his ears. “…not,” he finished lamely, ducking his head. “Is so,” Hob said. He chucked Dream on the cheek, and Dream stilled, staring at him, breath caught. Hob’s touch was brief, but fond, and Dream touched his own cheek in its absence. Finally he looked away, back at the water. Feeling jittery and nervous but also good. He felt… wanted. Hob had only known him for such a short time, and yet Dream felt like his company was wanted here. And that was so rarely the case.

[cuubism]

Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals. 💌💜 >:>

🥰🥰 ah sweet :)

from one of my many wip fic playlists:

[cuubism]

some kind of sheltered rich boy dream / feral child hob high school/college au that stuck itself in my brain and won't leave

...

"Did you truly spend your childhood here?"

Hob paused where he was picking up more stones, presumably to chuck them at passing trees, cocking his head at Dream. "D'you mean living in the woods, like a feral animal? I thought we went over that."

Dream sighed. "I meant playing in the woods."

Hob lurched upright again to catch up with where Dream was still walking on the path and, true to Dream's suppositions, hurled one of his scavenged stones off into the underbrush. It made a satisfying swish-thwack sound off in the distance. "Why's that so shocking to you? Kids love mud and frogs and stuff."

"You still love mud and frogs and 'stuff.'"

"Don't you?"

Dream looked up at the tree cover, and the orange rays of sunset filtering through the branches. He had never been to this part of the forest before. It was far enough away from any surrounding towns to still be dense and untamed, the underbrush thick and tangled, the path winding and poorly tended.

Not that Dream had been to any part of the forest much at all, not even the parts closer to home.

"I suppose. I can't say I have much experience with either."

Hob kicked aside some sticks that were blocking the path. He was always so active, so expressive. Dream was so used to clasping his hands that he didn't know what to do with them when no one was watching. "So what'd you do, then? Stay in the house all the time?"

"We have a garden," Dream told him. A very beautiful, very perfect garden. "It's very well tended. I doubt mother would tolerate a frog."

"Should do," said Hob, sadly. "They're brilliant. So you've never been just out in the wild at all?"

"I have not run unattended through the forest like a squirrel, no."

"Shame," said Hob, and then grabbed his hand. "No time like the present, then!"

And he took off down the path, dragging Dream along behind him. Hob was much faster than him, and certainly fitter too, and Dream nearly tripped and fell several times trying to keep up, but didn't let go of Hob's hand. His nice school loafers skidded on the wet leaves. His tie flapped along over his shoulder. Dream could not remember the last time he had been so out of breath, the last time his heart had beaten in his chest like so.

"Shit!" Hob yelled, and skidded to a stop.

Dream was not so fast, and quickly learned what had brought such an abrupt end to Hob's run. The path veered off sharply to the right above a steep embankment, and Dream's momentum carried him right over the edge, dragging Hob with him.

The next few moments were a tumble of dirt and leaves and flashes of sky, Hob's laughter, Dream's very unbecoming shriek. Then a splash, as they landed in the shallow brook at the bottom of the embankment.

Hob was still laughing as Dream pushed himself upright, took stock of himself. His trousers and the back of his blazer were drenched and mud-soaked, certainly ruined; his socks sloshed in his shoes; his tie was twisted and mangled around his neck. Hob looked no better, wet and muddy and with leaves stuck in his hair. Only on Hob, there was a natural ease to it, a sense that he would pick himself up with a grin and go on like that. Dream was certain he himself looked merely disheveled and ridiculous.

"You've discovered mud, good for you," Hob said, grinning at him. How could he still look so bright, with mud smeared over his forehead? "And there's a beetle in your hair."

Dream found it and plucked it out, moved to toss it away or perhaps to crush it, as he might have done at home -- but paused. Held it in his palm instead. Had he ever looked at them before? Its fine, intricate legs were really quite remarkable. Its shell iridescent and changing in the light. Its antennae waved at him.

He put it down on the side of the brook, and when he looked back, found Hob gazing at him with an expression he could only interpret as fond.

"Beetles look good on you," he said, and this brought Dream back from the warm place he had started to slip to, there in the glow of Hob's attention, and to reality again.

"Mother will be furious," he said quietly, and hated himself for the smallness of his voice. Dream had never before wished to be anyone other than himself, even when that self chafed and bled against its surroundings. But since meeting Hob, he'd begun to wish he could be in the world the way Hob was -- unapologetic, exuberant, pushing back.

At first, Hob just looked fondly exasperated, even frustrated, as he'd been on occasion, by Dream's unwillingness to ever break a rule. But he must have caught something in Dream's tone that he hadn't before, for he shifted closer, still in the water and getting even more soaked, expression creasing in concern.

"Hey." He laid a tentative hand on Dream's arm. "It'll be alright, yeah? It's just some clothes, in the end. I bet the dry cleaner's can even get it out."

Dream shook his head. It was not about the clothes. Nothing so reasonable as waste or expense would anger his mother. No, she could buy a new uniform easily enough, but how dare one of her children be seen with a hair out of place, how dare Dream put a foot wrong. Stumble? Fall? As if this weren't bad enough, Dream had also lied about where he was going, because there was no way he would have been allowed out of the house otherwise, and this was already a grave offense, and now there was proof.

It was always very unwise to anger either of Dream's parents.

But no matter what was waiting to come down upon his head, he was not going to cry. It was always unwise to cry. And he did not want Hob to think him even more pathetic than he doubtless already thought Dream was.

Dream steeled himself, clenching his hands in the river bottom for a long moment. The cold slip of the mud, the crunch of the rocks was surprisingly soothing. Then let go, and let the river water wash the dirt away. "You are right, of course. Only. Mud."

"Only that," Hob agreed, smiling at him again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He would have lovely wrinkles there when he was older, Dream thought. Hob took his hand, and looked at his palm, perfectly smooth and clean again after the water had washed over it. "At least you weren't hurt in that tumble, yeah? That's what's most important."

For the moment, Dream let home wash away from him with the river water, and focused on his hand in Hob's. It felt like peace. "What's most important," he echoed. "Yes."

[cuubism]

It's my favorite/least favorite writing month now, so here's an overly-ambitious list of things I would love to complete during nano :) last year I reached a true feral state of dissociated insanity by the end of November and I do hope to achieve that again!

Happenstance, final chapter. this was on my list and I just finished/posted it :) [COMPLETED]

the follow-up fic to Trade Secrets, the Knight Hob/Prince Dream PWP. more unmitigated smut in this one.

New installment of In Search of Nightingales [bookstore cryptid Dream] -- this one is about Dream moving in with Hob. [COMPLETED]

A Death/Johanna fic that was supposed to be for the femslash event but evidently... was not 😂

The sheltered rich boy Dream & feral child Hob (though it's really not much about that anymore) fic that I've occasionally posted snippets of. This one has gotten... long.

"Ooh, Kinky", a fic about how Dream really likes when Hob does sweet things for him. [COMPLETED]

a very long, post-2022 slowburn getting together fic that I literally started last fall, and has 17k words but isn't finished -- I would really like to finally finally finish that.

At LEAST one of the non-dreamling ideas people sent me way back. I have so many and I ended up writing like... none of them. Oops.

chapter 3 of the melting press of the sun, a fic that wasn't supposed to be longer than one chapter. Hob helps Dream with his post-fishbowl dissociative episodes through the power of Friendship and Really Shitty Reality Television

the Shibari fic that I teased a month ago, wrote half of in one day, and then barely touched since 😂

chapter 3 of the better to see you with, my dear [the Spy Hob AU] which I've left on the back burner for a while now.

A mostly-completed segment of Silly Rabbit AU about various tales and connections Dream is spinning.

In Waking Dreams chapter 7, which is already partially complete.

There's also one or two projects that live at kind of the intersection of fanfic and original fic that have been bouncing around my head so those may come up as well ☺️

And new as of November 1 (goddammit):

A very silly crack fic about Johanna accidentally kidnapping Dream and Hob's weird magical baby (goes about how you'd expect) [COMPLETED]

idea I got stuck in my head last night about Dream making sex Hob's reward for rescuing him as an intricate ritual to let Dream have some intimacy without having to admit that he wants it.

BONUS: prequel to dreamling's magical baby fic [COMPLETE]

BONUS: a little drabble about winter [COMPLETE]

And I've learned better than to promise progress on any outstanding Malec projects.

If any of you are also doing Nano 🫡 Godspeed.

[cuubism]

nanowrimo

oops

the grand ambitions... they were not met this year 😂

however! i did finish a few things:

Happenstance (dreamling meeting-between-meetings), with bonus epilogue

"Ooh, Kinky" (dream gets horny when hob does nice things for him)

Wish (dream and hob's weird baby)

Responsible Decision-Making (the consequences of not taking your eldritch birth control aka Wish pt. 2)

"Ode to Winter" (winter drabble)

Nightingales ch. 10 about Dream and Hob moving in together

[and just after Nano] the melting press of the sun pt. 3 (post-fishbowl dreamling slowburn ft. dissociation and "coping" with trauma)

also made progress on or started a bunch of stuff, jury's out on which ones ultimately come to fruition however

[new] human dreamling 80s au in which i, fascinated by the visual contrast of 1989 dreamling, attempt to answer the question "how the fuck would these two people even meet"

part 3 of the spy hob au

the sheltered rich boy dream & feral child hob "human-ish" high school au which i've teased before

a post-fishbowl dreamling slowburn that's actually kind of about writer's block (ironic, then, that i've been picking at it for a whole year)

[new] Wish part THREE where I try to conceive (haha) what Dream's weird eldritch pregnancy would be like

Nightingales ch. 11 about the Magdalene Grimoire

fic about the intricate rituals of offering sex as a reward to the guy who rescued you who you definitely don't have any feelings for

[new] prince dream and bodyguard hob modern royalty au (can't escape this trope apparently, if i had a nickel for every time i got into the king/knight dynamic with dreamling i'd be able to buy a house)

Complex Math AU installment about Dream and Hob's elopement

smutty knight hob and prince dream medieval fic part 2 (see??? there it is again)

Silly Rabbit installment about escapism in storytelling

and also, the cursed dreamling bachelor au

I have too many WIPs is what I've learned.