Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the dog days of summer. The glorious few days in which being a dog made jumping in water and slobbering normal.
Ren chuckled. What a life.

The breeze tickled his fur just right, a wonderful scent of greenery and iron. Feed crumbling through his fingers as SpaceRats ate the food provided. They kept nipping his fingers, slowly eating away at the outer skin.

Cleo was coming by that day, riding by in the Gigadrone she borrowed earlier that week. She said she’d bring by a new treat for them to try, one Ren’s mouth was already salivating thinking about.

Cold treats always tasted the best in the hotter months, for even when Hermitcraft’s weather got specialized, the seasons remained the same. He was grateful for the lack of natural disasters though, it allowed for the more fun activities to take place.

He told all these things to Cleo while sitting on his kitchen counter, legs swinging up a storm. She nodded and laughed, asking questions to nudge him back into the illusions. It was best if the treat remained calm during the day. Stress tainted the meat and infected the bone.

She hummed a little tune as she snipped away the fur, petting Ren’s head when the succors got a little too close to skin.
“Long white bones with the skin all gone~”

“What you saying my dude?”

“Nothing dear. Tell me more about those rats?”

Ren rambled on, tail swaying till Cleo trapped it between two knives. No use in having fur wag into the treat.

“Wouldn’t it be chilly with no skin on…I wonder. Now where was that freezer?”

She delicately brought the ice cream and scoop out of the freezer. Pure vanilla, so fresh, so pure and white. The closest she could get the lamb’s soul in taste and texture alone.

Carefully, carefully, she tilted towards the treat’s knees and let the blood drip forward. Strained through a sieve until the sweetest of juices remained. She set it aside for jugging later, until the maple trees were full to soften the taste. Allowing the elixir to stretch until the next treat season.

The scoop slipped smoothly behind the kneecaps, lifting the bone until it could be plucked out by polished green nails.

Perfect. The bone fit nicely over the creamy dome, and with just a drizzle of sauce the treat was completed.

Cleo purred in delight. Just a little over an hour left before the treat began screaming. Until then, she’d enjoy the lulling of a warm, tasty little treat.

Perhaps Doc would allow her to finish the second snack before he locked her away again. Perhaps he’d like to join!

After all, when one let themselves enjoy the finer things of life, a little separation becomes worth it.
Friends are easily forgiven once the craze passes over.

Then it’s time for treats once more.

Chapter Text

He woke up screaming.
But what did one expect when a close friend has just eaten one’s knees.

“Knee caps dear. Simply the knee caps.” Cleo grinned her bloody smile as Ren struggled to comprehend what just happened.

Cleo, being the slightly unstable zombie she was, just sat there munching away on what was left of the second bone. Her polished nails cracked and splintered the snack until she could lick the marrow within.
Not enough time to make a full second treat but tasty nonetheless.

She could see the bewilderment in Ren’s eyes. The desperate grasp for logic while blood loss kept his head swimming.

It wasn’t his fault, few players saw the warning signs and even fewer chose to believe them. Zombies were after all a dangerous species, whether a hybrid or not.
Some scientists even theorized how the blending of human and zombie dna created a creature more dangerous than before—one which could pair manipulative planning with insatiable bloodlust.

Alas, no one listened and so the greater populace was left unprepared for when their zombie friends inevitably snapped.

However Doc still held true to the teachings of his brethren. He knew the dangers of agreeing to a zombie hybrid on Hermitcraft and so elected himself as Cleo’s personal handler in case the worse happened.

He intended to do this secretly of course, but Cleo was more than slightly aware of his intentions.

She knew he would be there at any moment, likely storming into the house once Ren’s screaming reached a crescendo. She’d play her chances at escape but would likely be caught within a worthwhile moment.

The effort simply wasn’t needed, especially not on a full stomach. Cleo would even consider a nap if not for Ren’s squirming and incessant keening.

She sighed as she locked her nails. They always made noise far too soon, never allowing for full enjoyment.

Grumbling about how Ren should be grateful she didn’t eat his elbows, Cleo grabbed a knife to better store his tongue for later.

That was where Doc found her—poised over a sobbing Ren’s mouth, grin royal with mixed lipstick and blood.

Cursing and a struggle ensued, eventually ending with one crazed zombie hybrid chained back from lurching at her dog hybrid friend.

She knew that with enough effort those chains would snap and the treat would be hers again. But she was so tired and the whispered promises of a forest all her own eased bonds back from breaking.

Doc murmured to Ren, promising the comfort of Xisuma and prosthetics for the future. A displeased growl brought him back to Cleo, whom he readily subdued through a muzzle and weakness pot.

To Cleo, the pulling of her head back was completely unnecessary, especially once accompanied by the metal collar with rusted chain.
The rust would taste pleasant indeed, yet the manhandling remained unwelcome.

Once satisfied with the restraints, Doc left a whimpering Ren to lick his wounds and began the arduous journey back to his lab.

The close proximity of said lab would certainly have been an assist had Cleo not been determined to be a nuisance.

Soon enough the lab was entered and Cleo situated in her glorified cage. It was designed to sate her longing for the moment yet lacked the desperation of freedom.

She prowled, ate the meals provided, acted as poised as a sane woman. Doc maintained a firm hold on her situation and whereabouts. But as the time passed and bloodlust seemed to dim, guests were let in.

Her fellow Hermits greeted her through the glass as old friends. Some recognized the gleam which remained in her eyes, adding their voices to the lingering Doc and Xisuma support. Many did not.

Eventually a sign had to be placed, reminding others of the tragedy of Rendog, how Joe’s head remained unfound to that day. Cleo appeared just a little too demure, just a little too human to be locked away for good.

She’d rest her hands longingly against the glass, pleading with her human eyes to let her go. Let her build amongst the Hermits again. Let her feast.

Yet time and time again a straying hand would snatched away from the button, the latches would remain steadily closed and a warning ushered to the foolish Hermits sympathetic to her green eyes.

For beneath that loose lipped smile hid rows of cracked teeth blunted from bone. Her vibrant red hair and polished emerald nails only helped to further dissuade any predators as that predator hungered herself.

Soon she’d escape as she always did. Soon she’d corrupt the mind of Doc to be predator alike. The little morsels he gave her were not enough, they didn’t taste enough.
Cleo yearned for a meal beyond those glass walls.
For the time of playthings was over. The time of feasting had begun.