#raaaarararararrrrr.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

froggymarsh · 2 months

Text

hello scu enjoyers here's a little r!charlie with cg!schlatt yesyes. it is set in a zombie apocalypse so trigger warning for non-graphic mentions of zombies and also a gun! i dont describe any blood or gore or anything dwdw - also maybe slight unreality for the line "was any of that real?" near the end

hope u enjoy <3

“Oh, hey Charlie.”

Charlie’s head snaps up, meeting the eyes of a charming man standing behind the pristine counter of a little hole-in-the-wall bar that Charlie has never seen here before. His buttoned shirt is crisp, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he polishes a glass with a red rag. His apron is black and stainless. His hair is curled, his beard is groomed and well kept. His eyes are brown, and he smiles at Charlie as if nothing is wrong with the world.

“H-hey,” Charlie stammers. He looks up at the walls, the iron bars lining the entrance. He doesn’t remember walking inside, but here he is. The floor is strangely even, no plants, no rocks, no cracks. The groans of the infected outside seem so far away. “Hey- how do you know my name?”

The man’s smile does not change. His eyes flicker from brown to gold and back again. Charlie glances around the room. The light of the torches set in the walls is not comforting in the slightest.

“So,” the man sets the glass aside, slings the rag over one shoulder, and braces both arms on the counter. “Milk or juice?”

“What?”

“You look like you could use it,” he answers, simple as that. His fingers tap along the countertop. “Milk or juice?”

“What is going on, dude, how do y-”

“Milk,” he interrupts, eyes flickering again. Charlie shuts his mouth as the man’s expression changes just so, like a mountain challenging a pebble to a battle of might, or a sun backhanding a star out of the sky.

Then the man smiles again, simple as that. “Or juice?”

Charlie grips the straps of his backpack, a pebble, a pebble, a pebble. The groans of the infected feel like a hazy memory. He takes a step towards the counter, strangely uneven on the even ground.

“Juice, please,” he murmurs, taking a seat on one of the stools. It’s plush, comfortable, with a bar at the bottom for his feet. He swings them instead.

“Good choice,” the man praises, "now,” he laughs, “maybe this one’ll getcha. Bottle or cup?”

Charlie blinks. The mountain looms on the other side of the counter, with an amused smile on its face.

“Cup,” he answers, softer than he means to, but he can’t help it when he feels like a pebble, maybe all of four years old. The room gets hazy at the edges of his vision.

“Now, now, Charlie,” the man scolds lightly, almost teasing, almost stern, amused all around, “I think we both know the correct answer here.”

Charlie frowns, eyebrows furrowing. Was that not it?

“Cup, please,” he tries again.

The man tsks. “Charlie…”

He says nothing.

The man sighs.

“Tell you what, kiddo,” he leans over, sliding the glass easily off the counter and stowing it away underneath. He fishes around for something else, his smile still charming, his expression warm but oddly intense. “We’ll compromise.”

He returns with a dark green sippy cup with a light green lid. Two and a half hearts decorate the side, glaring up at Charlie. He looks away as the man retrieves another bottle from somewhere else. This one has a golden apple printed on the side.

“‘fraid apple juice is all we’ve got.”

Charlie shrugs. Apple’s fine.

The man smiles as he pours it, screwing on the cap and sliding it to him when it’s full. “Knew you’d be a good sport about that.”

Charlie wraps his hands around the sippy cup. It’s the perfect size to hold like this. His shoulders sag in relief, oddly comforted by this little bit of plastic.

“You’re doing so well,” the man praises. Charlie can’t help but preen at that a bit, turning the cup in his hands but not yet taking a drink. “I’ll step in as needed, but it’s quite honestly remarkable just how far you’ve come.”

Charlie tries to smile at him, tries to show he’s grateful.

The man chuckles, reaching over the counter to ruffle his hair. Charlie ducks away, swatting at his hand.

“Alright, well. You better scram, kid,” he reaches under the counter again, this time producing a gun. Charlie blinks. The haze in his head fades as he whirls around, spots five infected approaching. How did he not notice them getting so close?

“I’ll hold them off,” the man’s voice raises dangerously as he storms out of the bar with his gun, seizing Charlie’s collar and dragging him out with him, abandoning the bottle on the counter. He shoves him one way and fires the gun in the other, “go, kid. Go!”

Charlie stumbles, unsteady, but runs. He runs, ducking between infected and swerving around buildings and runs, fast as he can manage as they follow, running, groaning behind him, and he runs, and his foot catches a stone and he falls and he rolls and he-

When he comes to, the sun is rising.

He jolts upright in bed. He’s home. He’s safe.

His jacket is pristine. There’s new patches on the elbows. There are no scuffs on his armor. His legs are fine, his heart is beating regularly, nothing is sore.

Cradled in his hand is a green sippy cup, decorated with two and a half hearts on the side that glare up at him.

He swallows.

Was any of that real?

He turns it over. There’s nothing inside, though taped to the bottom is a messy, scrawled note.

Keep it, it reads. Signed with a simple, -J

#mcyt agere #froggy drabbles #raaaarararararrrrr....#i gotta finish the video....#idk how to trigger warn so lemme know if you think this needs somethin else #I DIDNT MOVE OVER MY TAGS FROM MY FIRST DRAFT OF THIS. so im doing it now. nobody will read them but it's important to me that theyre here #something about trying to be comforted but everything is awful and uneasy and no matter how hard you try you just. can’t.#not vent regression not play regression but a secret third thing #i was saving this interaction for somethin else but i’ll use it here skdkfjf

27 notes · View notes