#Anyone who gets trapped between them WILL get asthma and or suffocation

[clownsuu]

The sillies,,,,,

THE SILLIESSS

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 8.5

The sound of the lock tumblers rolled shut in an almost satisfying timbre- it told Stan, in finality, that his shift was up and it was time for him to go home, that Roses on Deane had carried him through one more evening and was now seeing him off, waiting for his next return the night after. Taking a step back after removing the key from the door, Stanley glanced left at the sign reading 'closed' hung daintily from a hook just above the glass window. The red LED plant lights inside still shone in the dark corners, eerie yet comforting. With a slow inhale and then a clipped exhale, Stan spun on his heel, hitching his courier bag more securely over his neck and shoulder and setting off for home. The Portland streets were dark, the clock reading just late of 10:00 pm, thick clouds coating the sky and blotting out the stars. Keeping his gaze set forwards, Stan settled into a brisk walk, a bouncing pace that was more than familiar to him by now- even though he was no longer hurrying to evade bullies, the habit of being quick and silent stuck to him like a welcome burr. It wasn't necessarily a bad habit to be in, was it?

As he walked, closer and closer to home by the step, he busied himself in scanning the buildings, the businesses, attempting to identify the plants lining the streets with his new and limited botanical knowledge. A pale terracotta pot overflowing with rippling sunshine-yellow marigolds sat on the front porch of a thrift store, and then a few doors down outside of a place selling home-sewn fashion were bunches of hydrangeas, pink, purple and a pale blue. Petunias outside of a laundromat, bright pink begonias marking the entrance to an ice cream parlor with a large sign saying it was closing for the winter- distractions distractions. Stan heard a whip-poor-will sing it's little nighttime song somewhere behind him and found himself smiling warmly, almost instinctively reaching towards his back pocket for his bird book before realizing he didn't carry it with him anymore and letting that smile fall again. A shiver ran it's course up and down his spine for a reason he wasn't certain of. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable, shifty, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and a frown crawling over his face. Walking a little quicker, Stan crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head as if that would hide him from anyone or anything that might cross his path. Distractions distractions. Birds and flowers.

Warblers, Alstroemerias, Common Loon, Lilies, to busy his mind Stan went over all of the Portland-resident birds and all the Roses on Deane-resident flowers, trying to ebb the near-flowing paranoia building in his head. All at once a thought unfurled like one of the colorful flora he was thinking about- Did you really lock the shop door? Stan chewed his lip, clasping his hands together and forcing his legs forwards once more. Yes, he locked the door, he was sure of it- and even if he didn't who was gonna rob a flower shop? He needed to take his OCD medicine the moment he got home. Recently, with work and school, he had started taking it at night. It often wore off by the end of the day, letting silly thoughts like that pop up like moles. More birds, more flowers, less thinking. Northern Goshawk, Carnations, Yellow-Bellied Flycatcher, Daisy. Walk walk walk. Stanley's head was trapped in some strange in-between where one half was racing and the other was sluggish and slow, like molasses- he hated it, the feeling like he couldn't quite register that things were moving to fast. He just wanted to be home with Bill, with Eddie, in his bed or at the stove cooking something up for the three of them. Anything at all- maybe he could clean his room or the lounge or the bathroom- maybe he could offer to do the laundry. Stan shivered again, and another wave of discomfort rippled through him. Birds. Flowers.

Red-Breasted Nuthatch, Orchids, Winter Wren, Orange Princess-

Stan stopped dead in his tracks. All at once, the smell of oranges hit him in the back of the throat. It was sickening, suffocating almost, like the near-toxic, too-sweet taste of children's medicine. He screwed up his face and clenched his jaw, trying to pinpoint where and why that scent had hit him so suddenly. Then, a thought, a realization not driven by his OCD popped into his head and his face drained of it's colour. Now the only thing he could think of was Dick Halloran, a character from The Shining, that stupid horrorbook that Bill had forced him to read. Dick had this power called 'The Shine', see, and whenever something like a premonition or a message from someone else who 'Shone' hit him he smelled this smell, the oranges, overwhelming, tangy, sickening. Every time this scent is mentioned in the book it is a bad thing. Maybe now it is a bad thing. Stanley has to force his legs to move, to carry him again, faster faster faster; he's basically jogging now and he'll turn up home slick with sweat and that means he'll need to shower for much too long but he doesn't mind right now. He might scrub his skin raw later, but right now his sudden nagging fear won over.

Stan had played baseball in elementary and the beginning of high school so he wasn't a terrible runner but he had hardly half the stamina Eddie would have had were he in this situation, despite the bug in his brain he called asthma. It had only been a few moments and Stan, in his panic, had sprinted away his energy; Stanley needed to be smart about it, to conserve his energy, his breath. Something dark and urgent bubbled up in his chest and he knew he needed away. Slowing to a hasty jog Stan focused solely on his breathing and going the right way. Home was closer now, less than three blocks, he could see the building. Gooseflesh broke out over his arms and for the briefest, briefest moment he swore he saw a flash of red lit white by the streetlamps across the street from him, low, on the ground or in the gutter or from a sewer drain. He didn't stick around long enough to be certain. Birds, please. Flowers.

Swainson Thrush, Rose, Rusty Blackbird, Sunflower, White-Throated Sparrow, Peonies, one after the other Stan pumped out name after name until he ran out of flowers and only knew birds; at some point after he started naming any bird, not just the ones here in Portland or even Maine or even the whole of the United States- he was desperate for anything to say, any image to conjure up to replace the fearful ones his brain was fighting to depict. The India Peafowl, or the Peacock more often, was what ended up taking the coveted 'Throne of Distraction'. He knew the bird well and spent a whole thirty seconds imagining every detail about it, the royal blue feathering of it's crown, breast, abdomen, the crisp white of it's auricular and superciliary, the places above and below the eye. They had white-and-back wings that had a total span of five feet and six foot tailfeathers of emerald green, blue, yellow, the shapes of eyes, almost, grand and royal and silently threatening. By the time he forgot about the peacock he was crossing the street towards his block and his lungs were protesting greatly. His hair was dampened despite the chill in the air and his palms were sweating profusely.

In a burst of confidence since he was now faced with the homestretch, Stan risked a look over his shoulder and then immediately hated himself for it. You never look over your shoulder, isn't that what Bill always said about horror movies? Was this even like a horror movie? Which rules were real and which were fiction? Which ones applied to real life? Stan snapped his head forwards once more and now he was driven by terror in it's rawest form, cold and sleek like the scales of a snake or the glimmer of a dark poison. His veins burned with this terror, his eyes wide and glossy, his throat pinching up and disallowing a scream. Oh, God, the thing he thought he saw- Eyes, orange, burning like hellfire, promising so many things, horrible, horrible things, a tall man, a shadow-man, something deadly and threatening in the way he stood and the way he held his weapon ready to raise and ready to strike. Stan was quick to smother the sight, the memory of the sight under the heel of his mind's shoe to forget about, to abandon, no-siree he was not crazy he didn't need to go to the loony-bin the funny farm the madhouse he was just okey-dokey all 100% okay yessir.

Birds birds birds flowers oranges grackles grackles marigold- His mind was gone by now, shrouded in some thick fog, out of reach, his soul ripped from his body to view himself in some sick third-person form. Icy numbness ate through him leaving only the terror, the sleek-cold terror as he stumbled onto the doorstep of his building and ripped his key from his bag at lightspeed, scolding himself for not getting it out sooner and then scolding himself again seconds later for fumbling, almost dropping the thing. He jammed them at the door, missed the keyhole, jammed again, missed, again, missed- finally, the keys slid into place and he cranked them to the side, ripping the door open and not even bothering to recollect them. He sent himself flying for the stairs, not trusting the elevator and getting more images from his book, The Shining, the faulty elevator moving on it's own accord, New Years Eve, party poppers, black gold silver people in suits- As Stan raced up the steps he finally found his voice but decided he could not scream, could not alarm anyone else, could not draw any attention. If you asked for help, for salvation, you got people killed and you still got fucked in the end- and, one part of Stan was horrified that none of this was even real.

If Stanley could only make it up to his apartment than he would be alright. He would be just fine. Peachy. Right as rain. The problem was that the stairs seemed to be getting longer, reaching up and up into infinity, a stairway to heaven. Birds Stan needed birds flowers too birds and flowers flowers and birds then he'd be just fine if only he had his bird book, Lincoln's Sparrow Dahlias Purple Finch Azalea White-winged Crossbill Poppy Evening Grosbeak Chrysanthemum Birds Birds Birds Birdsbirdsbirdsbirds-

Stan's mind froze. Everything came to a grinding halt. His hand rests on the brass knob of his apartment, his home, but he does not remember ever reaching the top of the steps, ever rushing down his hallway. The icy chill that had been coursing through his veins was drained all too suddenly, jarringly, leaving him with wide eyes and heavy breathing as well as a sprawling sense of confusion. The... the panic, it had been so raw, so real. The sight of the shadow-man had been so vivid. The sweat on his brow and his back and in his armpits, it was real too- he had been driven into a spiral of terror, but was it in any way possible that Stan had imagined it all? Why, suddenly, did he feel so... alright? Why, just like that, was all of it gone? The dread, the doom, the smell of citrus. Stan wasn't crazy, no, he took pills to stop his crazy, needed to take his pill, needed to make this blinding sense of what?? ease into nothing, needed to return to being just another guy in the sea of other guys in Portland Maine.

Just like that, in the blink of an eye, everything had vanished and he was okay again. Stanley Uris was just fine. Peachy. Right as rain. He might- is probably- just be a little tired. So what? People got tired all the time. All he needed was some sleep and a shower and maybe to scrub his skin right off because this sweat was making him sticky and gross and he hated it. What he needed was to get control of himself. Letting his head fall gently, silently against the door, Stan let his eyes close and tried to even out his breathing. He felt like he was a little bit silly. The shadow man he had been so convinced he'd seen was supposed to have been Jack Torrance, but Jack Torrance was fictional and Stan was just tired. That was all. After two more minutes to control his breathing, he opened the door and made straight for the bathroom. He didn't even stop to note how Eddie and Richie were practically tangled up in one another and sharing a bowl of popcorn.

[princeescaluswords]

No Suffering Here!

I have here a list -- I think it’s exhaustive -- of all the things Scott McCall suffered in his show.  Now, according to some people, it can’t compare to others -- having to be resuscitated after your heart stops when someone tore your chest open, to them, doesn’t seem to compare to losing a pinky toe -- but I think it’s a pretty impressive list.   I have excluded general battle damage, pointing out the results from battles only when they were surprising or so completely one-sided that they were less battles and more beatings.

By the way, I can provide citations for every single thing on this list, and will do so, if requested.

As a child, his dog was killed by another dog in an event that triggered an asthma attack that required hospitalization

As a child, pushed down a flight of stairs by his father

Abandoned and neglected by his father, so he had to take care of himself while his mother was at work

Attacked in the middle of the woods by a rabid werewolf and bitten

Summoned by said werewolf in the middle of the night, waking up with no knowledge of how he got where he was

Suffered a transformation in his bathtub with no one to help him

Lured out into the woods by the person who he thought had bit him and thrown up against a tree

Pinned to a tree by a crossbow bolt

Had a man break into his house, lurk behind him, throw him up against the wall and threaten to kill him

Summoned again by the evil werewolf to kill a bus driver in the middle of the night, spending a day not knowing if he actually killed someone or not

Trapped in a school by murderous evil werewolf

Mind-controlled to kill his friends by murderous evil werewolf

Betrayed by Derek, cornered in a darkened shower while naked, mind violated by Peter, left writhing on the floor by Derek

Peter threatened Allison with the Bite to get Scott to join him

Peter threatened his mother with the Bite to get Scott to join him

Shot by hunters with a wolf’s bane bullet, bled out black blood in the middle forest, passed out alone, thinking he was going to die.

Girlfriend’s father attempted to run him over with an SUV

Allison, the girl he loved, reacted to him in horror

Fought a treacherous, blood thirsty alpha werewolf to save his girlfriend and her family

Betrayed once again by Derek with a lie about a cure and then had to watch that cure be taken away

Ladies and gentlemen, all this happened before or during Season 1.

Watched an omega (which he was) get cut in half by his girlfriend’s grandfather

Got clawed up by Alpha Derek to prove a point

Got stabbed in gut with a hunting knife and extorted by Gerard less than one hundred feet from his mother

Got poisoned by his girlfriend’s mother with wolf’s bane so it looked like he suffocated from an asthma attack

Suffered a wolf’s bane induced hallucination

Shot in the chest by a deranged stalker in front of his mother

Transformed in front of his mother who reacted in horror and wouldn’t talk to him for a week

Naked once again, confronted by a murderous lizard creature strangling his mother in his own bedroom

His girlfriend, for whom he had fought to stay together, dumps him

Nearly gutted by moon-mad werewolf in a bank vault

Nearly died from guilt-induced wounds in a rest-stop bathroom

Nearly set himself on fire from guilt and wolf’s bane poisoning

Watched as his mentor almost suffocated to death while he was blocked a few feet away

Discovered that the pack of evil alphas were there for him, and that their obsessive leader was highly intelligent and willing to do anything to get him

Had his mother kidnapped by an evil druid due to a plan he helped design

Joined the evil alpha pack out of a desperation to save people

Drowned himself to find his mother and other kidnap victims

Embraced a power he didn’t want to save his mother and other kidnap victims

Suffered terrifying hallucinations and uncontrollable transformations due to the aftereffects of his drowning sacrifice

Electrocuted by a power cable

Stalked by unstoppable shadow demons

Failed to locate his missing best friend (if you can watch Riddled and say he wasn’t traumatized by that phone call, I don’t know what to say)

Tortured by a demon with a katana

Endured a mind-scape designed to pray upon his fears and desires

Had his first love die in his arms

Endured being slashed by swords in a hallucinatory terrain

Poisoned by wolf’s bane gas

Tortured by hunters with electricity

Bit someone against his will when presented with a choice between letting the boy die or biting him

Blackmailed by assassin with the death of his first bitten Beta

Infected by a biological weapon designed to kill werewolves

Endured a near-death experience (completely with terrifying dreams) in order to lure an assassin out of hiding

Nearly gave into the monster within during a pitched battle with assassins

Turned into a Berserker

Had his life force sucked out of him during a fight

Paralyzed by a kanima

Electrocuted to the point of charring by his own girlfriend

And yet another terrifying hallucination about his dog and his girlfriend trying to murder him

His asthma returned when it shouldn’t

Beat within an inch of death by his own beta

Betrayed again and nearly killed by someone he through was a friend

Betrayed again and assaulted by his best friend

Suffered a non-healing chest wound for six episodes

Slashed apart and tossed around like a rag doll by  La Bete de Gevaudan

Forced to relive memories of his dead girlfriend by La Bete de Gevaudan

Failed to protect anyone from the Ghost Riders on a rain-soaked lacrosse game

Another terrifying hallucination of his mother’s death

Demon child nearly drowned him on dry land

Suffered hallucination of being hunted once again, freaking out on deputies and the sheriff

Impaled by a trap

Nearly suffocated again by another trap

Watched his father, mother, and friends gunned down before his eyes

Comforted a reformed-villain mentor as he lay dying

Tore out his own eyes to defeat the villain

Trapped in a never-ending battle with yet another villain

Yeah, Scott McCall never suffered anything.