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Fear Street: 1994 (2021) dir. Leigh Janiak.

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Fear Street 1994 icons

Deena, Sam, Kate, Simon, Josh icons

Fear Street Part One: 1994

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Simon Kalivoda Queer icons

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[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Eight

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): toxic/abusive relationship, PTSD themes, blood and gore, violence, death, gun mention, hurt/comfort, strong language

Word Count: 6k

A/N: long chapter for u guys<3 (not proofread in its entirety)

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Quatervois

You waited at the counter until the hum of his truck was far into the distance, then removed yourself from the stool, dumping out the untouched cup of tea.

It was time to get everything you prepared together.

The truth was, when you stormed up to your room, you hadn’t slept a wink. First, you laid out the only warm outfit you had left; that thick pair of jeans, and one of your sweatshirts. The coat Simon lent you was downstairs, so you would wait until morning for that.

It felt like an eternity—waiting for the brooding bodyguard to finally hit the hay. He spent longer reflecting on the argument than he actually did work, which you’d see when you occasionally poked your head around the landing to spy on him.

When his bedroom door finally closed, you crept down the stairs and found yourself seated in front of his laptop, still up and running, displaying a search image of the location Cal had messaged.

It was one of the old offices used by his employers—a large, no longer operational building. Neighboring it was the progression of building a strip mall; vacated or bulldozed structures.

With its vast dimensions and emptiness, the location became an ideal spot to get cornered.

You clicked on the navigation icon and purchased a ticket departing from the nearest train station. A few streets over from the meet point, that’s where it would drop you off.

The walk was manageable enough, and you already made up your mind the second your phone buzzed that day.

You squatted below the sink, reaching in the under cabinet for the pack you packed during the night. If Simon spotted you in those warm clothes, his suspicions would get the better of him—so, it was better to change now, in the kitchen, so you could be out the door behind him as soon as possible.

After you slipped them on, you folded the ones you were previously wearing and left them on the countertop.

The clock loudly ticking displayed the time you were running out of—6:48. If you were going to make it to the train station by eight, you needed to get moving.

When you reached the front door, a smaller bag slung over your shoulder, you cased the place again. One, to make sure you hadn’t left anything behind; two, in case this adventure went horribly wrong.

Though plagued by solitude and adverse weather, your time here proved to be warmer than any day spent with Cal, and that counted for something.

With swiftness, you reached for the coat rack and put on that thick coat. If you had any chance of making the walk, you were going to need it. You palmed the pistol residing inside the bag, then the ticket receipt you printed off folded in your pocket.

Everything was in order, in spite of this being a fresh, completely reckless plan.

Your crunching steps continued seamlessly, off the porch and onto the snow-hidden dirt path. Your own sense of direction was the sunrise, guiding you along the well-trodden path. The tree branches above form a natural archway, like a portal leading from solitude to society. 

The cabin behind them grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing from view, swallowed by the dense trees.

The chilly embrace of winter wasn’t much of an embrace at all. It stung at all your uncovered skin as if pricking you with a thousand tiny needles. Each breath expelled into a small cloud in front of you, increasing when there was a steep incline.

With each step, the snow deepened, but you pushed forward, following the trail that would eventually take you to the nearest town. Lights from the distant buildings began to pierce through the forest's darkness, beckoning like beacons of civilization.

That is if you could call it a town—it was a truck stop and a diner off an exit. You thought ahead several hours before, scheduling a taxi to take you to the train station. It was the only logical way to make it there ahead of Simon.

Alas, after a few minutes of waiting, the driver pulled into the icy lot of the rest stop. Neither of you made an attempt for conversation. He was most likely disgruntled making the trip out here, and you were on the way to face your past.

You let out a loud sigh finally resting your fatigued legs in the backseat, slipping him the last of your pocket cash.

The journey from the cabin had been more than just a walk; it was a journey from seclusion to your next chapter, a possibility of putting an end to this hell. If not, maybe it was that twisted fate catching up to you, just like you thought it would.

—

The rhythmic clattering of the train wheels was the only overbearing noise as you were peering out at the passing landscape. The scenery was a blur, much like your thoughts. Too chaotic for the memories to resurface, and too quick to grasp what you were walking into.

That morning, there was no speech in the mirror. You’d only thought of getting there, not what you would do when this train came to a stop.

Clammy hands fidgeted with the hem of their jacket, then placed a reassuring hand on the gun in your bag, as if to be sure of its presence all over again.

When it went through a tunnel, the low hum of conversation from fellow passengers only served as a reminder of the forthcoming confrontation that you couldn't avoid any longer. There would be no time to hesitate, or force yourself into silence—it was all going out in the open.

As the train approached its destination, you felt like your heartbeat synchronized with the slowing rhythm of the wheels. The minutes felt like eternity, each tick of the clock amplifying their unease. This was utterly insane, but you couldn’t back out now.

Finally, the train came to a halt, and the station name flashed on the windowpane. You were the first passenger to scramble with your luggage and hurry onto the platform.

Though trains were faster than cars, you never made the mistake of underestimating Simon’s determination.

You strolled through the narrow aisle, faces of other passengers passing by in a blur. You were on autopilot until you reached the neighboring streets, then you were agonizingly lucid.

The winter chill gripped the city streets, leaving a thin layer of frost on the pavement. You pulled their coat tighter around your frame, the cold seeping through the fabric and sending shivers down your spine.

The city seemed to hibernate under the winter's grasp. The streets, probably once bustling with activity, now wore a quiet and somber demeanor. The bare trees stood like sentinels, their branches reaching towards the gray sky, and the occasional snowflake drifted gently from above, adding to the melancholic picture.

As the destination drew nearer, your steps became slower, hesitant. The heart in your chest pounded loudly, and each breath felt shallow. It was as if the city itself sensed your trepidation.

Once you had made it through the suburbs, you were encroaching on the meeting spot. You could spot the height of the building from down the dead street. Not a construction worker, or even a jogger in sight.

In comparison with the demolition, it looked nearly abandoned.

Then, you laid eyes on the office building. Its windows were fogged up from the warmth inside, and its stature was backlit from the risen sun.

One car in the lot, and it wasn’t Simon’s truck. It was a black SUV, probably the very one Cal came here in—rented, just for this meeting.

You could’ve been walking into anything—dead before the door closed, but that was an outcome you were already well prepared for. It wouldn’t be the first time you stared death in the face, either.

Your first look at the interior wasn’t a half-demolished office space, or a dark and abandoned one. It looked to be freshly un-operational, given the fact that the fluorescents were on, and your shivers were soothed with a running heating system.

The design was bland and contemporary, with an absence of decorative clutter. Polished marble tiles covered the floor, their smooth surface reflecting the soft glow of recessed ceiling lights overhead.

The walls were adorned with tasteful and artistic decorations, such as abstract paintings, which hadn’t been removed yet. Beside them were nails still embedded in the walls, most likely where the employees once hung their achievements.

There was a dedicated cubicle for security, cameras and a buzzer to access the upper levels. You ran your fingertip over the dust coating the top of it, though the access buttons wouldn’t be of much use. 

There was an elevator already waiting, with a box placed in the door so you could board it. He’d already thought of everything, naturally, though the mere thought of him made you chunderous.

When you stepped inside, your fingers hovered over the buttons until you remembered the signs. If you were to take a guess, he had probably chosen the CEO floor for himself. With a few hesitant clicks, you were on your way up.

You took advantage of the time, removing the pistol from your bag and into your waistband. Within a minute, the doors opened to an even more luxurious floor than the ground. A long hall leading into the CEO’s office. A rug ran the course of it, only blank side tables and a fake plant filling the numbing space.

Your guess concerning the floor was correct, given the fact you were faced with an assistant as his. Much like him, only more tweedy and straight to the point.

Your wired expression did little to phase his blank one. He outstretched a hand toward your coat, slipping it off your shoulders for you, and then taking your bag for you. You pondered, if he knew what was in store for you, if he was a part of this plan, if he even knew who he was working for?

He took the leading position, guiding you to the office. The hallway seemed to stretch infinitely, prolonging the inevitable confrontation ahead of you, if there was one. A logical person would think he would’ve killed you a long time ago if that’s what he wanted, but Cal's temperament was anything but logical.

The cold metal of the gun provided a feeble reassurance, icing against the anxious sweat running down the curve of your spine.

The assistant's free hand reached for the metal knob, twisting it with ease. When the door revealed tre office to you, it was dripping with bleak grandeur; large paned windows on the north wall, meeting chairs in the corners, empty floor to ceiling shelves, and the large desk in the middle.

Once you spotted the man seated in that CEO chair, the once confident and brave facade you had constructed now felt fragile, on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces.

Approaching a year, this was the first time you had seen him face to face. His face remained blank, but not emotionless, like he was just as perplexed seeing you. Still, the eye contact wasn’t any less imperious.

The room's atmosphere was heavy with tension, an agonizing ten seconds before he said a word.

“Set her things outside, and leave us. It won’t be long.” Your pulse was thundering in your ears, but his voice knelled nonetheless.

You turned your head, giving the assistant a pleading look, but he’d already made his journey to the door again.

His feet, which were propped onto the desk in conceit, had now been placed back on the floor. Before you could do anything about it, he was standing a good five feet from you, and it was just the two of you now.

The gun, hidden under their shirt, served as a reminder of the darkness that led you here. All the things that went right, all of them that went wrong. Though the visible wounds had long healed, your inability to move or speak were a visible enough reminder.

“Relax, I’m here to talk.” Cal tongued the inside of his cheek, taking a few steps closer to you again. 

When his arm outstretched, you half expected to already be on the ground with the wind knocked out of you, but instead he was grasping for the bottle of whiskey on the table behind you. The moment he’d leaned in, reached around you, that familiar lump in your throat came back.

Though in your mind you were reassuring yourself, your body remembered him; the way your hairs stood up, how your fists clenched at your sides in apprehension.

But he hadn’t done anything. He removed the cork, and poured the malt into two small glasses, reaching one of them out to you.

Your body did the work for you, as if you were watching the scene from an overhead view, not truly the one standing there in front of him. Your fingers gripped the glass, your legs carried you toward the chairs in front of “his” desk—all without a single thought.

It wasn’t until he talked again, that you were forcing yourself to be present in the moment.

“Did you take the truck here?” All the buzzing of the fluorescents, the hum that came from his throat—it was all so overbearing, like your mind hadn’t caught up to sitting in front of him yet.

The traumatic memories resurface with an intensity that made it near impossible to speak, as if the wounds of the past had been freshly reopened.

It took a few seconds to process, before you couldn’t finally open your mouth to reply. “Yes.” Your throat had a dryness to it, leaving your speech weak and aching with hesitation.

Cal's eerie sense of calm had an uncanny ability to make you feel like a cornered small animal. If you could sink further into the chair, you would. Every stare, every movement his hands made, rekindled the nerves you had tried so hard to suppress.

“You should’ve reached out to me sooner,” he scoots the chair back out, making a slow lap around the desk, as if he were a relentless shark, circling its prey in the water.

His drink remained in his hand, but he hadn’t taken a drink from his glass either—it was nothing more than a prop. When he moved from the chair to his feet, yours moved as well, as if acting on an instinct. 

You slid your glass across the desk and took a few steps counterclockwise around the desk, but his sluggish rotation continued, and an amused chuckle left his lips as you maintained the distance.

“Do you have any idea what it was like, cops at my door on Christmas Eve? I was worried sick, had to clean up that mess myself.” He only continued his point from before, both of you halting the circle you’d made around the large desk.

When you failed to answer him again, you failed to keep moving as well. Your eyes followed him from top to bottom, the placement of his feet as he glided, the position his fists were in.

And now, he was a foot from you. “You took the truck here?” He questioned again, his tone dripping with mockery toward the lie you’d told him.

“It was me.” Your last trace of your determination surfaced alongside the lie.

A wicked beam spread across his face as he detected the lie woven into your words. You studied the chilling glint in his eyes as he savored the moment.

Cal stepped closer again, examining your dwindling confidence, feasting on it. No matter how loudly your mind bellowed to move, to get out of there, your legs remained rooted in the spot.

With a low, mocking chuckle, he leaned in closer, so close you could smell the intoxication on his breath. “I would believe you,” his arm shot out, making you jolt in surprise.

He reached around your waist, pulling the revolver from your waist band, “but you were always a shitty liar, Babe.” The iron in his hand was sent flying across the floor, landing somewhere by the door, now too far for you to reach for without attempting to run.

You couldn’t conceal how you flinched when the piece hit the wood floor, echoing off the walls and replaying in your head just like his taunts—how he was speaking now, how he did then, all composed into a head-splitting, taunting symphony.

All the words you had rehearsed, all the things you wanted to say to him, evaporated like mist before you could utter another syllable. He was relishing in the power, how he’d caught you in his grip again with just a few words.

The once fierce voice within you, which had screamed to run, now echoed with a sense of despondence. Why had you come here? What made you believe you could confront him?

The world around you blurred, like you were still watching this unfold from above. The past plagued you, as if you were still the same you from a year ago. He’d reduced you into something so small, without laying a hand on you.

Deep within, a voice pleaded for escape, for you return to reality. Cal’s arrogance was like a suffocating thundercloud, building and building until he found the weakest spot to strike. His words were like sharp daggers, aimed to wound and control, slicing through your healed scars like a relentless storm.

The blizzard howled around Simon’s truck, swirling snowflakes obscuring visibility like a relentless white curtain. The snowflakes danced wildly in front of the headlights, creating an otherworldly scene of swirling white.

Inside the car, his heart pounded with a mix of nerves and adrenaline, as well as self-reproach for how he behaved. He left you behind to finish the job, at least what he was telling himself was “just a job”. No matter what he told himself, or how many times, his deep regret was his motivation to finish it.

He had to, because it was for you. Even if it was his last act of service before he dropped you off in town, collected his last envelope of cash, he had to do this.

The road stretched ahead, an endless tunnel of white, and Simon pushed forward, trusting the sticky note he pasted on his dash with the address scribbled on it. With every passing mile, his mind was focused on the task at hand, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on his tense shoulders.

The snowfall threatened to obscure any landmarks or points of reference, but he spotted the tall building through the low-visibility, nonetheless. It looked like the images he pulled up, only without the decor on the outside, or the plague above the double doors.

The blizzard wrapped the area in an eerie silence, which was what Simon noticed next. One SUV in the front; he brushed away the ice coating the windows, finding it empty.

He kept his head down as he advanced up the entrance, placing a firm hand on the entrance door’s handle.

Whether it was an army, or just Cal, he was well-prepared for whatever he was walking into.

The silence was wrenching among other things; how long he stared into your eyes, but you couldn’t divert yours from his, the way he ran his thumb over the rim of his glass before setting it down, still an uncomfortable inch from your face.

“Did you come here to kill me?” He queried, licking along his bottom lip as if he already knew the answer. Cal didn’t need your answer, your face already was one.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you?” He just kept going, increasingly losing his composure the longer you were cornered before him. For once, it wasn’t wrath, it was his faux tenderness. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, then ran up to your shoulders to place his palms on each of them.

Your murmur was pathetic, finally ripping your gaze from his. “Cal…”

It wasn’t that he made you pity him, but it was how close he was to you for so long, whether he treated you badly or not. He was still a piece of you, legally your other half. How the both of you changed so much, during and after the marriage—it was arcane.

The months of pent up emotion had begun to pool corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. How close he was, the familiar feeling of his breath on your neck—a disturbing reminder of all the sensations you tried so hard to bury.

When his fingers began to slide down your arms, it was taking every bit of your being not to headbutt him in the nose, just like Simon had taught you.

Next, his hands engulfed yours, running over the small nicks and scars that littered them. “I forgive you, for leaving me. I just… Let my feelings for you get the best of me sometimes, you know that?”

Unfortunately, you did understand, in more ways than one. With no lifeline in reach anymore, all you could do was stand there, hoping whatever end to this would come soon.

Whether it was you, or him with blood drawn, wasn’t your concern anymore. You only concerned yourself with never having to do this again. All those things you thought of saying to him, all the fury-driven plans you once had; null and void now.

It felt mortifying, how he so effortlessly diminished your credence—that he was, in fact, the problem.

“Do you forgive me?” As he shifted his hands to your waist, his grip intensified, enough to leave visible imprints even through the fabric. He began to lean in closer, his alcohol-soaked lips brushing against your cold-chapped ones.

Instincts took over, a primal force pushing you into a state of defense. Your muscles tensed, fisting the glass of whiskey on the desk in front of you. When you found it, you used every ounce of your force to smash it against his temple.

It hit his skull with a sickening thud, releasing a cascade of whiskey that splattered in all directions. Tiny fragments of glass danced in the air like deadly confetti, glinting maliciously under the dim light. Some landed on you, as did the amber liquid.

When your eyes released their squint, he was still keeled over, holding the impacted skin.

“You fucking bitch…” His speech came out a pained growl, prompting you to hasten in the direction of the door, where the gun was still laying.

His stomps were close behind, nearly making you lose your footing before you reached the piece. It found your sights, iron glinting in the light where he’d thrown it.

Your fingers touched the cold metal only a few moments, before his hands clasped your shoulders and jerked you back. The snow on the bottom of your shoes made you slide, causing you to land on your back, scrambling for the gun again.

But he was quicker, always, and now blinded by agony-induced rage. “After everything!” His eyes were still winced, his teeth still gritted, but his hands found you again quickly, practically bolting your body below him.

“I lied to the cops, to protect you.” You batted at his chest, his throat, attempting to claw at his weak points, but he pinned your wrists next with just one of his hands. “All I asked, was that you fucking listen to me!” He showed little struggle, his other hand finding its way to the collar of your shirt, which he used to plummet your head into the ground a few times.

All while he did it, his voice was anything but a yell—it was a low, calculated grumble, like he had stewed on his plans for months.

Your head was spinning, too cloudy to do anything after the impacts, though the strength of your struggling limbs did little in opposition. This was it, the day he would finally catch you, do what he’d always planned on doing.

His actions mirrored that of Christmas Eve; you, below him and helpless, while his hands leave you battered and loathing. It was like you were watching an instant replay of that night, all over again—his brows furrowed in sinister concentration. You blocked out the sight with closed eyes, refusing him to be the last thing they see.

It seemed he had an unshakable hold on the situation, as he always did. You were trapped in an inescapable hold, unable to do anything more than pray it be quick and painless.

Simon already had his pistol drawn as he cleared each room, eyes sharp and focused on any sign of enemies. The lobby was empty, only a few signs of melting footprints leading him to the elevator, which did not respond when he pounded on the buttons.

After a few smacks, it dinged, as if he had been granted access to it. There were no spare minutes for questions, he needed to find Cal, and now.

If he wasn’t on the ground floor, he was probably on the top.

The ride was agonizing, with no sounds of people, only the grinding of the track as it went up the elevator cables. When the doors slid open, he raised his pistol in front of him, in search of the target.

The hallway leading to the grandest office was empty, but someone had been there recently. He next examined one of the side tables, still with an idle steaming cup of coffee placed on it. And next to it, items that made his heart race; the coat he lent you placed next to your backpack.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, or his racing thoughts. You had somehow gotten here first, or worse, been abducted from the cabin after he left. Simon was already cursing himself for betraying you, if he was the reason Cal found you too, he would never forgive himself.

A hand found his shoulder, but it wasn’t an attacker. Nonetheless, he whipped around, expecting it to be Cal. It was a suited man, probably the one who collected your things before you were taken to the next place.

He thought he was angry before, but that was nothing. He could practically feel his throat burn as he shoved the man into the wall, the barrel deep into his stomach.

“Where did he take her?” He hissed, his other hand an iron grip on the assistant’s shoulder. The man took too long, still stunned and overpowered. “Don’t have bloody time for this.” The silenced pistol moved from his stomach to his head with swiftness, and he pulled the trigger just as quick.

His body, now dead weight, slid down the wall with a trail of blood following him. The only remaining door was the CEO office—his last hope of finding you.

The sound of a struggle was hard to miss; a glass breaking, a thump, and the muffle of an irate male voice.

Simon lost all semblance of stealth, thumping down the floor of the hallway until he reached the door, kicking it just below the lock with all of his force. It split open on impact, but the scene in front of him didn’t change.

He recognized Cal from behind, wearing one of his signature suits, but it was now scuffed and stained with crimson. With only seconds of studying, he spotted your shoes peeking out underneath him, kicking about as he gripped your throat.

You were losing your vision, eyes only catching glimpses of Cal’s concentrated expression as began putting pressure on your windpipe, using all of his force. It was a scalding, stinging sensation from your throat to your eyes, sending the taste of blood on your tongue as you gasped for the oxygen already lost.

The smacks you were giving, the tugs on the fabric of his suit, they were unsuccessful at releasing his ever-tightening grip.

A loud buzzing filled your ears once the ringing muffled itself; dark spots clouded your vision one by one, like rain droplets engulfing you. Once again, for the last time, he had overpowered you, only this time the window of opportunity had long closed.

Your once trembling limps had begun to go limp, vision nearing that final close of unconsciousness. The grunts and pleas were long squeezed out of you, only a rattling breath now as Cal used the last of his remaining strength to finish the job.

The fear had long disappeared, as did the anger and pain; it was the absence of feeling—your last few glances of him, blinded by his temper, sputtering inaudible curses toward you.

And then—the pressure ceased in an instant, though his hands remained. Without your vision, your other sensations that were dwindling had now gone into overdrive; the pounds of pressure on top of your chest, as you took in a wheezing breath again.

When your eyes forced themselves open again, it was still the same view of the office ceiling, still with that same weight on you.

Disoriented, you craned your aching neck down at yourself, seeing Cal slumped on top of you, his head spurting blood all over you, running through the creases of your skin and down the fabric of your shirt.

It was like your muscles had gained consciousness as well, allowing you to shove the dead weight off of you. His lifeless body rolled itself onto his back, a bullet hole still smoking through the middle of his head.

It was too fast to process yet, how one second you would’ve been laying there, but it was him. Him, who you hated with every fiber of your being, but yet, it wasn’t a feeling of closure.

Your hand reached for your damaged throat, placing a hand on the tender flesh. “Cal…” You said it, just as you did earlier, only so much of a croak the only place you could hear it was your own head.

Now knelt beside his body, you allowed yourself to take in the sight of him—one you knew would never leave you now. How his hands felt around your neck, how gruesome he looked now, and how his blood had covered every inch of you.

The hand once on your throat, you moved it to touch his chest, indeed feeling no beating heart inside it. If it weren’t for Simon’s determined grip pulling you away, you would’ve stared at the sight all night, unable to separate on your own.

His hands were gentle, despite how you attempted to pry them off of you, still in a wide-eyed state of shock. “Don’t look.” You heard him say, through the faint ringing in your ears.

Your body didn’t have the strength to fight him, ending with your head shoved into his chest as he guided you out of the room. He ignored his own advice, giving Cal’s corpse one more lasting look, before he turned his attention fully to you again.

One hand held kept your head buried into his chest, while the other kept his pistol ready just in case, though there were no signs of an ambush coming. Cal had truly set this meet with only one person on his side, intending on the meet ending with you choked out.

When he reached the hall again, he turned your stumbling figure to face the wall, to not see the assistant still slumped over by the elevator. He grabbed the hanging coat and draped it over your shoulders.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he ushered you inside, concealing your view of the carnage until the doors closed, though he wasn’t sure you were lucid enough to notice, he couldn’t help but shield you.

Simon allowed all of your weight on him as your legs nearly buckled during the ride, keeping you steady for its entirety. When the doors opened, his eyes scanned through the large windows facing the entrance.

Still, only the SUV and his own car remained parked. From what he could tell, this place was dead.

Each guiding step, his eyes were trained on the path ahead, but the coast remained clear. Through the tinted windows, the blizzard had worsened since he arrived. Only the black paint of the two cars through the flurries remained, being his only guide to his truck once he pushed the double doors open.

He palmed the handle to the passenger side, scooping you up and buckling you into the seat with tenderness. Once he took another look around him, spotting nothing but snow in front of him, he climbed into the truck and turned the key again.

You had already passed out in the seat next to him, probably in a mix of shock and fatigue. How you ended up here before him, or why, he didn’t know—what mattered to him was that Cal was dead, and you still had air in your lungs.

He cringed at the thought of nearly being too late, nearly finding lifeless with no sign of Cal—he had found you in time, and your husband was dead and alone, just like he deserved.

—

The headlights illuminated the path up to the cabin, now sometime in the middle of the night after his long drive back. He’d left you in the truck, still dormant with your head against the window.

Simon stepped inside the cabin, only flicking on the hallway light to not overwhelm his eyes, which were exhausted, and well-adjusted to the darkness now. His soaked boots squeaked against the tile as he reached for the faucet, turning the knobs until it was the right temperature.

While the faucet ran, he retreated outside again, lifting you into his arms again.

Your eyes reopened at the sudden disturbance, but you allowed yourself to be carried into the cabin again. You were in no position to fight him, and quite literally couldn’t speak against this pampering.

He used his foot to close the passenger door, then the front door. His carrying continued, holding all of your weight with no strain on his muscles. It was nothing to him; even if it was, he owed you this at the very least.

The remaining energy you had left was put into keeping yourself upright when he set you down. He cut off the faucet, putting his fingers in the water once more to test its warm temperature. 

Your eyes remained half-lidded, bloodshot from their lack of oxygen hours ago. His fingers remained gentle, merely brushing against you as he lifted the hem of your shirt until it was off your head.

He kept his eyes trained on the wall ahead as he undressed you, getting you out of the blood-soaked clothes clinging to you. He tossed each piece to the side, then allowed you to get into the bathtub on your own.

When you lifted each sore leg over the edge, he kept his arm out for grabbing. Still, his eyes roamed anywhere but you, allowing you the privacy to sink deep into the water without his prying eyes.

You lowered yourself into the warm water, an audible sigh of relief when it soothed your muscles. The transparent liquid slowly turned a deep merlot the deeper you sank, slowly soaking off the blood stains that littered you.

Limp hands gripped each side of the tub, a blank stare up at the ceiling of the room—the only part of you he did pay any attention to.

“Do you need my help?” He muttered, about to turn and leave you to bathe on your own.

You only responded by a slow head shake, though, it was clear you wanted to say something. At first, he only nodded and reached for the knob, respecting your need for isolation right now.

“Simon,” he heard you croak, prompting him to turn his head again, “stay in the room.”

He dropped his hand, only giving you one more look of reassurance before he returned to his place by the tub. He heard the sound of you scrubbing your skin, the water sloshing around.

Simon waited patiently with his back turned as if it was second nature to him. It wasn’t—this tenderness was new to him, and he didn’t want to stop.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery

#mw2 #call of duty #mw2 fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #simon riley angst

[brokehorrorfan]

Scream Factory has revealed the specs for its The Ring Collection, which releases on March 19. The 4K Ultra HD + Blu-ray box collects all three US films based on the 1998 Japanese horror classic Ringu: 2002’s The Ring, 2005’s The Ring Two, and 2017’s Rings.

The Ring is directed by Gore Verbinski (Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl) and written by Ehren Kruger (Scream 3). Naomi Watts, Martin Henderson, Brian Cox, David Dorfman, and Daveigh Chase star.

The Ring Two is directed by Hideo Nakata (Ringu) and written by Ehren Kruger. Naomi Watts, Simon Baker, David Dorfman, Elizabeth Perkins, Sissy Spacek, and Daveigh Chase star.

Rings is directed by F. Javier Gutierrez (Before the Fall) and written by David Loucka (House at the End of the Street), Jacob Estes, and Akiva Goldsman (I Am Legend). Matilda Lutz, Alex Roe, Johnny Galecki, Aimee Teegarden, Bonnie Morgan, and Vincent D'Onofrio star.

All three films have been newly mastered in 4K. Both the theatrical and unrated cuts of The Ring Two are included. Special features for the six-disc set are detailed below.

The Ring 4K UHD:

New 4K scan from the original camera negative, supervised by Verbinski, with Dolby Vision

The Ring Blu-ray:

Ghost Girl Gone Global (new)

The Origin of Terror

Cast and crew interviews

Deleted footage

Rings - 2005 short film

Theatrical trailer

It begins as just another urban legend – the whispered tale of a nightmarish videotape that causes anyone who watches it to die seven days later. But when four teenagers all meet with mysterious deaths exactly one week after watching just such a tape, investigative reporter Rachel Keller (Naomi Watts) tracks down the video … and watches it. Now, the legend is coming true, the clock is ticking, and Rachel has just seven days to unravel the mystery of The Ring.

The Ring Two 4K UHD:

Theatrical cut - new 4K scan from the original camera negative with Dolby Vision

Audio commentary by film critics Emily Higgins and Billy Dunham (new)

The Ring Two Blu-ray:

Unrated cut - new 4K scan from the original camera negative

The Making Of The Ring Two

Fear of Film: Special Effects

Faces of Fear: The Phenomenon

Samara: From Eye of Icon

The Power of Symbols

Deleted scenes

Rings - 2005 short film

Theatrical trailer

Hoping to leave their terrifying experiences in Seattle behind them, Rachel Keller (Naomi Watts) and her son, Aidan (David Dorfman), move to the small town of Astoria, Oregon. When Rachel learns of an unexplained murder which occurred after a teenager watched a strange videotape with his girlfriend, she suspects her past is following her.

Rings 4K UHD:

New 4K master with Dolby Vision

Rings Blu-ray:

Terror Comes Full Circle

Resurrecting the Dead: Bringing Samara Back

Scary Scenes

Deleted/extended scenes

When a radical college professor (Johnny Galecki) finds the mysterious video rumored to kill viewers seven days after watching it, he enlists his students in a dangerous experiment to uncover the secrets behind the Samara legend. When the deadly video goes viral, they must figure out a way to break the curse and defeat Samara before her evil is unleashed upon the world. But how do you stop her when she’s everywhere?

Pre-order The Ring Collection.

#the ring #ringu #naomi watts #daveigh chase #samara #horror #scream factory #dvd #gift #the ring 2 #gore verbinski #hideo nakata #martin henderson #brian cox #matilda lutz

[sailorsolar12]

Shadows of the Past

Okay so this is the first fic for Modern Warfare 2 I am doing...please go easy on me. Yes, I know. I am not dead like many thought. I...Life has started to catch up to me and it isn't pretty.

Title: Shadows of the Past

Rating: Teen for the mentions of violence

Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley

Pairing: Ghost x GN Reader (Y/N is not used)

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Character injuries, fluff

The sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow across the city. Among the towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, an air of tension hung heavy. The world was on the brink of chaos, and the covert operations unit known as Task Force 141 was at the forefront of the battle against the encroaching darkness.

Simon "Ghost" Riley, a legendary figure within the Task Force, moved with grace and precision through the dimly lit alleyways. His iconic skull mask concealed his face, leaving only his piercing blue eyes visible. Ghost was a man of few words, but his reputation as a ruthless and efficient operator spoke volumes.

In the heart of a derelict building, Ghost hunched over a table strewn with maps, surveillance photos, and intelligence reports. He was analyzing the latest data on a suspected arms dealer who had been funneling weapons to hostile factions across the globe. As he traced his finger across the city layout, he couldn't shake the feeling that this mission was different from the rest.

Just then, the door swung open, and the rest of the Task Force filed in. Captain John Price, the grizzled leader of the team, entered with a determined expression. Beside him was a gender-neutral individual, a newcomer to the Task Force who had quickly proven their skills in combat and their resourcefulness in the field. They had earned the respect of their teammates, but Ghost remained skeptical, always one to keep his guard up.

"Listen up," Price began, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "We've tracked our target to a remote compound on the outskirts of the city. Intel suggests that he's stockpiling chemical weapons there. Our objective is to infiltrate the compound, gather evidence, and if possible, apprehend the target."

The room was tense as Price continued to outline the mission details. Ghost studied the newcomer out of the corner of his eye, their focus unwavering, their determination palpable. Despite himself, Ghost couldn't help but be impressed.

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, the Task Force assembled near the compound. Ghost and the newcomer were assigned to breach the rear entrance, while Price and the others covered the front. The night air was cool and charged with anticipation as the team split into pairs and moved into position.

Ghost and the newcomer moved like shadows, their steps silent and deliberate. They communicated through subtle gestures, a language known only to those who had spent countless hours training together. As they neared the entrance, Ghost paused, turning to face the newcomer. They exchanged a brief nod, a silent affirmation of their shared purpose.

The breach was executed flawlessly, and Ghost and the newcomer swept into the compound with guns raised. The interior was dimly lit, crates of weapons stacked along the walls. They moved with precision, clearing rooms and eliminating guards with calculated efficiency. It was during this chaotic ballet of combat that Ghost began to recognize the undeniable skill and determination of the newcomer.

As they moved deeper into the compound, they uncovered evidence of the arms dealer's nefarious operations. Documents, shipping manifests, and encrypted communications painted a grim picture of a world on the brink of chaos. Ghost felt a spark of respect for the newcomer, a recognition of their shared commitment to the mission.

But the mission took an unexpected turn when they cornered the arms dealer in a dimly lit room. He was armed and desperate, his eyes wild with fear and defiance. Shots rang out, the air thick with tension as bullets whizzed past. In the chaos, the newcomer took a hit, their shoulder grazed by a bullet.

Ghost's instincts kicked in, his focus shifting from the arms dealer to the fallen teammate. He provided cover fire as they retreated to a safer position. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he applied pressure to the wound, his movements sure and steady. In that moment, Ghost saw beyond the mask and the reputation, recognizing the vulnerability that lay beneath.

The arms dealer was subdued, the mission accomplished, but Ghost's thoughts were with the wounded newcomer. As the team regrouped and the compound was secured, they were airlifted to safety. The newcomer's wound was tended to, and Ghost watched from a distance, his usually stoic demeanor softened by concern.

Days turned into weeks, and as the newcomer recovered, Ghost found himself drawn to their side. They trained together, their movements fluid and synchronized. They shared stories, laughter, and quiet moments of camaraderie. Ghost's skepticism began to wane, replaced by a growing bond that he couldn't quite explain.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon once more, Ghost found himself sitting beside the newcomer on the rooftop of their safehouse. The city stretched out before them, a tapestry of lights and shadows. The air was filled with a sense of possibility, of second chances.

"You know, I wasn't sure about you at first," Ghost admitted, his voice low and measured.

The newcomer turned to him, a wry smile tugging at their lips. "I could tell."

Ghost chuckled softly, a rare sound that felt like a balm to his own wounded soul. "But you proved yourself. And not just on the field. You're resilient, resourceful."

The newcomer's gaze held his, their eyes a mirror of understanding. "You're not so bad yourself, Ghost."

The nickname, once a source of mystery and intimidation, now felt like a badge of honor. Ghost leaned back, his shoulders brushing against the wall, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself relax.

As the night wore on, the temperature dropped, and the two of them huddled closer together for warmth. The stars above were like distant beacons, guiding them forward. Ghost's fingers brushed against the newcomer's, and without a word, they intertwined, a silent promise of companionship and understanding.

The war raged on, the battles growing fiercer, but Ghost and the newcomer faced each challenge side by side. Their bond deepened, a connection forged in the crucible of conflict and shared purpose.

And so, it was on a quiet night, after a particularly grueling mission, that Ghost found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, lost in thought. The weight of the world was heavy on his shoulders, the ghosts of the past always lurking at the periphery of his mind.

The door to his room creaked open, and the newcomer entered, their gaze gentle and unwavering. Without a word, they approached Ghost, their presence a soothing balm to his weary soul. They sat down beside him, their shoulder pressing against his, a silent reminder that he was not alone.

"You know," the newcomer said softly, "even ghosts need someone to lean on."

Ghost turned to them, his gaze meeting theirs, and in that moment, he felt a warmth he had long denied himself. He reached out, his fingers grazing their cheek, and they leaned into his touch, their eyes closing in contentment.

"Maybe you're right," he admitted, his voice a whisper.

The room was filled with a quiet intimacy, the air heavy with unspoken words and the promise of tomorrow. As exhaustion claimed them, they shifted closer, Ghost's arms wrapping around the newcomer, their bodies fitting together as if they had always belonged.

In the stillness of the night, beneath the weight of their pasts and the uncertainty of the future, Ghost and the newcomer found solace in each other's arms.

#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #fanfiction #imagines #sailorsolar12 #imagine #modern warfare 2 imagine #modern warfare 2 imagines #ghost imagine #ghost imagines #simon riley imagines #simon riley imagine #modern warfare ii imagine #modern warfare ii imagines #simon ghost riley imagines #simon ghost riley imagine

[straight4joekeery]

10 characters, 10 fandoms

(I’m no particular order besides Robin 😠😠)

Tagged by the wonderful and amazing @artiststarme <33

1. (Despite popular belief) Robin Buckley - Stranger Things

2. Richie Tozier - IT

3. Darcy Olsson - Heartstopper

4. Wallace Wells - Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World

5. Simon Kalivoda - Fear Street

6. KJ Brandman - Paper Girls

7. Heather McNamara - Heathers (no gif so here’s Veronica)

8. Eleanor Levetan - Do Revenge

9. Klaus Hargreeves - The Umbrella Academy

10. Jared Kleinman - Dear Evan Hansen

Literal icons.

(This was very hard so I mostly picked characters with decently big fandoms and some that I could not leave out.)

Passing it to : @hotluncheddie @floriphobic @elidoesntbreathwee & @pewpew08 😘😘😘

#I ❤️ Wallace Wells

[everythingsbetterunderthestars]

Any good queer movie recs? As✨GAY✨ as possible! 🏳️‍🌈

Oh boy okay here we go

- Fanfiction: it came out like a week or two ago on Netflix and it’s sooooo good like why is no one talking about it😭 trans + gay rep (TW mental health)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Elisa & Marcela: such a gorgeoussss movie, it’s about the two first women who got married in Spain in 1901 even though it was illegal

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- But I’m a cheerleader: probably one of my all times favourite queer movies, it’s absolutely adorable and hilarious, it’s a comedy about a girl who gets sent to a conversion therapy camp (and that’s how she realises she’s a lesbian) (edit i rewatched this a couple of days ago and it really is awesome, even better than I remembered I absolutely love it bfkzidjskdk)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Pride: now this one doesn’t have a main romance but it’s only gays and lesbians and miners striking against Thatcher AND IT IS SO GOOD IT’S MY FAV MOVIE EVER PLEASE GO WATCH IT SO I CAN TALK ABOUT IT WITH SOMEONE please you have to it’s soooo good like so so so so good you have no idea

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Carol: this one is pretty famous but it really IS a very good and iconic lesbian romance

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Prom: this one is a musical, it’s not for everyone but I personally really enjoyed it, it has lesbian teenage romance and several other queer characters (if I remember correctly)

⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Imagine me and you: also a very very very awesome amazing sapphic movie that I absolutely love, basically it’s about a woman who’s getting married to her boyfriend but falls instantly in love (literally during the wedding) with the woman doing the flower arrangements

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Fear street: this is a horror trilogy (so careful if you don’t like scary/bloody movies) and it is AWESOME I actually don’t usually particularly like horror but I’ve watched these twice they were so good (with a main sapphic ship)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Wish you: I watched this with one of my friends who loves everything Korea related cause we thought it sounded gay and it actually is gay!!!! So yes it’s a pretty sweet boy love

⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Call me by your name: I know this is like everyone’s favourite queer movie but I actually didn’t love it that much- don’t get me wrong it’s definitely a very good movie and I get why people love it but I guess it’s just not for me, but as that’s just my personal opinion I do recommend it anyway!

⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Portrait of a lady on fire: this one is also pretty famous but it really is that good! Beautiful sapphic love story

⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Love, Simon: based on the novel Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, it’s really good and there’s a spin-off show (Love, Victor) that I personally love even more! (Currently rewatching it)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- The half of it: it’s basically a modern and queer remake of Cyrano de Bergerac and it’s really really good

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Crush: I can’t remember much about the plot cause I watched this quite a while ago but it’s a fun high school romantic comedy but make it sapphic :)

⭐️⭐️⭐️

[edit: thought of a couple more :)

- Alex Strangelove: don’t remember much about the plot (I tend to mix it up with Love, Simon for some reason) but I do remember liking it, it’s a fun, gay rom com (I think?) wow maybe I should rewatch it if I’m so unsure about the story lmao

⭐️⭐️⭐️

- Beats per minute: (it’s French, the original title is « 120 battements par minute ») absolutely incredible mind blowing beautiful heart wrenching stunning amazing perfect emotional raw educational masterpiece. Cannot recommend this enough. (I watched it for the first time a couple of days ago, it had been on my list of gay movies I need to watch for years and I am so happy I finally watched it) anyway it’s about the aids crisis and it’s so so so so so so so so so so so so good please watch it

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️]

That’s all I can think of for now! There are obviously lots of other queer movies (I really need to watch more, but I must admit I like watching series more)… also if you have Instagram I recommend the account queer cinema archives which posts really interesting analyses of queer coded or explicitly queer scenes in the history of cinema, and there’s also an account called lesbian cinema which posts recommendations of sapphic movies and shows!

Anyway I hope this helps :) I really enjoy making these lists, if you guys have other requests don’t be shy!

#queer movies #queer movie recs #lgbtq movies #queer films #lgbtq representation #gay movies #gay films

[lesbianlotties]

Have you seen the fear street movies? If so. Thoughts? Horror lesbians>>>>>>

YES AND I LOVE THE FEAR STREET MOVIES SO SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!!!

i literally can't bring myself to be normal about them. you asked for my thoughts though. these movies are just so special to me they are so good. they are so much fun but there's so much to say about them!! there's THREE OF THEM for starters. i watched the first one because i loved kiana madeira in trinkets and also maya hawke is there!!! and i love it so much, i paused right before the ending because i didn't want to accept that it wasn't a happy ending, and i tried to be chill when watching the second one. but the last week, for 1666, i literally woke up at 3am to watch it immediately as it came out because i was losing my mind about these movies. for starters, sam and deena, absolutely iconic. is there anything better than a grumpy lesbian who's lost all hope in things getting better and won't drive 30 minutes for her girlfriend but as soon as sam's life is in danger she literally defeats a 300 years old curse and effectively makes life better for herself, sam, the entire town?? sam being adorable and repeatedly sacrificing herself for the people around her and literally trusting deena enough to be killed by her. josh being so wholesome so smart!! kate and simon best secondary characters to ever characters. yes kate's death is the best thing ever, no i won't accept the fact that they're death. just like alice and cindy! those lesbians are alive and married!!! they! were! in! love!! and of course sadie sink as ziggy berman absolutely iconic, no i won't acknowledge the asshole guy, i hate that guy with a burning passion. and it's been more than a year but i STILL haven't recovered fromt he 1666 storyline. holy hannah miller my beloved. i didn't think the full trilogy was going to be about lesbian love defeating evil but here we are!!!!!! they did everything right and i won't accept any criticism!!!!!

#my emotional support horror movies <3333 #fear street #justmebeingtheweirdmeiam #answered

[angelofghetto]

a csend hangjai

“Hello darkness, my old friend…” Everybody knows the iconic Simon & Garfunkel song, but do you know the amazing story behind the first line of The Sounds of Silence?It began 62 years ago, when Arthur “Art” Garfunkel, a Jewish kid from Queens, enrolled in Columbia University. During freshman orientation, Art met a student from Buffalo named Sandy Greenberg, and they immediately bonded over their shared passion for literature and music. Art and Sandy became roommates and best friends. With the idealism of youth, they promised to be there for each other no matter what.Soon after starting college, Sandy was struck by tragedy. His vision became blurry and although doctors diagnosed it as temporary conjunctivitis, the problem grew worse. Finally after seeing a specialist, Sandy received the devastating news that severe glaucoma was destroying his optic nerves. The young man with such a bright future would soon be completely blind.Sandy was devastated and fell into a deep depression. He gave up his dream of becoming a lawyer and moved back to Buffalo, where he worried about being a burden to his financially-struggling family. Consumed with shame and fear, Sandy cut off contact with his old friends, refusing to answer letters or return phone calls.Then suddenly, to Sandy’s shock, his buddy Art showed up at the front door. He was not going to allow his best friend to give up on life, so he bought a ticket and flew up to Buffalo unannounced. Art convinced Sandy to give college another go, and promised that he would be right by his side to make sure he didn’t fall - literally or figuratively.Art kept his promise, faithfully escorting Sandy around campus and effectively serving as his eyes. It was important to Art that even though Sandy had been plunged into a world of darkness, he should never feel alone. Art actually started calling himself “Darkness” to demonstrate his empathy with his friend. He’d say things like, “Darkness is going to read to you now.” Art organized his life around helping Sandy.One day, Art was guiding Sandy through crowded Grand Central Station when he suddenly said he had to go and left his friend alone and petrified. Sandy stumbled, bumped into people, and fell, cutting a gash in his shin. After a couple of hellish hours, Sandy finally got on the right subway train. After exiting the  station at 116th street, Sandy bumped into someone who quickly apologized - and Sandy immediately recognized Art’s voice! Turned out his trusty friend had followed him the whole way home, making sure he was safe and giving him the priceless gift of independence. Sandy later said, “That moment was the spark that caused me to live a completely different life, without fear, without doubt. For that I am tremendously grateful to my friend.”Sandy graduated from Columbia and then earned graduate degrees at Harvard and Oxford. He married his high school sweetheart and became an extremely successful entrepreneur and philanthropist.While at Oxford, Sandy got a call from Art.

This time Art was the one who needed help. He’d formed a folk rock duo with his high school pal Paul Simon, and they desperately needed $400 to record their first album. Sandy and his wife Sue had literally $404 in their bank account, but without hesitation Sandy gave his old friend what he needed.Art and Paul's first album was not a success, but one of the songs, The Sounds of Silence, became a #1 hit a year later. The opening line echoed the way Sandy always greeted Art. Simon & Garfunkel went on to become one of the most beloved musical acts in history.The two Columbia graduates, each of whom has added so much to the world in his own way, are still best friends. Art Garfunkel said that when he became friends with Sandy, “my real life emerged. I became a better guy in my own eyes, and began to see who I was - somebody who gives to a friend.” Sandy describes himself as “the luckiest man in the world.”Adapted from Sandy Greenberg’s memoir: “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend: How Daring Dreams and Unyielding Friendship Turned One Man’s Blindness into an Extraordinary Vision for Life."

[girlactionfigure]

“Hello darkness, my old friend…” Everybody knows the iconic Simon & Garfunkel song, but do you know the amazing story behind the first line of The Sounds of Silence?

It began 62 years ago, when Arthur “Art” Garfunkel, a Jewish kid from Queens, enrolled in Columbia University. During freshman orientation, Art met a student from Buffalo named Sandy Greenberg, and they immediately bonded over their shared passion for literature and music. Art and Sandy became roommates and best friends. With the idealism of youth, they promised to be there for each other no matter what.

Soon after starting college, Sandy was struck by tragedy. His vision became blurry and although doctors diagnosed it as temporary conjunctivitis, the problem grew worse. Finally after seeing a specialist, Sandy received the devastating news that severe glaucoma was destroying his optic nerves. The young man with such a bright future would soon be completely blind.

Sandy was devastated and fell into a deep depression. He gave up his dream of becoming a lawyer and moved back to Buffalo, where he worried about being a burden to his financially-struggling family. Consumed with shame and fear, Sandy cut off contact with his old friends, refusing to answer letters or return phone calls. 

Then suddenly, to Sandy’s shock, his buddy Art showed up at the front door. He was not going to allow his best friend to give up on life, so he bought a ticket and flew up to Buffalo unannounced. Art convinced Sandy to give college another go, and promised that he would be right by his side to make sure he didn’t fall - literally or figuratively.

Art kept his promise, faithfully escorting Sandy around campus and effectively serving as his eyes. It was important to Art that even though Sandy had been plunged into a world of darkness, he should never feel alone. Art actually started calling himself “Darkness” to demonstrate his empathy with his friend. He’d say things like, “Darkness is going to read to you now.” Art organized his life around helping Sandy.

One day, Art was guiding Sandy through crowded Grand Central Station when he suddenly said he had to go and left his friend alone and petrified. Sandy stumbled, bumped into people, and fell, cutting a gash in his shin. After a couple of hellish hours, Sandy finally got on the right subway train. After exiting the  station at 116th street, Sandy bumped into someone who quickly apologized - and Sandy immediately recognized Art’s voice! Turned out his trusty friend had followed him the whole way home, making sure he was safe and giving him the priceless gift of independence. Sandy later said, “That moment was the spark that caused me to live a completely different life, without fear, without doubt. For that I am tremendously grateful to my friend.”

Sandy graduated from Columbia and then earned graduate degrees at Harvard and Oxford. He married his high school sweetheart and became an extremely successful entrepreneur and philanthropist. 

While at Oxford, Sandy got a call from Art. This time Art was the one who needed help. He’d formed a folk rock duo with his high school pal Paul Simon, and they desperately needed $400 to record their first album. Sandy and his wife Sue had literally $404 in their bank account, but without hesitation Sandy gave his old friend what he needed.

Art and Paul's first album was not a success, but one of the songs, The Sounds of Silence, became a #1 hit a year later. The opening line echoed the way Sandy always greeted Art. Simon & Garfunkel went on to become one of the most beloved musical acts in history.

The two Columbia graduates, each of whom has added so much to the world in his own way, are still best friends. Art Garfunkel said that when he became friends with Sandy, “my real life emerged. I became a better guy in my own eyes, and began to see who I was - somebody who gives to a friend.” Sandy describes himself as “the luckiest man in the world.”

Adapted from Sandy Greenberg’s memoir: “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend: How Daring Dreams and Unyielding Friendship Turned One Man’s Blindness into an Extraordinary Vision for Life."

Accidental Talmudist

#art garfunkel #sandy greenberg

[trolledu]

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Grateful Music LLC1 June at 00:44  · “Hello darkness, my old friend…” Everybody knows the iconic Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel song, but do you know the amazing story behind the first line of The Sounds of Silence?It began when Arthur “Art” Garfunkel, a Jewish kid from Queens, enrolled in Columbia University. During freshman orientation, Art met a student from Buffalo named Sandy Greenberg, and they immediately bonded over their shared passion for literature and music. Art and Sandy became roommates and best friends. With the idealism of youth, they promised to be there for each other no matter what.Soon after starting college, Sandy was struck by tragedy. His vision became blurry and although doctors diagnosed it as temporary conjunctivitis, the problem grew worse. Finally after seeing a specialist, Sandy received the devastating news that severe glaucoma was destroying his optic nerves. The young man with such a bright future would soon be completely blind.Sandy was devastated and fell into a deep depression. He gave up his dream of becoming a lawyer and moved back to Buffalo, where he worried about being a burden to his financially-struggling family. Consumed with shame and fear, Sandy cut off contact with his old friends, refusing to answer letters or return phone calls. Then suddenly, to Sandy’s shock, his buddy Art showed up at the front door. He was not going to allow his best friend to give up on life, so he bought a ticket and flew up to Buffalo unannounced. Art convinced Sandy to give college another go, and promised that he would be right by his side to make sure he didn’t fall - literally or figuratively.Art kept his promise, faithfully escorting Sandy around campus and effectively serving as his eyes. It was important to Art that even though Sandy had been plunged into a world of darkness, he should never feel alone. Art actually started calling himself “Darkness” to demonstrate his empathy with his friend. He’d say things like, “Darkness is going to read to you now.” Art organized his life around helping Sandy.One day, Art was guiding Sandy through crowded Grand Central Station when he suddenly said he had to go and left his friend alone and petrified. Sandy stumbled, bumped into people, and fell, cutting a gash in his shin. After a couple of hellish hours, Sandy finally got on the right subway train. After exiting the  station at 116th street, Sandy bumped into someone who quickly apologized - and Sandy immediately recognized Art’s voice! Turned out his trusty friend had followed him the whole way home, making sure he was safe and giving him the priceless gift of independence. Sandy later said, “That moment was the spark that caused me to live a completely different life, without fear, without doubt. For that I am tremendously grateful to my friend.”Sandy graduated from Columbia and then earned graduate degrees at Harvard and Oxford. He married his high school sweetheart and became an extremely successful entrepreneur and philanthropist. While at Oxford, Sandy got a call from Art. This time Art was the one who needed help. He’d formed a folk rock duo with his high school pal Paul Simon, and they desperately needed $400 to record their first album. Sandy and his wife Sue had literally $404 in their bank account, but without hesitation Sandy gave his old friend what he needed.Art and Paul's first album was not a success, but one of the songs, The Sounds of Silence, became a #1 hit a year later. The opening line echoed the way Sandy always greeted Art. Simon & Garfunkel went on to become one of the most beloved musical acts in history.The two Columbia graduates, each of whom has added so much to the world in his own way, are still best friends. Art Garfunkel said that when he became friends with Sandy, “my real life emerged. I became a better guy in my own eyes, and began to see who I was - somebody who gives to a friend.” Sandy describes himself as “the luckiest man in the world.”Adapted from Sandy Greenberg’s memoir: “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend: How Daring Dreams and Unyielding Friendship Turned One Man’s Blindness into an Extraordinary Vision for Life."

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[ecnmatic]

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[ladyworks]

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