I Absolutely Adored Your Amber Fic, I Was Hoping You Could Write A Tara X Reader (with An Established

i absolutely adored your amber fic, I was hoping you could write a tara x reader (with an established relationship) where she’s the first to arrive to see her at the hospital arriving long before the others? maybe tara could have been texting her during the attack?

Solace

☆〜Pairings: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

☆〜Genre: Hurt/Comfort, angst, slight fluff

☆〜Word Count: 5.7k

☆〜Warnings: mentions of pet death, ghost face attack, blood, stabbing, hospitals, violence, language

☆〜Authors Note: I did NOT intend for this fic to be almost 6k words long, I literally have work tomorrow and it’s four am. You Tara Carpenter hoes gonna love this one, also the sheer amount of words making my tumblr lag so much

☆〜 Sequel: Redemption

Laying spread out on her couch, (Y/n) sighed in contentment. Tonight, their long-awaited date finally materialized as a beacon of hope after countless cancellations. The first time was due to Tara catching a stomach virus, and the second was cancelled when (Y/n) had a family emergency. Praying to any deities she could think of, that tonight would go exactly as planned, Tara had procured the snacks and (Y/n) scoured her parent's old stash of movies to find something good to watch.

As the golden hues of the Californian sun gently descended, casting a warm glow that seeped through the curtains of the living room, (Y/n) gazed out the window. Outside, the autumnal symphony of colors unfolded, as leaves gracefully danced in the breeze, their descent creating a delicate tapestry upon the porch. " I should get going," she groaned to herself, not ready to leave the comfort of her home, but eager to see Tara nonetheless. They were two souls who found solace in each other's embrace, navigating the highs and lows with unwavering support. Their mothers said the two were like two puzzle pieces perfectly aligned, they fit together in seamless harmony. Where you'd find one, you'd find the other.

Moving swiftly toward the coffee table where her phone rested, (Y/n) snatched it up and eagerly turned it over, her eyes darting across the screen in anticipation. Amongst the sea of notifications, a particular text caught her eye, demanding her immediate attention.

Tara:

hey any way we can resched movie night? ambers planning to come over

(Y/n)’s heart plummeted as disappointment crashed over her like a relentless wave. Not again. This week had been filled with one hardship after another, and the movie night had been the single gleaming light that had kept her going. She felt the weight of her emotions welling up, threatening to spill over as tears pooled in her eyes.

It hadn't escaped (Y/n)'s notice that something was amiss between Tara and herself. Lately, their once vibrant connection had dimmed, leaving behind an unsettling silence. Tara's responses to her texts were delayed, leaving them unread for what felt like an eternity, only to receive curt and simple replies. Their nightly calls, once filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations, had dwindled to mere whispers of their former selves.

(Y/n) had tried to attribute Tara's behavior to exam stress, desperately clinging to the hope that it was a passing phase. But deep down, a gnawing doubt lingered, as if an invisible force was eroding the foundation of their relationship. It was a silent ache that chipped away at her sense of security, whispering the possibility of something more significant beneath the surface.

With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) wrestled with her conflicted thoughts, battling between wanting to confront the issue head-on and fearing the answers that lay beyond. As tears streaked down her cheeks, she realized that the movie night had symbolized more than just a chance to unwind—it had become a symbol of the dwindling connection she desperately longed to reignite.

In the midst of her turmoil, the sadness transformed to rage.

(Y/n):

Seriously tar

(Y/n):

Istg we’ve been planning this night for months now

(Y/n):

I seriously need you right now, we haven’t hung out in so long and you want to cancel on me

Determined to break the silence and confront the anguish that consumed her, (Y/n) resolved to make Tara fully aware of the pain she was inflicting. She refused to suffer in the darkness any longer, vowing to express the depth of her emotions and lay bare the impact of Tara's actions on their relationship.

With bated breath, (Y/n) watched the notification indicating that Tara had read her text. Her eyes fixated on the screen, heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and anticipation, as she anxiously awaited the telltale signs of Tara's response. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, every passing moment fueling her need for a reply, a sign that their connection still held a glimmer of hope.

Tara:

I’m sorry but ambers been having a bad day

In an explosion of fiery emotions, (Y/n)'s anger consumed her. The realization that Tara had prioritized a friend's well-being over her own girlfriend's struck a nerve deep within her. How could Tara fail to show even a shred of concern for what (Y/n) had endured throughout the week? The flames of resentment burned brightly, fueled by the perception that Tara lacked the basic decency to make an effort to understand and support her partner. (Y/n) yearned for acknowledgment, for Tara to see the depth of her pain and recognize the importance of their connection.

With each passing second, the fire within (Y/n) raged on, threatening to consume everything in its path. The time for silence and complacency was over. (Y/n) vowed to confront Tara, to unleash the inferno of her feelings and demand the respect and consideration she deserved.

(Y/n):

What about your own fucking girlfriend huh?

(Y/n):

Do you even know what the fuck happened to me this week!

(Y/n):

No you don’t, because it’s always Amber this, Amber that, Amber Amber Amber

Tara:

R u being serious rn

(Y/n):

my dog died on Monday

(Y/n):

it’s Saturday Tara

(Y/n):

and you didn’t even know because you aren’t even talking to me anymore.

(Y/n) let out a heavy sigh, frustration and hurt weighing heavily on her shoulders. She tossed her phone onto the couch, its screen illuminating the room for a moment before sinking into the soft cushions. She buried her head in her hands, seeking solace in the darkness, hoping that this act of vulnerability would finally make Tara realize the profound impact of her actions.

As (Y/n)'s fingers interlaced, a subtle vibration traveled through the cushions beside her. Startled, she lifted her head and turned her gaze toward the source of the unexpected movement. A flicker of hope sparked within her, wondering if perhaps Tara had sensed the gravity of the situation and was reaching out in response.

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, (Y/n) reached for her phone, hoping to find a message from Tara that would acknowledge the pain she had caused and signal a willingness to address the underlying issues.

Tara:

Milos dead?

As tears streamed down her face, (Y/n)'s heart sank deeper into despair. The painful truth hit her with a forceful blow—Tara hadn't even acknowledged her feelings, let alone shown remorse for the hurt she had caused. In that moment, (Y/n) realized the difficult decision she needed to make.

Her fingers trembled as she wiped away the tears, a newfound determination taking root within her. It became clear that she couldn't continue in a relationship where her needs went unacknowledged and her emotions were dismissed. (Y/n) understood that she deserved someone who would put in the effort, who would cherish and respect her.

With a heavy yet resolute sigh, (Y/n) made up her mind. She would give Tara the space to figure herself out, to confront her own shortcomings and decide if she was willing to put in the effort required to mend their fractured bond. (Y/n) knew that she deserved a partner who would meet her halfway, who would prioritize their love and demonstrate genuine care.

As she made this decision, a bittersweet sense of liberation washed over (Y/n). It was a painful realization, but also a necessary one. She was prepared to step back, to let Tara find her own way, and to focus on healing herself in the process. With newfound clarity, she resolved to no longer tolerate being taken for granted.

(Y/n):

Tara I think we should take a break

Tara:

WHAT

Tara:

(Y/n) you can’t be serious

Tara:

We need to talk about this in person

Tara:

Come over I’ve told Amber to stay home

(Y/n):

we’ll talk on monday

With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) flipped her phone over and gently placed it back on the couch cushion. The persistent buzzing continued for a couple of minutes before gradually fading into silence. As she sat cross-legged on the floor, her gaze fixated on the plain wall before her, her mind swirled with a mixture of emotions.

In an effort to divert her thoughts, (Y/n) decided to immerse herself in a familiar and comforting activity. Rising from the floor, she made her way to the kitchen with determined steps. As she gathered the ingredients for baking cookies, the room filled with the sweet and nostalgic aroma that enveloped her senses.

With each measured scoop and gentle mix, (Y/n) found solace in the rhythmic process of creating something warm and inviting. The familiar motions of baking temporarily transported her to cherished memories of love and comfort, memories intertwined with moments shared with Tara. It was bittersweet, a reminder of the love they had once shared and the warmth that had brought them together.

As the cookies began to bake, filling the air with an irresistible scent, (Y/n) couldn't help but be caught in a swirl of conflicting emotions. The aroma wrapped around her, providing a temporary respite from the pain and uncertainty. Yet, within that comforting scent, lay memories of the love and connection she and Tara had once shared. It was a bittersweet reminder of what they had lost, but also a glimmer of the love that still lingered in her heart.

As (Y/n) carefully laid the freshly baked cookie onto the cooling rack, her mind drifted into a melodic trance. Humming a tune that played on repeat in her head, she found solace in the rhythmic melody. Lost in the sweet moment, her worries momentarily faded away.

However, her blissful reverie was abruptly interrupted by the persistent buzzing of her phone. Buzz, buzz, buzz. The sound echoed through the room, piercing the tranquility she had cultivated. (Y/n) let out a weary sigh, wondering what urgent message or notification could demand her attention at this moment.

Her playful imagination offered a lighthearted explanation, imagining that Mindy must be spamming her with updates about a newly announced horror movie. The thought brought a small giggle to her lips, a brief respite from the emotional heaviness that weighed upon her.

Curiosity piqued, (Y/n) reached for her phone, eager to discover the nature of the buzzes that had disrupted her peaceful interlude. With a mix of anticipation and amusement, she unlocked the screen, preparing herself for the unexpected and hoping for a welcome distraction from her swirling emotions.

Tara:

there’s some psycho calling me

Tara:

I answered an unknown number they know my name

Tara:

Shit

Tara:

I’ve locked my doors

Tara:

Please come over asap

Tara:

i can’t leave cars with my mom

Tara:

He’s fucking calling again

Tara:

Ambers acting weird

Tara:

False alarm maybe?

Tara:

She’s telling me to answer it

Tara:

(Y/n) seriously get your ass over here, the creeps using her phone, they knew when the landline was ringing

Tara:

I’m seriously freaking out right now

(Y/n)'s body went rigid with a chilling dread as the series of alarming texts from Tara unfolded before her eyes. Panic surged through her veins, and she knew she had to act swiftly. With a sense of urgency, she scrambled to put on her shoes, her fingers trembling as she hastily laced them up.

Her mind raced, consumed by a growing sense of unease. The cryptic messages from Tara painted a haunting picture of a dangerous situation unfolding. (Y/n)'s heart pounded, propelled by both fear for Tara's safety and a desperate need to unravel the mystery that now threatened them.

She frantically searched the couch cushions, her hands darting between the crevices, determined to find the misplaced car keys that held the key to her escape. Time seemed to slip through her fingers, each passing second amplifying the urgency of the situation.

Finally, her fingers closed around the cool metal of the car keys, and a flicker of hope ignited within her. With a gasp of relief, she pulled them free, clutching them tightly in her trembling hand. There was no time to waste.

(Y/n) dashed toward the door, her heart racing like a drumbeat of adrenaline. The gravity of Tara's messages resonated within her, spurring her forward with unwavering determination. She needed to reach Tara's side, to offer comfort, protection, and an unwavering presence in the face of their shared fear.

Sitting in the front seat of her car, (Y/n)'s hands trembled as she realized the urgency of letting Tara know she was on her way to help. With swift determination, she typed out a message,

(Y/n):

Omw gimme 5 mins I’ll call cops otw

Before she could even start the engine Tara had replied

Tara:

Hurry

Amber:

ANSWER THE PHONE OR AMBER DIES

Tara's heart raced as she sprinted towards the ringing landline, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Every fiber of her being was driven by the desperate need to save her friend from whatever horrors were lurking on the other end of the line. She knew her girlfriend, was already on her way, determined to reach her side as quickly as humanly possible, speeding down the suburban streets, driven by an urgent need to make the ten-minute drive shorter.

With trembling hands, Tara snatched the receiver from its cradle, her voice filled with anger and defiance as she spoke into the phone, “This isn’t fucking funny Amber!”

The voice that emanated from the other end of the line sent a chill down Tara's spine. It was a voice shrouded in mystery, draped in a tone that seemed to drip with a malevolent aura. It held an eerie calmness, devoid of any warmth or humanity, as if it existed solely to strike fear into her heart.

As the words, “I told you, this isn’t Amber,”resonated through the receiver, the voice carried a bone-chilling quality. It was a voice that sent a shiver racing down Tara's back, conjuring images of hidden dangers and unseen terrors. There was an unsettling cadence to the voice, a calculated rhythm that left no doubt that it was intended to provoke fear and uncertainty.

Tara's immediate internal fear intensified in response. The realization that the voice on the other end of the line was not who she initially assumed filled her with a sense of dread. It was a realization that shattered any lingering hope of this being a mere misunderstanding or prank. Instead, it emphasized the presence of an unknown figure, one with malicious intentions and a voice that resonated with a menacing power.

In that moment, Tara's fear became palpable, her instincts urging her to take caution and be on guard.

Tara's heart skipped a beat as a message flashed across her phone screen. Her trembling hands reached for the device, and with a mixture of curiosity and dread, she opened the message. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she watched the video that unfolded before her.

Amber, caught in an intimate moment, unaware of the malevolent presence that lurked just outside her bedroom window. The chilling voice that narrated the video through the crackling receiver broke the silence, dripping with a sarcastic tone that sent a shiver down Tara's spine.

As the video played, Tara's breath hitched, her mind reeling with the realization that Amber’s phone had been cloned. How long had she been talking to this unknown psycho for? She felt exposed, vulnerable, and at the mercy of an unknown adversary who had found a way to infiltrate her most personal moments.

“What do you want?” Tara quivered, unsure of what the voice wanted from her.

“I told you, I want to play a game,”

“Stab movie trivia,”

The malevolent figure had known she didn’t know anything about the Stab franchise, just moments before, she had confessed to only watching the first movie—and even then, it was at a sleepover six years ago—Tara felt a wave of panic wash over her as the weight of her predicament settled in her chest. The options before her seemed daunting: she could reach out to the authorities, but the looming threat of immediate harm or worse, death, loomed over her. The malevolent figure had made it clear that any wrong move, any misstep, would have dire consequences for Amber.

Her mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmarish scenario. She felt the weight of the Stab franchise's intricate details and plot twists bearing down on her, her limited knowledge leaving her vulnerable to the malevolent figure's sadistic game. The questions that awaited her were poised like traps, ready to ensnare her and seal Amber's tragic fate.

“Question one, who wrote the original books that the Stab movies are based on?”

Tara's mind raced as she desperately tried to recollect her memories. A book? The details were hazy, fading remnants of a distant recollection. She racked her brain, grasping for any shred of information that could help her in this dire situation. In a moment of clarity, a name burst forth from the depths of her memory.

"Th-the chick from TV," she stammered, her voice quivering. "Oh, Gale Weathers! It's Gale Weathers, you motherfucker!"

A chilling silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the masked figure's sinister chuckle. "Correct," the voice responded, dripping with a perverse satisfaction. "Amber might live to see the sunrise."

“Question two, who played the dumb bitch in the beginning of Stab one, who answers the phone and gets carved up by the killer?”

Tara’s hands quivered, the voice speaking almost mockingly to her situation, she never thought such an innocent phone call would end up like this, “fuck you!” She whispered quietly.

“Is that the answer you’re going with?”

Tara's sobs escaped her lips, a mixture of fear and frustration enveloping her. Time was slipping away, and the pressure to find the answer mounted with each tick of the taunting noises in the background. Desperation fueled her actions as she hastily pulled out her phone, fingers trembling as she searched for the cast list of Stab.

The voice on the other end of the line relished in her panic, using the ticking noises to remind her of the ever-dwindling seconds. Tara's eyes darted across the screen, her fingers swiping frantically, searching for that one crucial detail she needed. Where was it? The pressure weighed heavily upon her, pushing her to the brink.

"Heather Graham!" she blurted out, her voice quivering with a mix of uncertainty and hope. It was the answer that had come to mind, a name she hoped was associated with the first Stab movie. In that fleeting moment, she clung to the belief that her response was correct, that it would be enough to keep Amber safe.

A pause hung in the air, the voice on the other end relishing in the suspense. Then, a response echoed through the phone line. "Correct," the voice acknowledged, a sinister satisfaction lacing its tone. "Now, the final question: Who was the killer in Stab one?"

Tara almost sighed in relief, her voice laced with a mix of distress and defiance. "Oh, I know this one, you fuck!" Her words carried a defiant edge, fueled by a surge of determination. With a swallowed gulp, she didn't hesitate to provide her answer. "It's Billy Loomis! He's Sidney's boyfriend, and he was played by Luke Wilson. I've got you, asshole!"

An air of relief and triumph began to creep into Tara's voice, ready to celebrate her victory over the voice that had tormented her. She was certain of her answer, convinced that she had outsmarted the sinister figure on the other end of the line. "I've got it!"

A chilling silence hung in the air before the voice delivered a shocking response. "Oh, I'm sorry, Tara, but that's just not correct."

Tara's look of relief crumbled, replaced by a mix of confusion and growing concern. Doubt gnawed at her as she attempted to double-check her answer, her fingers frantically navigating through her phone. How could she have been so wrong? Billy Loomis was the killer, wasn't he?

"The correct answer is Billy Loomis and Stu Macher," the voice coldly explained, reveling in its control over the situation. "There are two killers in the original Stab. I'm afraid someone's gotta die now."

With a surge of adrenaline, Tara rushed towards the front door, her sole focus on saving Amber's life. Her trembling hands fumbled with the lock, desperately trying to unlock it and swing the door open. As the door swung wide, her path was abruptly blocked by a figure standing in the doorway, clad in the iconic Stab Ghostface costume. The sight sent chills down her spine.

In the intruder's hand gleamed a knife, its blade poised for attack, slashing at her side. Fear coursed through Tara's veins, but she refused to let it paralyze her. Summoning her courage, she lashed out, delivering a powerful punch aimed at the intruder's face. The blow momentarily stunned the masked figure, giving Tara a brief moment of respite.

Seizing the opportunity, she pushed against the door with all her might, attempting to shut it on the intruder. A grunt escaped her lips as she exerted every ounce of strength, her body pressed against the door. However, the relentless assailant's gloved hand snaked through the narrowing crack, the glint of a hunter knife threateningly waving in the air.

With a final burst of effort, Tara managed to force the intruder out and swiftly locked the door from the inside. Trembling and gasping for breath, she clutched at her pouring wound, tears streaming down her face in hysterics. Despite the pain and fear overwhelming her, she managed to summon the presence of mind to activate the home security system, a desperate attempt to fortify herself against any further intrusion.

The deafening bangs against the front door reverberated through the house, each thud echoing with a bone-chilling intensity. Tara clutched a knife tightly in her trembling hands, attempting to assert some form of control. She threatened the intruder with the arrival of the police, hoping to deter them. Yet, as abruptly as the banging started, it ceased, leaving the house shrouded in an eerie silence.

Tara cautiously backed away from the door, her gaze fixed on it, her senses on high alert. The wound on her side throbbed with pain, each heartbeat a painful reminder of her vulnerability. The momentary respite was disrupted by a loud noise emanating from her phone.

ALL SYSTEMS DISARMED.

Fear gripped her heart as she realized the intruder had tampered with the security system. With a desperate rush, she quickly accessed the app, her fingers trembling as she frantically locked the doors once again.

SYSTEMS ARMED.

The repeating cycle of the security system continued, amplifying the tension that hung in the air. Tara's mind raced as she tried to regain control, her wounded body screaming with each movement. She tapped on the lock button in a frenzied frenzy, desperately hoping to deny the intruder any chance of entry.

But the unrelenting repetition of the words continued, mocking her efforts.

ALL SYSTEMS DISARMED.

Tara's fear escalated, her voice choked with terror as she attempted to shout for help. Yet, no words escaped her lips, only hoarse noises of distress. Her movements became erratic, each pause prolonging the time it took to secure the locks.

SYSTEMS ARMED.

ALL SYSTEMS DISARMED.

SYSTEMS ARMED.

The relentless cycle of the security system added to the mounting tension, amplifying the sense of impending danger. Tara's breaths grew ragged as she slowly backed into the kitchen, her gaze never straying from the front door.

The piercing ring of the landline shattered the silence once again, sending a surge of fear coursing through Tara's veins. Her scream of terror echoed through the house as she hit her back against the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks like a torrent. With hesitant steps, she moved toward the ringing phone, each movement laden with trepidation.

"Hello?"

"Bonus Question, Tara!"

Tara's plea fell on deaf ears as the voice on the other end continued with sadistic glee. Her body curled inward, overcome by fear. She couldn't bear the torment any longer. Her thoughts raced to (Y/n), praying for her swift arrival. Tara wished she would come sooner, but deep down, she hoped the police would arrive first, shielding her from harm. In that moment, Tara realised she couldn't bear the thought of (Y/n) getting hurt. If she made it out alive, she vowed to never let her go again.

"Do you think I made it inside your house before you could rearm?"

An icy arm coiled around Tara's trembling torso, pulling her forcefully against a chilling presence. The killer's other hand, wielding the gleaming blade, plunged mercilessly into her gut. Agonized screams tore from Tara's throat as the knife was wrenched out, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. Fighting against the searing pain, she managed to push herself away from her assailant, her front colliding with the cold, unforgiving countertop.

Summoning a surge of determination, Tara spun around with a sudden backhand, striking the killer with a burst of defiance. But her resistance was short-lived as a vice-like grip seized her hair, wrenching her down onto the unforgiving hardwood floor. The impact jarred her senses, leaving her disoriented and vulnerable, face pressed into the unyielding surface.

Desperation fueled her every movement as Tara attempted to kick away her attacker, her hopes of escape crushed under the brutal force of a stomping boot. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the air, intertwining with Tara's anguished screams. Her ankle mangled and shattered, rendering her attempts at resistance futile.

The killer, relentless in their pursuit, sought to position Tara for a final, fatal blow. But she refused to succumb without a fight. Summoning every ounce of strength, she raised her trembling hand in a desperate bid for defense. The blade tore through her flesh, eliciting a surge of searing pain, yet she persisted. Pushing against the blade with an agonizing determination, her blood mingling with the tears streaming down her face.

A fleeting moment of distraction granted Tara a brief respite. Seizing the opportunity, she mustered her remaining strength and launched a fierce kick at her tormentor. The force sent them hurtling backward, colliding violently with the kitchen island. Tara, lying prone on her stomach, dragged herself across the floor, a crimson trail left in her wake, intermingled with her anguished sobs.

The killer, slowly rising to their feet, taunted her with sadistic amusement. Their presence shadowed her every move as she struggled towards the distant patio doors, the faint wail of sirens growing louder. But her desperate escape was cut short as they viciously seized her ankles, yanking her back into their clutches. With chilling precision, they struck her back twice, puncturing her with each merciless stab.

A crimson halo enveloped Tara, her strength waning, yet she fought against the encroaching darkness. The killer spun her around, their malevolence masked by the reflection of red and blue police lights bouncing off their plastic Ghostface facade. As the world blurred and her life hung in the balance, a final cry reverberated through the night, a desperate plea for salvation.

“TARA!”

When (Y/n) burst through the front door, her heart sank at the sight of Tara's bloodied body sprawled across the floor. Ignoring the fading smudge of black, her focus was solely on Tara's well-being. She rushed over, cradling Tara's unconscious form against her chest, an instinctual need to protect taking over. If only she had come over as planned, if only she hadn't let jealousy cloud her judgment about Tara's friendship with Amber. (Y/n)'s tears streamed down her face as she held Tara's good hand, pressing gentle kisses to its back. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice laced with regret.

To her astonishment, Tara's hand weakly squeezed back, a glimmer of hope amidst the despair. (Y/n)'s touch shifted to cup Tara's blood-stained cheek, her eyes filled with concern. "Just hold on, darling. The ambulance is right outside," she reassured, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. The sound of approaching footsteps alerted (Y/n) to the presence of others in the house, as people hurried into the kitchen, acknowledging the need for immediate medical assistance.

Tara was swiftly transferred to a waiting stretcher, (Y/n) steadfastly refusing to let go of her limp hand. A paramedic approached, inquiring about their relationship. (Y/n)'s voice trembled as she pleaded, tears streaming down her face, "I'm her girlfriend. Please, let me go with her. I can't leave her alone again." The paramedic nodded sympathetically, granting her request. "Go ahead," they said, understanding the depth of (Y/n)'s anguish.

With a mixture of hope and trepidation, (Y/n) followed Tara into the ambulance, her grip on her girlfriend's hand unyielding.

The ride to the hospital seemed like a hazy dream, (Y/n)'s mind clouded with worry and guilt. Tara remained unconscious, her pale face framed by the sterile hospital lights. The paramedics worked diligently, tending to her wounds with professional efficiency. (Y/n)'s gaze never wavered from Tara's face, her eyes searching desperately for any flicker of awareness. She wanted Tara to know that she was there, that she would never leave her side, even if the hospital staff tried to force her out.

The sight of Tara in the hospital bed, connected to various monitors and IV drips, filled (Y/n)'s heart with a mix of anguish and determination. This could have been prevented if only she had been there with her girlfriend. Now, Tara lay covered in gauze and dissolvable stitches, a stark reminder of the violence she had endured. (Y/n) vowed silently to be her rock, to support her through every step of the recovery process.

As the hospital staff continued their work, (Y/n) gently held Tara's hand, offering a silent reassurance in her touch. She whispered words of love and encouragement, hoping that somewhere within the depths of Tara's unconsciousness, her presence would be felt. The beeping machines and sterile hospital environment faded into the background as (Y/n)'s focus remained solely on Tara, her unwavering devotion shining through her eyes.

(Y/n)'s thoughts swirled with conflicting emotions as she sat by Tara's side in the hospital room. The urge to reach out to their friends and inform them about what had happened tugged at her, but a part of her hesitated. Almost selfishly, she wanted this moment to be just between her and Tara. She wanted Tara to wake up and find solace in her presence, to see the remorse and love etched in every fiber of her being.

Clutching Tara's hand tightly, (Y/n)'s eyes never left her girlfriend's face. She longed for Tara to open her eyes, to see the love and dedication shining through her gaze. It was important for (Y/n) to express her deepest apologies, to make sure Tara understood that she would never abandon her, no matter what. She needed Tara to know the depths of her love and commitment, to feel the unwavering support and presence by her side.

Growing weary, (Y/n) felt herself slipping into the realm of dreams, her grip on Tara's hand never faltering. But just as she began to drift away, a voice reached her ears, pulling her back to consciousness. With a sudden squeeze of her hand, Tara's touch broke through the veil of sleep. (Y/n)'s eyes shot open, wide with surprise and relief. There was Tara, sitting up in her hospital bed, her disheveled hair tied back, her eyes red and weary, and yet her presence was a beacon of beauty and strength.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes, streaming down her cheeks like an unstoppable cascade. It was as if a dam had burst within her, releasing all the pent-up emotions she had been holding onto. Tara's loving gaze quickly shifted to concern at the sight of (Y/n)'s tears. "What's wrong? Please don't cry," Tara's voice, raspy from the ordeal, carried that familiar softness and affectionate tone that (Y/n) had longed to hear.

Through her tear-strained voice, (Y/n) choked out her words, unable to contain the overwhelming remorse and love she felt. "Tara, I'm so fucking sorry. I should have just come over, I should have been there for you-" Her words trailed off, interrupted by the weight of her guilt.

Tara's expression softened, a tender smile gracing her lips. "Hey, hey, it's okay," she reassured, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "None of this was your fault. I know you would have been here if you could. What matters now is that you're here with me, and I love you.”

Tara scooted to the edge of the hospital bed, patting the space beside her, an invitation for (Y/n) to join her. The desire for comfort and solace radiated from Tara's eyes, a silent plea for the warmth of her girlfriend's embrace after the harrowing ordeal they had both endured. (Y/n) hesitated for a moment, mindful of Tara's injuries, but the need for their souls to intertwine and find solace in each other's presence outweighed any physical discomfort. Gingerly, she laid down beside Tara, careful to support herself and cradle Tara's head in her arms.

Nuzzling her nose into Tara's hair, (Y/n) whispered with a voice filled with love and longing, "I missed you." The words carried the weight of their shared experiences and the depth of their connection. In that tender moment, they sought solace in each other's embrace, finding strength and healing in their love.

Tara shifted slightly, snuggling closer to (Y/n)'s chest, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. The rise and fall of each other's breaths created a rhythm that matched their heartbeat, a synchrony of love and reassurance. (Y/n) pressed gentle kisses to the top of Tara's head, conveying the depth of her affection and the promise of unwavering support.

As they lay there, entwined in each other's arms, the world outside the hospital room faded away.

“I missed you too”

Tumblr just deleted my entire edited fic I was ready to post

I'm late to the trend but..

Gonna start on writing another request today because I’m off work early, really excited for it

I’m not dead, so I’m not done

^☆ Synopsis: Even after trying to escape the tragedy of the Woodsboro murders, the ghosts of her past continue to follow her.

^☆ Pairing: ex!Stu Macher x Reader / Sidney Prescott x Reader

^☆ Word Count: 1.6k

^☆ Warnings: mentions of death, tiny bit of angst in regards to the readers relationship to Stu, fluff, cliffhanger ending (sorry), mentions of blood

^☆ Authors Note: This is the first fic I’ve written in a while so hopefully I’m not rusty, anyway feel free to leave requests, the story doesn’t use (y/n) and is in a female pov

1996 - 261 Turner Lane

Her eyes were drawn to the grotesque scene that was playing out before her eyes, both her friends tangled in a harrowing struggle for survival, she stood transfixed by the nightmarish display of desperation and violence.

As they tumbled over the couch, the air erupted with a cacophony of exploding pillows, their fluffy contents bursting forth like a storm of feathers. The room seemed to transform into a battlefield, the innocent pillows transformed into chaotic projectiles, adding an unsettling surrealness to the already intense struggle between Stu and Sidney.

Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Billy was sprawled across the hallways. His body was splayed on the floor, contorting with pain, clutching his side where Sidney had impaled him with an umbrella when she burst from the closet, taunting him with the ghostface costume.

The air crackled with tension as she stood there, a formidable force, challenging him to face the consequences of his wicked actions, she wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

In that moment, the world started to gain traction, the world no longer filled with static and white noise. Scrambling without thought, frantically rushing forward to help Sidney and restrain Stu from hurting her best friend.

Wrapping her arms around Stu, she gripped him in a tight embrace, her arms enveloping him with a firmness that evoked memories of the past, where she would hold him just like that. The days where she would sneak up on him as he stood by his locker, obsessively recounting the horror movie he had watched the night before in excruciating detail, to a content Billy who listened to his incessant rambling with a grin on his face. How he would tug her under his arms to give her a hug and a small peck before continuing as adamantly as before. The two people she trusted most in the world lay before her, grievously wounded and marred by the violence they had unleashed. leaving a trail of destruction in their wake, targeting her friends and even attempting to end her own life. The trust she had once placed in them had been shattered, replaced by an overwhelming sense of fear and disbelief.

Stu was different, he wasn’t the same boy who would walk her home from school everyday to make sure she was “safe from Randy,” the sick grin plastered to his face, eyes wide from adrenaline, blood dripping all down his body, he had undergone a chilling transformation into a disfigured version of the person he once was. His eyes, once filled with warmth and familiarity, now glowed with a sinister light, reflecting the depths of his corrupted soul. The scars of his transformation told a haunting tale of the torment that had consumed him, warping his humanity beyond recognition. It was a jarring sight, a stark reminder that evil had taken hold and twisted his very essence.

In a desperate bid for freedom, Sidney's instincts kicked into overdrive. With a surge of adrenaline, she seized the nearest object within reach—a heavy plant pot—and swung it with all her might, shattering it against his head.

The impact reverberated through the air, a resounding crack that echoed with a mix of surprise and pain. Stunned, he faltered, his grip on her weakening as his senses reeled from the unexpected blow. It was a momentary reprieve, an opportunity for Sidney to break free from his clutches and gather her wits, quickly seizing her arms, that were still clutching at Stu, pulling her to her side, the eerie glow of Halloween illuminated the room, a haunting silence filled the room, broken only by shallow breaths and groans from Stu who painfully attempted to twist his marred body onto his back, gazing up at the two girls who’s eyes were locked in noiseless conversation, as if communicating with telepathy.

With a nod both girls gripped the side of the tv and pushed it onto Stu, the image of the Stus flailing body, burned into her retinas, his hands grasping at the surface to attempt to alleviate his suffering, his groans began to quiet down as Sidney entangled their fingers and dragged her away desperately trying to get them out of the situation, hoping fervently that Dewey would be here any second with backup. While being tugged away, she took a final glance towards Stus body, a glint of light catching her eye. There on his wrist peering slightly over the fallen sleeve of his beige cashmere sweater, now tainted by splotches of red, lay the bracelet she had made him on their first date, the sage string wove through pieces of sea glass they had stumbled upon on the beach.

It was the only part of “her Stu” she had left

1997 - Windsor College

As they strolled back to the campus from their date, her heart swelled with an overwhelming love for Sidney. The connection they shared had blossomed amidst the darkness and trauma they had both experienced. They had become each other's pillars of strength, providing unwavering solace in the face of unimaginable horrors.

The loss of Stu left a profound void in the her heart, a hollow ache that echoed with the weight of what could have been. She had once been deeply devoted to Stu, a bond that had now been shattered by the revelation of his involvement in the horrors that unfolded. She was consumed by a maelstrom of emotions—grief, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal. It was as if the foundation of their past had crumbled, leaving behind a sense of loss that cut deep.

But Sidney, she filled that hole, she had a key lodged into the keyhole of her heart and it might as well have been stuck in there with gorilla glue, Sidney's presence had become a beacon of hope, a reminder that healing was possible even in the wake of unspeakable darkness. She admired her for her resilience, her ability to rise above the trauma that threatened to consume her. In Sidney, she found inspiration and a profound love that transcended the scars —physical and mental— left by the past.

In moments of vulnerability, they had cried together, finding solace in their shared pain. They had held each other in the darkest of nights, lending strength when one faltered, reminding each other that they were survivors, not defined by their past but shaped by their determination to move forward.

With each passing day, their love grew deeper and more profound. They were intertwined in a bond forged by empathy and understanding, knowing that they held the power to heal one another's wounds. She cherished every moment spent with Sidney, witnessing her growth and finding solace in their shared journey.

Together, they had become each other's safe haven, a sanctuary where the weight of the past could be shed and replaced with love, support, and healing. She knew that they were forever changed by Sidney's presence in their life, grateful for the way she had helped them navigate their own trauma and find strength within themselves.

The night air whispered against their skin, carrying with it a promise of new beginnings. As they approached her dormitory, the anticipation in her heart grew. She longed to spend more time with the person who had become her rock, to continue exploring the depths of their bond.

Sidney's fingertips tingled with the desire to hold the her close, to feel their warmth and reassurance envelop her. The vulnerability she had shared with them had fostered a profound sense of trust. In that moment, as they stood outside the dorm, Sidney couldn't help but marvel at the way life had woven their paths together.

“Hey I had a great time tonight Sid, thanks so much, I owe you a meal next time,” she giggled as she leaned in to press her lips to her girlfriends, Sidney sighed against her lips.

“Glad you did, now, you have to work on that assignment, I’m not letting you blame me for you failing your class,” Sidney pressed her pointed finger at her chest, lightly shoving her back into the dorm.

A shocked look hung over her face,

“Sid!”

“Goodnight sweetheart,” Sidney sent her a small wink as she closed the door, a wave of embarrassment flooded her cheeks, staining them red, “ugh that girl, I don’t know what I’m going to do-“

The air seemed charged, almost heavy with anticipation. Their senses heightened, and then, it hit them—a scent that sent a shiver down their spine.

A mix of cologne and sweat lingered in the room, a scent that lingered oh so familiarly on their palette. It brought back memories—both joyful and painful—of something. The fragrance seemed to fill the air, wrapping around them like a phantom presence. Goosebumps erupted across their skin, an involuntary reaction to the uncanny sensation.

The room carried the unmistakable scent of Stu.

She stood frozen, her gaze scanning the room for any signs of Stu's presence. Was it just a trick of the mind, a residue of memories clinging to the air? Or was there something more sinister at play? The scent seemed to hang in the room like an omen, a chilling reminder of the past they thought they had left behind.

With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, she moved closer to the source of the scent. She traced its path, her fingertips trembling, and her mind racing with unanswered questions. How could Stu's scent be here, in their room, after all this time?

In that moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The past collided with the present, and the line between reality and nightmare blurred, reduced to nothing but a hazy fog. As they inhaled once again, the scent of Stu clung to their senses, leaving them with an unsettling realization—perhaps the ghosts of the past were not so easily forgotten, as a familiar shine of sea glass captured her attention.

If you want I could make a part 2 but idk (/ω＼)

I know for a fact that Wes Craven didn’t tell Matthew Lillard to look at Skeet Ulrich like that. Either Matthew wanted to put his own touch onto Stu or Matthew was questioning in the 90s