Scream 5 - Tumblr Posts

Got my first request

Yay

Hurt/Comfort Tara x Reader coming soon

2.115k into my Tara fanfic and she’s just now experiencing the ghostface attack, this is going to be a big one

Sneak peak for solace

I didn’t intend for this fic to be almost 6k words, I was literally aiming for 2k :P it won’t be posted tonight as it’s 4am but when I wake up I’ll edit it and post it before work so <3

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

Finishing work at 4 today so I’ll start editing my new fic to get it out for tonight, here’s the banner I made for it, to get you a little hyped for it <3

may i request for fic with Tara x Fem!reader or GN!reader, where Tara taller than short reader and Tara is also Ghostface!, but she would never hurt reader. BUT accidentally somehow the reader dies in Tara's arms due to another ghostface guy lmao

In These Arms of Mine

☆〜 Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

☆〜Genre: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Slight Fluff

☆〜Word Counts: 3.6k

☆〜 Warnings: too much Shakespeare references, violence, blood, murder, some cute fluff

Tara stood ominously over the frail girl before her, Cassie Millis. They used to be close until Cassie's relentless harassment of (Y/n) pushed them apart. A twisted sense of justice grew within Tara, convincing her that what she was about to do was right. She believed she was protecting her girlfriend, shielding her from the harsh outside world.

"Please, don't kill me," Cassie pleaded, her voice trembling with fear. She curled into a fetal position, a feeble attempt to shield herself from the impending danger. Blood pooled beneath her, staining the floor in a morbid display. Tara's head tilted to the side, an unsettling aura emanating from her very being, casting a haunting presence over the room.

The atmosphere grew thick with tension as Tara stood over Cassie, her figure shrouded in darkness. Her eyes, filled with a mix of determination and conflicted emotions, fixated on her defenseless victim. The air seemed to grow colder, as if the room itself recoiled from the malevolence that hung in the air.

Tara's gaze pierced through Cassie, her silence unnerving. A chilling stillness settled over them, broken only by the sound of their labored breaths. The weight of their shared history, the fractured friendship, loomed heavy in the space between them.

Cassie's voice wavered, barely audible as she pleaded for mercy. Her words hung in the air, a desperate plea that seemed to echo through the room. But Tara remained unmoved, her expression betraying a sense of inexorable purpose.

“Tara, I’m so sorry,” She sobbed curling into herself more, chocking her tears when Tara angrily kicked the discarded mask towards her, hitting her feet before settling by her side.

Slowly, Tara raised the knife, its gleaming blade catching the faint light. Tara's gaze fixated on the bloodied blade in her hand, relishing the power it symbolized. Cassie's soft whimpers echoed in the air, fueling her twisted determination. The cold metal felt heavy in her hand, its presence a chilling reminder of the darkness that had consumed her. Every fiber of her being yearned for another way, for forgiveness and redemption, but she knew deep down that it was too late for such resolutions.

Their eyes locked, conveying volumes of unspoken words. Tara's torn mask lay discarded, a macabre symbol of their shattered friendship. She leaned in closer, her voice barely a whisper, laced with a haunting sense of finality.

"This is what it’s fucking come to, Cassie," Tara seethed, her voice laced with anger and determination. "There's no turning back now."

Cassie's eyes widened in shock, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal washing over her face. She tried to find the words, to plea for mercy, but the weight of the situation paralysed her.

Tara leaned in close, her grip on Cassie's chin tightening with a vengeful force. Cassie winced in pain, her eyes squeezed shut as Tara's words seared into her ears. "You should have left us the fuck alone." With a swift, merciless motion, Tara plunged the knife into Cassie's stomach, their eyes locked in a chilling gaze. As life slowly ebbed away from Cassie's fading eyes, her face grew pale and lifeless, her lips stained with the vivid crimson of her own blood. Tara pushed her away with disdain, casting her aside like a discarded object. Cassie's head crashed to the ground, the thud echoing through the room like a final punctuation mark on her tragic demise.

Tara hastily gathered her blood-soaked belongings, cramming them into her backpack with a sense of urgency. She glanced at the clock, “Shit!” Time was ticking, and she needed to make her escape. With one last glance at the lifeless body of Cassie, a mix of adrenaline and unease coursed through her veins. She knew she had to leave the scene before the consequences caught up with her.

As she stepped out into the stormy night, rain pelted down heavily, drenching her to the core. The downpour seemed almost cathartic, washing away the physical remnants of her dark deed. Tara's gaze shifted to her hands, once stained with blood, now gradually clearing as the rainwater mingled with the crimson. It reminded her of Lady Macbeth's words, "A little water clears us of this deed." Though in her case, it was not a mere washing away of guilt, but rather an attempt to conceal the evidence and hide the truth.

Her hair clung to her face, a disheveled mask concealing the sweat and stickiness of her skin. The storm raged on, mirroring the turmoil within her. Tara knew that her actions would have lasting consequences, regardless of how well she tried to hide them. The rain offered a temporary respite, but the weight of her deeds would remain, forever etched upon her conscience.

Rounding the corner, Tara's eyes locked onto the familiar sight of her girlfriend's house, a place that held so many cherished memories. It stood as her sanctuary, a refuge from the darkness that consumed her. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, envisioning the warmth and comfort that awaited her inside those walls.

Her thoughts drifted to (Y/n), her petite frame and the way her laughter filled the room. Tara longed to hold her in her arms, to feel their bodies intertwined and find comfort in her embrace. (Y/n) was her sun, radiating love and light even in the darkest of times. Right now, Tara needed that warmth more than ever.

She quickened her pace, anticipation coursing through her veins. Each step brought her closer to the one person who could provide the solace she sought. As Tara approached the front of the house, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the illuminated living room. The warm glow spilled out onto the porch, signaling that her parents were still awake. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, knowing she had to find another way inside without arousing their suspicion.

She navigated the darkened path along the side of the house, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the pouring rain. Droplets cascaded from the leaves above, drenching her further as she made her way to the back. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth, mingling with the anticipation that hung in the atmosphere.

Standing beneath (Y/n)'s window, Tara glanced up at the illuminated silhouette behind the curtains. Her heart swelled with longing and a mischievous smile played upon her lips. With a flick of her wrist, she plucked a handful of small stones from the wet ground and let them soar through the air.

The stones sailed through the rain-soaked night, creating a gentle symphony of clinks as they struck the windowpane. Tara's eyes remained fixed on the window, hoping that the sounds of her impromptu serenade would pierce through the noise of the rain. Each stone was a small gesture, a tangible manifestation of her desire to be near (Y/n).

And then, like a scene from a romantic tale, the curtains fluttered and parted, revealing the face of her beloved. The sight of (Y/n)'s eyes widened in surprise and delight brought a surge of joy to Tara's heart. She watched as the window slowly opened, revealing a small figure framed against the warm glow of the room.

Tara couldn't help but chuckle softly, her laughter mixing with the pitter-patter of raindrops around her. She raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with playfulness.

"Alright Romeo," (Y/n) teased, a smirk dancing on her lips. "What's with the whole romantic gesture in the pouring rain, did you watch the notebook again?"

Raindrops glistened on her hair and cascaded down her face, but her smile remained undeterred. Tara chuckled softly, a mix of excitement and relief filling her voice.

"Couldn't resist the allure of a classic romantic gesture, could I?" Tara quipped, her tone lighthearted despite the intensity of her emotions. "But I come bearing a rain-soaked kiss instead of roses."

(Y/n) laughed, her gaze filled with affection as she leaned closer to the window. "Well, I can't say no to that. Climb on up, Romeo."

With nimble movements, Tara scaled the trellis beneath the window, her wet clothes clinging to her like a second skin. As she reached the window sill, she pulled herself up and entered (Y/n)'s room, rainwater dripping from her onto the floor. The room was warm and cozy, a sanctuary from the storm outside.

They stood face to face, their height differences adding a playful charm to the interaction, Tara gazed down at (Y/n), her eyes full of love. She would do anything for her, their smiles reflecting the deep connection between them. Tara's fingers brushed against (Y/n)'s cheek, tracing the path of a raindrop as it made its way down. Their eyes locked, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"I needed to see you," Tara admitted softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "I was having a rough night."

(Y/n)'s hand reached out, intertwining their fingers. "I'm here for you, Tara. Always." (Y/n)’s manicured finger lightly pushed into her chest, “and if I’m not, I’ll always be in your heart.”

Tara's heart raced with anticipation as she gazed into (Y/n)'s eyes, feeling an irresistible pull towards her. In a surge of passion, she crushed her lips against (Y/n)'s, their mouths melding together in an intense kiss.

Their tongues danced in a sensual tango, exploring each other's mouths with fervor and desire. (Y/n)’s hands tangled in Tara's damp hair, pulling her closer, deepening the connection between them. Their bodies pressed against each other, the warmth and heat emanating between them intensifying with each passing second.

They broke away for a brief moment, their heavy breaths mingling in the night air. Their eyes locked, their pupils dilated with a mixture of love and lust. Without uttering a word, they knew they couldn't resist the magnetic pull any longer. Tara's lips descended upon (Y/n)'s once again, claiming them with a hunger that spoke of their insatiable longing.

Their kisses became a fervent symphony, a passionate exchange of lips and tongues that expressed their deepest desires. Moans and sighs escaped their mouths, lost in the intoxicating sensation of their bodies entwined.

The world around them disappeared as they succumbed to the intoxicating bliss of their connection. Time became irrelevant as they immersed themselves in the depths of their desire, the rain serving as a backdrop to their passionate embrace.

But as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the house, reality crashed back into their consciousness. (Y/n)'s eyes widened in panic, her hand clasping Tara's tightly. With urgency, she pushed Tara into her closet, the door closing just as her parents entered the room, oblivious to the passionate moments that had just transpired.

Tara watched from the darkness as (Y/n) greeted her mother, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and secrecy.

"(Y/n), your father and I are just heading out to see a movie," (Y/n)'s mother said with a gentle smile, her voice carrying a mix of warmth and concern. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, embracing her tightly before planting a tender kiss on her forehead. Tara watched with a mix of admiration and longing as the mother-daughter bond unfolded before her.

As (Y/n)'s mother pulled away from the hug, her heels clicked against the floor, adding a rhythmic beat to the room. She walked over to the open window, her tone filled with a blend of worry and light-heartedness. "How many times have I told you to close your windows, sweetheart? I don't want to come home to find you in any danger."

Tara's gaze shifted between (Y/n)'s mother and her girlfriend, hidden in the shadows of the closet. She marveled at the genuine concern in her voice, appreciating the depth of a mother's love and protection. Swiftly she made her way downstairs to meet her husband.

Suppressing a giggle, Tara couldn't help but find amusement in the irony of the situation. She, the one who dwelled in the darkness, now stood in the sanctum of (Y/n)'s room, concealed from the watchful eyes of her family.

Emerging from the closet, Tara's eyes met (Y/n)'s, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She reached out, her fingers intertwining with (Y/n)'s, their touch reverberating with an undeniable connection. The room seemed to fade into the background as they stood together, their love shining bright amidst the shadows.

"I promise, I’ll never let you get hurt," Tara whispered, her voice filled with determination and devotion. "Someone’s got to break the Romeo and Juliet curse." (Y/n) chuckled, burying her flushed cheeks into Tara’s shoulders, “You need to stop with all this Shakespearean shit Tar, we get it, you’re good at English!”

Both girls lay tangled together on the small bed, their bodies entwined in an intimate embrace. The laptop sat forgotten between them, the movie playing in the background serving as mere background noise to their shared moment. Loving gazes passed between them, each glance interrupted by an occasional scream from the movie that had lost their attention long ago.

As the credits began to roll, Tara let out a soft sigh, the weight of impending departure settling upon her. "I should probably get going," she murmured, her voice carrying a mix of longing and resignation. She felt (Y/n)'s fingers lightly tracing over her freckles, the gentle touch sending shivers down her spine.

(Y/n), still in a drowsy state, tightened her hold around Tara's waist, her touch comforting and possessive. She leaned in, her warm breath caressing the back of Tara's neck. "You could stay a little longer," she whispered, her voice laced with a hint of sleepiness. "I can tell my parents you're staying over."

Tara turned her head slightly, her lips curving into a tender smile. She understood the allure of staying, of being enveloped in (Y/n)'s love and warmth for a little while longer. But responsibilities tugged at her, reminding her of the impending essay awaiting her attention. "As much as I would love that," she replied softly, her voice filled with a mix of desire and duty, "I really need to start working on my essay. It's due on Monday."

With a gentle stretch, Tara began to disentangle herself from their embrace, her movements accompanied by a pang of reluctance. However, (Y/n), not ready to let her go just yet, reached out and wrapped a hand around Tara's waist, pulling her back towards her. Tara's heart skipped a beat as she felt (Y/n)'s lips press against the crook of her neck, a tender kiss that ignited a spark within her.

"Just use the front door," (Y/n) whispered, her voice filled with affection and a hint of mischief. "I need to lock it anyway." The words were accompanied by a yawn, a testament to their shared contentment and the peacefulness of the moment. Tara couldn't resist the magnetic pull of (Y/n)'s touch, and with a final glance, she decided to embrace the stolen moment a little while longer.

Slowly making their way down the stairs, Tara and (Y/n) clung to each other, cherishing the precious moments they had before their separation until Monday. As they descended, (Y/n) couldn't help but shiver, the sudden chill in the air catching her off guard. Confused, she made her way towards the thermostat, only to find it set at the usual temperature. Perplexed, she glanced back at Tara, who trailed behind her with a curious expression.

Cautiously stepping towards the entrance, (Y/n)'s eyes widened as she noticed the door had been left slightly ajar. A mix of irritation and amusement flickered across her face as she realized the irony of the situation. "And they complained about me leaving my window open?" she muttered under her breath. She sighed, turning up the heat on the thermostat. "I can't wait to use this against them the next time!"

Tara couldn't help but giggle at her girlfriend's sleepy rambling, finding solace in their playful banter. She leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to (Y/n)'s lips, their love and affection exchanged in that gentle touch.

"Goodnight," Tara whispered softly, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "I love you."

(Y/n)'s arms wrapped around Tara's neck, pulling her in for another lingering kiss. Their lips met, a fusion of love and longing, as they savored the taste of each other's presence. (Y/n) smiled, her voice filled with affection as she whispered, "Love you more, my Romeo."

Tara couldn't help but smile at the endearing nickname, a testament to the deep connection they shared. With a final exchange of loving glances, Tara opened the door, preparing to face the outside world once again. "Call me when you get home," she reminded Tara, her voice filled with a hint of concern and a touch of longing.

Tara began making her way down the street, her steps guided by the rhythm of the rain. Before she could fully disappear from sight, she glanced back, her gaze meeting (Y/n)'s figure still standing in the doorway. With a playful yet concerned tone, she called out, "Get inside and close the door before your house turns into a refrigerator!"

(Y/n) laughed, the sound of her joy echoing through the rain-soaked air. She shouted back with a mix of concern and affection, "Just keeping an eye on you until you reach the end of the street. The second I can't see you anymore, I'll close the door." Her words carried a sense of protection, a testament to her unwavering love and care.

Tara blushed at (Y/n)'s thoughtfulness, touched by her partner's determination to ensure her safety. She knew deep down that (Y/n) didn't need to worry about her, that she was more than capable of handling herself. Yet, in that moment, she appreciated the gesture, the reassurance of their bond.

As Tara neared the end of the street, ready to round the corner, she turned for one final glance back at (Y/n). A smile adorned her face as she waved, a burst of warmth and affection radiating from her being. But in an instant, the world shifted, and her smile faded into shock.

The image that met her eyes shattered her heart and stole her breath away. A knife, mercilessly plunged into (Y/n)'s stomach, transformed the scene of love and laughter into one of terror and despair.

(Y/n)'s hands gripped the hilt of the knife embedded in her stomach as she crumpled to the floor, her body falling limply onto the porch. From behind the partially open door, a tall figure emerged, donned in the same ghost face costume that Tara had hidden away in her backpack. The chilling presence exuded an air of malevolence, their intentions masked beneath the haunting visage.

Tara's heart pounded in her chest, her mind struggling to comprehend the horror that unfolded before her. Every instinct propelled her forward, her feet sliding on the rain-soaked ground as she stumbled towards (Y/n). Panic surged through her veins, her breaths coming in frantic gasps as she desperately tried to reach her beloved's side.

Who was this ghost face, and how had they discovered Tara's identity? Her mind raced with questions, her thoughts entangled in a web of confusion and disbelief. The realization struck her like a lightning bolt—someone had not only uncovered her secret, but they had deliberately targeted the person she loved most in the world.

As Tara fought against her own stumbling steps, her vision obscured by the rain and tears that blurred her sight, the figure disappeared into the house, their dark presence melding seamlessly into the shadows.

Kneeling beside (Y/n), Tara's hands trembled as she applied pressure to the leaking wound, her palms now coated in crimson that was spilt by her, not by her own volition. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the rain and blood as they fell onto (Y/n)'s stark features. Her words poured out in a desperate mantra, a desperate attempt to convince herself of the impossible.

"You're okay, (Y/n). You'll be okay, I promise," Tara's voice wavered, the weight of her broken promise heavy upon her. She knew deep down that the wound was fatal, that (Y/n)'s life was slipping away with each passing moment. The figure had inflicted a mortal blow, twisting the knife upon its extraction, leaving (Y/n) to bleed out on the cold, unforgiving floor.

(Y/n)'s grip on her side tightened in agony, yet her eyes, clouded by pain, held a gentle reassurance. She shook her head, her voice weakened by the loss of blood. "It's okay, Tara. I'll be okay," she whispered, her blood-stained hand reaching up to caress Tara's tear-streaked cheek. With a trembling finger, she pressed against Tara's heart, a gesture of eternal love and connection. "I'll always be right here."

Tara's attempts to staunch the flow of blood proved futile. The inevitability of the situation settled upon her like a heavy weight, crushing her spirit. She cradled (Y/n)'s fragile form against her chest, her sobs echoing through the empty night. "I promised," she choked out, her grip on (Y/n) tightening. "I was going to keep you safe."

As (Y/n)'s eyelids drooped, the light fading from her gaze, a bittersweet smile lingered on her face. Her voice, barely above a whisper, carried a love that would transcend death itself. "I love you, my Romeo."

Tara's heart shattered in that moment, the world around her crumbling into darkness. She held onto (Y/n) with all her might, as if by sheer willpower she could defy the cruel hand of fate. But as (Y/n) slipped away, Tara's cries of anguish mingled with the rain, a symphony of grief and loss that echoed through the night.

Authors Note

Why tf did tumblr delete my entire edited draft AH? Literally spent an hour on it and poof it was just gone, anyway I’m not feeling this story as much I think the endings a bit rushed but I’m also very sleep deprived so I think I have an excuse

Scream Masterlist

Scream

Stu Macher

I’m Not Dead, So I’m Not Done (part 1)

Synopsis: after the events of the Woodsboro massacre, Sidney and her girlfriend think they can live out their lives in peace, until familiar items keep popping up

Sidney Prescott

Coming soon…

Tatum Riley

Coming soon…

Scream 4

Jill Roberts

Shattered Unity [series]

Fragment 1: Part 1

Synopsis: Jill Roberts had everything, a perfect house, with a perfect family and a perfect little sister, who she cared for far more than she realised.

Kirby Reed

Coming soon…

Scream 5/6

Tara Carpenter

Solace

Synopsis: when (Y/n) receives concerning texts from Tara about a psycho phone call after a fight

In These Arms Of Mine

Synopsis: Tara think that just because she is the ghostface killer the people she loves are safe

Redemption

Synopsis: Tara is stuck in the hospital after Ghostface attack, when (y/n)’s absence becomes too much to bear after hearing a strange thud in the corridor

Sam Carpenter

Coming soon…

Mindy Meeks-Martin

Coming soon…

Amber Freeman

Heads, Hearts, and Hangovers

Synopsis: Amber and (Y/n) wake up with strange bruises after a drunk night out

Quinn Bailey

Coming soon…

Ethan Landry

Coming soon…

Anika Kayoko

Coming soon…

Thinking about writing a part 2 to solace, maybe putting the reader through it again, think Tara’s safe in the hospital, her sisters there now all that shit and BAAM ghostface attack pt2 but like also I feel the reader would never leave Tara alone after that so if I make a part 3 they’re dealing with it together :0

Currently feeling like shit, idk how but work has me more drained than usual. Hopefully this coming week gets me more motivated to write but as of now, I can barely get out of bed to work 😭☠️

Hoping to get started on Solace pt 2 today, I’m finished work around four and I have a appointment at the hairdresser for a full head of highlights so hopefully I’ll get some time to write at that

I’m almost finished with my other fic (Solace Part 2) just need to write the final attack scene, which shouldn’t take more than an hour but the birthday festivities are taking over so I’m hoping to get it done when I’m not in the car so I don’t get car sick

Makes me giggle

I’ve literally been so busy recently what’s with August? My part 2 to solace has been sitting just waiting to be edited for about 2 weeks now but I’ve been so busy. I’m gonna try get it edited tonight before I have more busy days

I’ve finally finished writing the sequel to Solace, which is so aptly named Redemption, I realised I had a lot of anxiety when it came to my test results and a bunch of worries if I’d get into my dream university (which I did) that were stopping me from writing, it’s a lot longer than intended so I’m going to start editing it now so I’ll hopefully have it out for tonight, here’s to hoping :)

Also thanks all so much for you patience if you all like redemption I might make a third part for the final act :)

Redemption

Sequel to Solace

Pairings: Tara Carpenter x Fem! Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Hurt again, angst, some fluff

Warnings: violence, stabbing, character death

Word Count: 7.4k

Authors Note: thanks so much for all the patience you’ve shown me, I’m been very stressed these past few days with uni quickly approaching I’ve had no time to write, if you like this, I might make a third part about the final act. Hope you all enjoy

As (Y/n) lay quietly by Tara's side, her heart weighed heavy with guilt and love, as she gently caressed Tara's hair, trying to be a source of comfort in the dimly lit hospital room. Her fingers moved with tender care, tracing soothing patterns as she whispered words of reassurance. The events of the night replayed in her mind like a haunting melody, the fight they had before the attack now etched in her memory, making her ache with regret. She knew there was no way she could have predicted what would happen, but the guilt gnawed at her nonetheless.

Tara's eyes struggled to stay open, the exhaustion from the ordeal pulling her into a dreamless slumber. Her body was weak, but the warmth of (Y/n)'s touch gave her a sense of solace amid the chaos. The room remained enveloped in a profound silence, broken only by the faint hum of hospital equipment, and the gentle symphony of Tara's quiet breaths. (Y/n)'s heart swelled with love, vowing never to leave Tara's side again. She had come so close to losing the person she cherished most, and the fear of that loss had shaken her to her core.

The tranquility of the hospital room was shattered by the sound of frantic footsteps racing toward the door. Tara's heart pounded, her body tensing in anticipation. Despite the pain that shot through her as she attempted to sit up, she refused to remain vulnerable and defenseless. Beside her, (Y/n) held her hand tightly, her expression a mix of worry and determination.

The door swung open, and their friends burst into the room, a rush of relief and concern on their faces. (Y/n) stayed by Tara's side, never letting go of her hand, a steady anchor in the whirlwind of emotions. Wes stood at the foot of the bed, trying to sound confident in an attempt to reassure Tara that everything was under control.

"Don't worry, Tara. My mom's got everything under control," Wes said, his voice trying to sound reassuring, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "She's conducting interviews, and there's a curfew in place to keep everyone safe."

Chad chimed in with his own contribution, his tone tinged with sarcasm, "Yeah, Sheriff Hicks even interviewed me. Amber here thought I was the killer because of some football bruises!"

Amber raised her arms defensively, "I was just stating the facts. It's always someone you know, right?"

(Y/n) sighed loudly, interrupting the argument, her frustration evident. "Guys, seriously! This is the last thing Tara needs right now. If you're going to argue about petty things, just leave!"

The group fell into an uncomfortable silence, but it didn't last long. Mindy spoke up, her words laced with suspicion, "If we're going by Stab rules, how do we know it's not the love interest? I mean, isn't that what always happens?"

(Y/n)'s glare could have cut through steel, feeling hurt and betrayed that one of her closest friends could suggest such a thing. Tara squeezed her hand gently, offering her comfort and assurance. "It couldn't have been her," Tara said, her voice soft but firm. "(Y/n) was texting me the entire time. She scared off the killer before they..." Her voice trailed off as the memories of the terrifying ordeal washed over her, the pain and fear still fresh in her mind.

(Y/n) swallowed hard, her guilt gnawing at her. She knew she couldn't have arrived any earlier, but she still blamed herself for not being there to protect Tara. "I feel guilty enough for not being there in the first place," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "Please, can we talk about something else?"

As Chad tried to change the topic, the door to the room burst open once again, revealing a familiar face. Everyone stood on defence only to see Tara's sister Sam, she had changed a lot since (Y/n) had seen her last, her eyes were more sunken in, she had lost all the baby fat on her cheeks, but she had looked much healthier. (Y/n) could see the look of longing and relief that had rushed over Sams face seeing her sister, all beat up in the hospital bed.

"Sam?"

As the door swung open, the occupants of the room stood up abruptly, shock and surprise etched across their faces. Amber's expression seemed to hold a mixture of disdain and disbelief. It was no secret that Amber harbored resentment toward Sam for leaving her family abruptly, and (Y/n) couldn't shake the feeling that there was a hidden reason behind it all, something she couldn't quite fathom.

"You came?" Tara's voice was almost a whisper, carrying a mix of astonishment and emotion. Tara's eyes raked over Sam's features, as if trying to take in every detail she had missed during their time apart. In that moment, the absence of their mother, who had yet to visit, seemed insignificant. Sam was here, (Y/n) was here, and Tara was not alone anymore. "Of course I came. This is my boyfriend, Richie."

Richie offered a polite smile and extended his hand. "It's nice to meet you, and I'm sorry if I'm intruding." Tara managed a small grin, finding Sam's newfound openness endearing. She replied, "It's nice to meet you too." Richie seemed a bit awkward, almost hovering by the door, a stance that (Y/n) understood – he was an outsider in a situation fraught with tension. Sam went around the room, exchanging hugs with the friends who had become like family to Tara. She turned back to Richie, who appeared even more nervous now. A soft smile played on her lips. "These are Chad and Mindy, the twins, and Wes. I used to babysit them all."

(Y/n)'s gaze shifted to Richie, who seemed uncomfortable, fidgeting with the string on his backpack. An odd intuition nudged her, suggesting something was off about him, but she dismissed it as her own apprehension. Sam's call to her name brought her back to reality. "And (Y/n)'s been friends with Tara for as long as I can remember!" (Y/n) offered a smile, her grip on Tara's hand tightening briefly. "Girlfriend now, actually," she said, emphasizing the change in their relationship status. Tara's smile echoed the sentiment.

Sam's attention shifted to Amber, who stood opposite (Y/n) near Tara's bedside. She greeted her, only to receive a reluctant response. (Y/n) couldn't help but notice that Richie had only introduced himself back to Amber. Odd, she thought. The conversation turned to their absent mother, and Sam's inquiry highlighted her noticeable absence. Tara began to explain, "She's stuck at a conference in London, she called me earlier-"

Amber, ever the blunt one, cut her off, a clear note of resentment in her voice. "For all of ten minutes." Tara's gaze dropped to her lap, struggling to hold back her tears. The impact of Amber's words resonated through the room, prompting Amber to change the subject hastily. "Look, guys, Tara's really tired. Maybe we should just give her some space?"

The room seemed to agree in unison, with everyone beginning to leave. Tara's words, however, halted Sam. "Not you, Sam. I want you to stay." Sam's surprise was evident, but she nodded, her eyes welling up with gratitude. (Y/n) remained rooted by Tara's side, determined not to leave her.

"If it's okay with you, I can sleep here tonight?" Sam's voice was gentle, filled with the understanding that she was walking on fragile ground. Tara offered a smile, her heart warmed by her sister's presence. "I'd really like that."

(Y/n) reached out and took Sam's hand, offering her a genuine smile. "I'm glad you're here, Sam."

A soft shuffle drew their attention to Amber, who was still in the room. Leaning down to Tara's side, she whispered, "Do you have your extra inhaler?" Tara reassured her, and Amber left, with Richie following suit, his unease palpable.

As the door closed behind them, (Y/n) turned her attention back to Tara, her grip on Sam's hand not loosening.

Looking back to the sisters, (Y/n) noticed the intense exchange of looks between them, a telltale sign that a very private moment was about to unfold. As Tara's body trembled, (Y/n) instinctively moved closer, her presence offering a silent promise of comfort and support.

Tara's emotions began to well up, and (Y/n) could tell she was on the brink of tears. With a gentle shift, she positioned herself closer to Tara, her arm finding a reassuring place atop Tara's intertwined hands. The sisters seemed to exist in their own world, yet (Y/n)'s presence was a steady anchor, a reminder that they were not alone in this moment of vulnerability.

"Sam, I was so scared," Tara's voice quivered, the vulnerability in her tone exposing the depth of her feelings. Sam immediately slipped into her role as the older sister, tenderly brushing a strand of hair away from Tara's face and holding her close. (Y/n)'s touch provided an additional layer of comfort, a subtle gesture of solidarity that only she and Sam could offer.

"I know," Sam's voice was a soothing balm, a simple affirmation that carried the weight of understanding.

(Y/n)'s eyes fluttered open as the door to the hospital room closed with a soft click, momentarily rousing her from a light slumber. Her gaze scanned the room, searching for any signs of movement or activity. The absence of Sam's presence in the chair next to Tara's bedside was noticeable, but (Y/n) assumed she had stepped out briefly, perhaps for a bathroom break. She allowed her eyes to drift shut again, intent on drifting back into a peaceful doze.

However, her tranquility was shattered like fragile glass when a quiet scream sliced through the air, instantly jolting her into a state of wide-eyed alertness. Her heart raced, and her body tensed as she sat up in bed, the remnants of sleep clinging to her senses. Her gaze honed in on the corner of the room, where Richie was seated, his head bowed, eyes glued to the screen of his iPad. The chilling atmosphere was heightened by the unmistakable sounds of a horror movie playing – sounds she recognized all too well.

Confusion and alarm etched across her features as she tried to make sense of the situation. The eerie background noises were unmistakably from one of the "Stab" movies – a franchise born from the real-life horrors the town of Woodboro had endured, which has resulted in Tara's unfortunate circumstances. Her voice trembled slightly as she found the words to break the silence that had descended like a heavy fog.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she demanded urgently, her eyes locked onto Richie's figure, searching for any signs of explanation or rationality. His sudden shift in attention, his fingers hovering over the iPad's screen, was a testament to her abrupt intrusion into whatever he was engrossed in.

Richie's gaze lifted from the screen, his eyes wide with surprise at being caught. He seemed momentarily flustered by her presence and her questions, his attempt at playing it off failing to mask his unease.

(Y/n)'s frown deepened as the unsettling sounds of the movie reached her ears once again. She couldn't deny the familiar disquiet that they stirred within her, the haunting echoes of the past becoming tangible in the present. "Are you watching... Stab?" Her voice held a mix of incredulity and incredulousness. It was as if her mind couldn't quite grasp the reality of the situation – the fact that Richie, someone on the outskirts of their ordeal, would be voluntarily subjecting himself to this eerie re of  trauma.

A shy, almost apologetic smile tugged at the corners of Richie's lips. It was a blend of embarrassment and hesitation, like a person caught red-handed in the act of something they knew wouldn't be well-received. "It's on Netflix," he explained, as if the familiarity of the streaming platform justified his choice of entertainment.

(Y/n)'s puzzled look lingered, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand the reasoning behind his actions. His next words only added to her confusion. "I want to be prepared in case—"

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips before she could even stop herself. Her frustration at the bizarre scenario was palpable, and she found herself standing up from her seat with an urgency that demanded an explanation. She was careful not to disturb Tara, who continued to sleep soundly nearby. "If you wanted to be prepared, you'd be on Wikihow," she retorted, her tone a mix of sarcasm and annoyance. With a quiet but determined resolve, she left the room, needing a breather from the disconcerting situation that had unraveled before her.

The tension in the air seemed to cling to her as she stepped into the corridor, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and bewilderment. The strange confluence of events left her grappling with a sense of unease, a nagging feeling that there was more to Richie's actions than met the eye. She couldn't shake the distrust that had taken root, like a seed of doubt that had been planted deep within her mind.

Navigating the hospital's corridors, (Y/n)'s steps were measured and her thoughts a mixture of concern and confusion. She couldn't shake off the unsettling encounter with Richie, his bizarre fixation on watching horror movies as some twisted form of preparation. She needed a moment to herself, a sip of water perhaps, to distance herself from the eerie undercurrents that seemed to be flowing through the hospital.

Approaching the break room, the quiet hum of the hallway was disrupted by an alarming cacophony emanating from within. Banging, clattering, and muffled grunts created an eerie symphony that sent shivers down her spine. Perplexed, she slowed her steps, her curiosity warring with her instinct to flee the chaos.

Just as she was about to reach for the door handle, the scene before her shifted in a blur of motion. Sam burst out of the room, her features a mask of shock and desperation. (Y/n) barely had time to react as Sam collided with her, the impact sending her sprawling to the floor. Sam's startled face met hers, their eyes locking in a brief moment of shared astonishment.

(Y/n) felt Sam's arms gripping her own, attempting to pull her up in the midst of their collision. The urgency of Sam's movements hinted at a deeper turmoil, a frantic need to escape whatever had transpired within the break room. But their awkward positioning and the chaos of the situation only added to the confusion.

In the midst of the chaos, the attempt to stand turned into a clumsy shuffle, a precarious dance of limbs and urgency. Sam's grip faltered, and (Y/n) found herself slipping from her grasp. As if guided by a malevolent force, Sam's foot landed in an unfortunate spot, her heel connecting with (Y/n)'s temple in a jarring impact.

Pain exploded through (Y/n)'s head, and her vision blurred as a high-pitched ringing echoed in her ears. The world around her swirled in a disorienting haze, and she struggled to make sense of what was happening. A blurry figure moved in the periphery of her vision – Ghostface.

As abruptly as the chaos had begun, it ended. Ghostface retreated, leaving behind an unsettling void. (Y/n) remained on the floor, dazed and immobilized by the shock of the encounter. The echoes of Sam's pleas and the ominous sounds of struggle gradually faded, replaced by the hospital's familiar, muted hum.

Amid the disorientation, a nurse arrived on the scenel. (Y/n) blinked, her vision gradually clearing as the nurse's calm voice and gentle touch reassured her. With the nurse's support, (Y/n) managed to rise from the floor, the ache in her temple a persistent reminder of the chaotic collision.

Guided by the nurse, (Y/n) walked, her steps unsteady, back to Tara's hospital room. Tara's attack, the encounter with Richie, the tumult in the break room, it all felt like an eerie dream that she couldn't quite shake off.

(Y/n)'s head throbbed mercilessly, each step feeling like a hammer strike against her temples. The hospital's harsh lights pierced through her skull, sending shockwaves of pain radiating in all directions. She squinted, her hand instinctively shielding her eyes from the blinding assault. As the door to the hospital room drew near, her gaze shifted to Richie, who stood outside with an eerie intensity. His arms were crossed, his ear pressed against the door – a disturbing sight that set her on edge.

Intent on addressing Richie's unsettling behavior, (Y/n) was about to confront him when a sudden, shrill voice rent the air, tearing through the tense silence.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Tara's raw, strained voice reverberated, piercing through the room like a knife. The scene froze, every person in the vicinity arrested by the unexpected outburst. Even the deputy stationed by the door widened his eyes in surprise. Richie, his demeanor shifting from curiosity to apprehension, swiftly moved out of the doorframe. (Y/n)'s light steps closed the gap between her and the unfolding situation, her heart pounding in anticipation.

With a strange sense of déjà vu, the door opened before her hand could even touch the handle. Sam stood before her, her face marred by blotchy redness and tear tracks. Clearly shaken by whatever had transpired inside the room, her eyes traced a path from the floor to (Y/n)'s face, finally settling on the bandaged temple. A quiet sniffle escaped Sam, her voice trembling as she spoke through her emotions.

"I'm sorry," (Y/n)'s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, her gesture aimed at offering comfort amidst the chaos. She gently reassured Sam of her well-being before guiding her aside, her focus shifting to the heart of the storm – Tara.

Tara sat on the bed, her demeanor distant and lost in thought. Her gaze seemed to penetrate through everything, fixated on some invisible point in the distance. (Y/n) recognized that look – it was the expression of someone grappling with a truth too painful to fully comprehend. It was a mix of disbelief and realization, a storm of emotions brewing beneath a seemingly calm surface.

Whatever Sam had divulged in that room had clearly struck a deep chord within Tara. The weight of that revelation hung heavily in the air, casting a pall over the room and enveloping everyone in its shadow. (Y/n)'s heart went out to Tara, her desire to be a source of solace stronger than ever. As she approached the bed, she sent Tara a gentle, supportive look, silently offering her presence.

(Y/n) held Tara tightly, feeling the tremors coursing through her body as tears soaked her shoulder. Tara's voice wavered as she struggled to find words in the midst of her emotional turmoil.

"Why, (Y/n)? Why did Sam lie? Why did my mom keep this from me?"

(Y/n)'s own voice was laden with confusion as she held Tara closer, her heart aching for her girlfriend. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tara."

Tara's grip on (Y/n) tightened, as if she was seeking an anchor in the midst of the storm. "He was a killer, a psychopath. How could she be Billy Loomis' daughter?"

(Y/n)'s brows furrowed, her mind grappling to make sense of the pieces Tara was unveiling. Her mind was racing, trying to piece together the puzzle of their shattered reality. "Wait, are you saying Sam is... Billy Loomis' daughter?"

Tara's voice cracked, a mixture of anger and sorrow. "And my mom... how could she let me believe Sam was my sister all this time?"

(Y/n)'s fingers rubbed soothing circles on Tara's back, her own heart heavy with the weight of Tara's pain. "I can't even begin to understand, Tara."

Tara's breath hitched, her voice hollow as she questioned her own identity. "Who am I, (Y/n)? If Sam's not my sister, then... who is she?"

(Y/n)'s grip on Tara tightened as if trying to hold her pieces together. "We'll figure it out, Tara. We'll find the truth together."

Tara's voice wavered as she fought back a fresh wave of tears. Her eyes bore into her girlfriend's, seeking comfort from the sudden betrayal of her family. "I thought I knew my family, (Y/n). But now... everything feels shattered."

(Y/n)'s voice was a quiet reassurance, even though uncertainty gnawed at her. "You're not alone in this, Tara. I'll be here for you every step of the way."

Tara's voice was barely above a whisper, her pain palpable. "I don't even know who my mother is anymore."

(Y/n)'s own confusion mirrored Tara's, her voice filled with empathy. "I can't imagine what you're going through, Tara. But we'll face this together."

Tara's tear-streaked face turned up to (Y/n)'s, eyes searching for something she couldn't quite name. "(Y/n), promise me you won't leave. Promise you'll stay, no matter how messy things get."

(Y/n)'s voice was a fervent vow, her heartache mingling with her commitment. "I promise, Tara. I'm not going anywhere."

The familiar chatter of Dawson Creek filled the hospital room, Tara had turned it on as background noise, to drown out the violent flashes that seemed to submerge her mind. Frustration etched lines on her face as her gaze darted repeatedly towards the door, her impatience festering like an open wound.

A sideways glance at the television in her heightened state snagged her attention, the unfolding scene appearing almost like a twisted mirror to her reality.

"Are the doors locked?"

"Yeah we should check the doors. Joey and Pacey, get the front door. Jen and Cliff, get flashlights-"

A guttural sound reverberated from the corridor, followed by a heavy thud as something crashed to the floor. Goosebumps prickled on Tara's arms, though she tried to dismiss the noise as inconsequential, perhaps a clumsy officer dropping an item or the sound of (Y/n)'s return with her food.

"Hello?"

Her voice carried down the corridor, swallowed by the eerie silence that remained.

"Hello?"

Tara's desperation seeped through her words now, a desperate plea for any sound to shatter the oppressive quietness. Dawson's Creek, once a comforting companion, now seemed to taunt her vulnerability.

"Please. Quit tripping out. This is just Dawson up to his old tired tricks. There's no psychopath in this house."

"Fuck this."

Tara's patience wore thin, her nerves on edge as she disconnected herself from the monitors, their shrill alarms underscoring her own helplessness. With deft movements, she unhooked the uncomfortable nasal cannula from her nose and braced herself, the sharp pain from her cast colliding with the wheelchair's leg serving as a painful reminder of her limitations. Suppressing a cry of pain, she hoisted herself into the seat, the effort eliciting a whimper as her injured body strained. Clinging to the wheels, she propelled herself towards the door, the wounds on her palms reopening and drenching her bandages in fresh blood. Soft whimpers of agony accompanied her every move as she struggled to reach (Y/n), to alert her of the ominous sounds that could threaten them both.

She couldn't bear the thought of (Y/n) enduring the same horrors she had faced.

Reaching the end of the bed, a deafening ringing of her cellphone pierced the air, rendering Tara motionless. Her gaze dropped to her bloodied hands, the pain radiating up her arms like a symphony of agony, the shrill sound clamouring for her retreat. But the possibility of Saffron's danger galvanized her resolve, overriding her own suffering.

The corridor stretched before her, devoid of life, its emptiness heightening the chilling atmosphere. Ignoring her aching body, Tara maneuvered herself towards the reception area, a mixture of tears and sobs punctuating her progress. Desperation hung in the air as she hoped for a lifeline. The creaking of the wheels subsided, replaced by a wet, gurgling sound that sent shivers down her spine. Slowing to a halt, she observed the gruesome scene before her. An officer lay sprawled behind the reception desk, his uniform soaked in blood that spewed from a savage gash on his neck. Tara's face contorted in a mask of anguish, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle the horrified gasp that escaped her lips. Dreadful realization gripped her – her fears were not unfounded; Ghostface had returned, and (Y/n)'s absence was far too long for Tara's comfort.

A sudden noise, the echo of a door closing, shattered Tara's stupor. Hastily, she wheeled herself into a nearby storage closet, a groan slipping from her lips as the blood-soaked bandages abraded her skin with every movement. Swinging the door shut, she left a slender crack through which she observed the corridor, her grip tightening on a landline she'd found, her trembling fingers desperate for a lifeline. Another door opened, and Tara's breath caught,

"Holy shit," she muttered under her breath. The footsteps grew closer, the thud of boots resonating like a heartbeat. Her fingers clenched around the phone, her only defense in this macabre dance.

As the heavy footsteps made their way towards the door, a blanket of black covered the small room, sending Tara into darkness. Her breath hitched as she attempted to stay quiet, gripping the phone tightly into her hand, knuckles turning white. A figure quickly popped their head in through the door, as Tara swung the phone in her hand with as much power as she could physically muster.

"Ow! Ow," Richie's pained cry echoed as he crumbled to his knees, his grip loosening on his throbbing head., "Goddamn it!"

"Richie?" Tara's gaze bore into him, suspicion lacing her voice. She inched her wheelchair back, her movements cautious and deliberate, as if he were a wounded animal on the verge of attack. Slowly, he pulled himself upright, using the door handle for support. "What are you doing here?"

"Sam called. She said that... you were in trouble." Still touching the spot on his head where he was hit he trailed off, thinking for a moment before his eyes glanced at the phone hanging from its cord.

"Did you hit me with a phone?"

Before Tara could answer, a familiar figure popped up behind Richie. Raising its knife to strike him, "Look out!" Richie swung around being face to face with the killer and their knife.

Richie's reflexes saved him, his arm instinctively raised to defend himself, but the blade still found purchase, carving a deep gash. The sickening sound of metal slicing through flesh reverberated through the room. Richie fought back, grappling with Ghostface in a desperate bid for survival. He clung to the wrist holding the knife, muscles straining as he wrestled for control. The room bore witness to their struggle, the tension suffocating.

Ghostface overpowered Richie, slamming him into the doorframe with a brutal force that left him limp and unresponsive. The scene hung in the air, frozen in time, as Tara absorbed the sight of Richie's motionless body and the shadowy figure that stood ominously before it. Ghostface turned towards her, tilting their head almost mockingly. The only chance of being saved she had was now lying in a heap before her, she was trapped.

With a surge of adrenaline, Tara shoved a monitor off a nearby table, sending it crashing onto Ghostface. As they grappled with the equipment, she seized her chance, propelling herself out of the room. Each movement was an agony, the searing pain from her injuries an unrelenting torment. Her eyes darted around the hallway, seeking an escape route. The elevator stood at the far end, a glimmer of hope beckoning in the darkness.

But it was a sight just outside the elevator that froze her in her tracks. (Y/n)'s bloodied form slumped against the doors, her pallor unnaturally ashen, eyes barely open, her body drenched in a grotesque tapestry of red. Their eyes met, the depth of their shared anguish unfurling between them in an instant, as Tara let out a scream of anguish.

Ghostface's chilling presence reappeared, the masked figure stalking towards Tara, savoring every moment of her terror. This was a twisted game to them, a sadistic symphony of agony orchestrated for their amusement. Tara could feel the walls closing in, every avenue of escape closing off one by one, the air thick with desperation.

They only wanted one thing, their sick and twisted game was going to end with both girls suffering the same fate.

Death

(Y/n)'s rhythmic foot-tapping on the cool pavement outside the bustling hospital entrance seemed like a minor rebellion against the day's clinical monotony. Overhead lights hummed with a steady cadence, while the cacophony of voices and footsteps surged like a river each time the door swung open. Sympathy and guilt had compelled her to venture out, bringing a taste of the outside world back to Tara – a meal that bore no resemblance to the sorry hospital fare.

The crispness of the air was a stark contrast to the confined, stuffy room she had been sharing with Tara. She had needed this brief reprieve, a moment to clear her mind and shake off the heavy emotional burden that had been pressing on her chest. As she let herself drift in the serenity of the moment, the world around her dissipated into a blur.

But then, a sudden thud shattered the tranquility. Her body tensed, a wave of unease crashing over her. It was as if a switch had been flipped, yanking her out of her peaceful reverie and back into the harsh reality. A chill raced down her spine as her senses sharpened, her heart pounding a staccato rhythm in her chest. The tranquility had been a facade – a fragile mirage that now lay shattered around her.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, as she turned to face the source of the noise. Dread knotted her stomach, and a cold sweat formed on her brow despite the gentle breeze that tousled her hair. The alley stretched before her, a corridor of shadow cast by the hospital's imposing structure. Trash cans lined the walls in uneven intervals, creating pockets of darkness that whispered with hidden potential.

Her gaze flitted from one corner to another, her pupils dilating as they fought to make sense of the murky gloom. Time seemed to slow as her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, the sound of her own breath growing louder in her ears. It was the alleyway that was her blind spot all along, a trap that she had unknowingly set for herself.

The feeling of being watched crawled under her skin, a persistent sensation that refused to relent. Her muscles tensed, her senses on high alert as she scanned every inch of the alley, seeking out the slightest sign of movement. Her fear was no longer an abstract emotion; it was a tangible force that gripped her like a vise.

The uncertainty gnawed at her, her mind racing through scenarios and possibilities. Was it just her imagination, or was there a real threat lurking in the shadows? Her every instinct screamed at her to flee, to retreat back into the safety of the hospital's embrace. But her body remained rooted, a strange mix of curiosity and terror keeping her in place.

In the shifting dance between light and shadow, her imagination began to conjure shapes – figures that could have been lurking, waiting. Every whisper of wind seemed to echo with menace, every rustle of garbage sent a shiver down her spine. It was as if the very fabric of the alley had come alive, a living embodiment of her fear.

In this chilling tableau, (Y/n) stood at the precipice of action. The alleyway, once an inconspicuous backdrop, had morphed into a stage for a silent, sinister drama. The weight of her decisions pressed heavily upon her, each moment stretching into an eternity as she grappled with her next move.

Amidst the tense backdrop of the alley, a sharp and jarring ring erupted from (Y/n)'s pocket, the sound piercing through the heavy air like a sudden warning. Her phone's vibrations reverberated against her leg, a stark reminder of the urgent reality that was beginning to unravel around her. With a swift and practiced motion, she fished her cellphone from her pocket, her fingers trembling slightly with a mix of apprehension and adrenaline.

The screen illuminated, revealing the caller's name – Sam. Her heart raced as she registered the significance of the incoming call. In a world where danger lurked in every shadow, a call from someone close could carry critical information or a vital warning. Her mind raced as she weighed the importance of answering this call against the potential threat that lingered in the alleyway.

Before she could even consider her next move, the abrupt sound of a door slamming echoed through the confined space, a stark reminder of the lurking peril that demanded her attention. The killer – the very embodiment of the threat that had been gnawing at her senses – was out there, somewhere, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The reality of the situation surged back, and her instincts kicked into overdrive.

Frozen in shock, her hand still clutching the phone, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, each heartbeat a reminder of the perilous situation she was in. Her heart waged a battle with her rationality – answer the call and possibly get much-needed information or stay hyperaware of her surroundings to avoid a potentially deadly encounter.

With her senses on high alert, she managed to answer the call, her voice edged with tension. She held the phone to her ear, her eyes sharply focused on the alleyway, her breath held as she strained to hear any sound – any hint of the danger that might be lurking in the darkness. The voice on the other end became a distant murmur as her attention remained riveted on the shadows, her mind racing to analyze every movement, every flicker of movement, ready to react at a moment's notice.

"(Y/n)?" Her urgent voice cracked through the phone's speakers, each syllable carrying a weight of concern that matched the gravity of the situation. "Are you still with Tara?"

(Y/n)'s eyes remained locked onto the oppressive darkness before her, her senses on high alert. The words poured from the phone, a lifeline to the outside world in a moment that felt far from safe. "I'm just standing outside the hospital, waiting on food," she replied, her voice carrying a tremor of unease. But Sam's call wasn't just a casual check-in, it held an undercurrent of urgency that (Y/n) couldn't ignore. "Why?"

A pause hung in the air, heavy and fraught with tension, as Sam's next words crashed into (Y/n)'s consciousness like an oncoming storm. "Wes and Officer Hicks were murdered and the deputy is here—" The news hit (Y/n) like a physical blow, a gut-punch of shock and horror that reverberated through her entire being. Wes, one of her best friends since childhood, was gone. Along with his mother who was the head of the entire investigation on Ghostface.

(Y/n)'s body went rigid, her grip on the phone tightening as her mind raced through the implications of Sam's words. Panic surged within her, the realization striking like a bolt of lightning – if the deputy was gone from his post at the hospital, who was guarding Tara? Her thoughts spiraled into a frenzy, every worst-case scenario playing out in her mind's eye, a cruel montage of potential threats.

Before Sam could continue, before her mind could fully grapple with the sheer vulnerability of the situation, (Y/n)'s voice cut through the connection, her urgency and fear spilling forth. "Sam, get here as fast as you possibly can—"

It was a decision born out of desperation, a gamble made in the haze of fear. The door, positioned halfway down the ominous alley, loomed before her like a lifeline – a portal that could potentially lead her back to the safety of Tara's side. (Y/n)'s heart raced, each thud a reminder of the seconds ticking away, the precious moments that separated her from danger and sanctuary.

Without hesitation, fueled by adrenaline and a singular purpose, (Y/n)'s legs churned as she sprinted down the alley. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her shoes barely touching the ground as if propelled by sheer willpower. The thought of Tara, vulnerable and alone, provided a pulse of urgency that propelled her forward despite the terror gnawing at her heels.

The door, unassuming yet laden with potential, drew closer with each stride. Her trembling hand gripped the handle, the cold metal a stark contrast to her heated skin. In her frantic rush, even the simplest action felt like a monumental task. The door resisted, a stubborn barrier between her and the haven she sought. With a surge of determination, she managed to wrench it open, her body propelled into the relative safety of the hospital's stairwell.

The rush of relief was fleeting, quickly replaced by the stark realization that safety was a fragile illusion. She glanced around, her eyes scanning for any means to secure the entrance, to lock out the danger lurking in the shadows. Her gaze settled on a latch positioned overhead, a glimmer of hope in the dimly lit corridor.

Her fingers, slick with sweat and trembling with urgency, reached for the latch. Stretching on her tiptoes, her heart hammering against her ribs, she managed to engage the lock. A sigh of relief brushed her lips, a fleeting moment of victory as she turned to ascend the stairs that would take her to Tara.

But destiny is a cruel mistress, and the instant she turned around, a cold wall of black fabric met her, halting her progress. Panic surged like a tidal wave, her heart leaping to her throat as she gazed into the abyss of a familiar and malevolent presence.

They hadn't remained trapped in the alley, they hadn't faltered in their pursuit. They had anticipated her move, outmaneuvered her once again. And now, in this suffocating confrontation, the balance between life and death seemed as fragile as a spider's thread.

(Y/n)'s weary gaze remained fixated on Tara’s figure as she battled through the torment in her body to reach her. The moist, sickening sound of her bloodied hands against the wheels echoed in her ears as she desperately moved away from the looming presence of Ghostface, who lingered ominously behind her.

Numbness had spread through (Y/n)'s body, the pain becoming a distant sensation amidst the overwhelming chaos. Each movement sent shocks of agony, a relentless reminder of her recent ordeal. Her hands, coated in her own life fluid, struggled to propel her fragile form across the sterile hospital floor, leaving a macabre trail in her wake. The weight of exhaustion threatened to collapse her, her weakened form almost crumpling as she ventured away from the reassuring support of the wall.

The taste of desperation mingled with the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, as if her very life force was seeping away with every agonizing inch she managed to cover.

Richie’s cell phone erupted into a shrill ring, and Ghostface spun around, reaching toward Richie's slumped body to extract the phone from his pocket. Their gloved fingers cautiously pressed a button near the bottom of their mask, causing it to start flashing red. (Y/n) strained to make out the concerned tone of Sam’s voice through the phone's speaker, though the words remained elusive.

“Hello, Samantha!” Ghostface's distorted voice sliced through the air, stalking closer to a terror-stricken Tara, who had managed to put some distance between them, but the gap could be closed quickly.

“Richie can’t come to the phone right now. He’s finding out what happens to people who stick their noses in business that doesn’t concern them.”

“I’ll tell you what you can choose; I’ll only kill one,” the distorted voice continued, chilling (Y/n) to her core.

Sam's voice, desperate and pleading, cut through the phone's crackling. (Y/n) shifted her gaze briefly to Tara, who was putting more space between herself and the advancing Ghostface, her sobs growing louder.

“Who do you want to hear die?”

Amidst the fear and tension, Sam's desperate cries carried through the line, and Ghostface reveled in the torment, his taunts aimed at the terrified girls. (Y/n) knew that Ghostface's intention was to kill both of them, but she clung to a flicker of hope that Sam's plan might ensure Tara's survival.

“Really? You can’t save your own sister? All you have to do is say 'Kill Richie,' because I don’t think (Y/n)’s making it out either way!”

With an adrenaline-fueled surge, (Y/n)'s resolve solidified. If she couldn't escape this nightmare, she was willing to give her life to protect the person she loved most.

“Fuck you!” Tara's scream echoed through the hallway as Ghostface charged toward her. The wheelchair crashed to the floor, and Tara began crawling toward (Y/n), her fingers desperately gripping the cold linoleum.

“Or say 'Kill Tara!' And I’ll make sure to hit all the organs I missed last time!”

Tara's fingers found (Y/n)'s side, gripping her as she attempted to shield her from Ghostface’s impending attack.

“Last chance to save one, choose!” Ghostface's taunting voice pierced the air, echoing the desperate plea from Sam through the phone.

(Y/n) heard Sam's voice, laced with grief and pain, clearer than ever, “Why are you doing this?”

“You want to know why, Sam? Maybe it's because you’re a selfish bitch, who can’t even make a decision to save the life of someone you love.”

“Maybe you’re too weak for this franchise!”

Ghostface's legs closed in around both girls, (Y/n) straining to shield Tara from the imminent danger. She was prepared to bear the brunt of the attack, if it meant giving Tara a chance to escape. Tara's grip tightened, and her voice rose in defiance.

“Maybe you’re right?” Sam's voice sounded broken, defeated. (Y/n)'s heart sank; had Sam truly given up?

“Or maybe I’m just stalling for time, fuckhead!”

A sudden ping signaled the opening of the elevator doors, interrupting Ghostface's impending strike. Startled, Ghostface looked away for a fleeting moment. In that instant, (Y/n)'s heart raced, her hope rekindling. Through the elevator doors stood Sam and Dewey. Dewey fired off several shots down the hallway, sending Ghostface retreating and disappearing into a different corridor.

Dewey sprinted to Richie's side, who was sprawled a few meters behind, while Sam rushed to (Y/n) and Tara. (Y/n)'s vision wavered, the agony in her body muddling her perception of the chaos around her. She strained to hear Tara's soft whimpers amidst the commotion as Sam worked to move her sister.

Guiding Tara toward the elevator doors, Sam reassured (Y/n) that she would be back for her as soon as Tara was safely inside. Dewey, with his arm under Richie, led him back, but their progress was abruptly halted as Ghostface reappeared. In the ensuing struggle, Richie was thrown to the ground, and Dewey and Ghostface locked in a fierce grapple, colliding into walls and grappling each other.

The fight escalated, both men grappling and wrestling for control, until they crashed onto the floor. Dewey's gun skidded across the tiles, out of reach. Ghostface lunged, attempting to strike Dewey, but the seasoned officer managed to use his strength to headbutt Ghostface, buying him a moment to seize his gun. When Dewey turned, Ghostface charged once more, knife poised for a lethal strike. Dewey acted swiftly, firing several shots into Ghostface's chest, propelling him into a glass shelf with a shattering crash.

With Richie in his arms, Dewey retreated, heading back to (Y/n), who lay motionless on the floor. Gently lifting her, he heard her faint whimpering—a sign that she was alive. He swiftly pressed the elevator's call button, ushering them inside as the doors slid open.

The events inside the elevator remained a blur to (Y/n), her consciousness slipping. Richie's arms provided a faint anchor, and Dewey's voice seemed distant as he vanished from view. The resonating ring in her ears drowned out the ensuing conversations, though she surmised that Dewey was likely heading back to deal with Ghostface for good.

“Dewey, who cares?” Sam's voice echoed, her urgency palpable as she sought to ensure no further lives were lost.

The elevator doors began to close on Dewey's retreating figure, his final words reaching (Y/n)'s ears like a distant echo, “I do.”

Would anyone be interested in a series with this premise? I had the idea for months now and kind of want to start on it. Going from being a child in the event of scream 4 to joining into the friend group of Scream 5&6

Working on Shattered Unity right now and you all are going to be gobsmacked 💅💅💅

Also it’s a MULTIPLE PART SERIES, so going from Scream 4 to Scream 6 —and if another one gets released while I’m still writing I’ll probably incorporate it too— so buckle up SCREAM fans

Shattered Unity

[Fragment One: I] [Fragment One: II]

Synopsis: Jill Roberts had everything, a perfect house, with a perfect family and a perfect little sister, who she cared for far more than she realised.

Pairings: Jill Roberts x Sister! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: nothing so far :) some sibling fluff

34 Elm Street epitomized the pinnacle of luxury in Woodsboro, an affluent community coveted by all. The neighborhood itself exuded an aura of safety, lined with sycamores and white picket fences. In the middle of it all stood the Roberts household, bustling with the loud sounds of a typical Monday morning.

Jill rolled over in her plush bed, pulling her pillow over her ears to block out the loud noise of her alarm. Letting out a deep groan, her arms fumbled around until they found the snooze button. Her eyelids fluttered shut again, aiming to steal a few more precious moments of sleep until a sudden crash echoed from downstairs.

"Sweetheart!" Her mother's voice reverberated through the house. "Are you okay?"

Jill could hear her little sister mumbling something in response, probably attempting to make herself breakfast. She always had this habit of striving for independence. Jill stretched, her long black hair cascading as she released it from the loose bun of the night before. Running her fingers through the tangles, she slipped into a pair of jeans and rummaged through her wardrobe in search of a shirt. As Jill swung her door open, the sound of small feet scampering up the stairs reached her ears. It seemed her sister had an uncanny sixth sense for detecting when Jill was awake.

"Jill!" Her little form came barreling around the corner, running toward Jill's feet. Her face lit up when she saw her sister. "I made you pancakes," she announced proudly. Jill laughed and asked if that was what the crash was. The little one hid her face in Jill's shirt, her speech muffled by the fabric. "I might have dropped the pan." Jill ruffled her hair before manoeuvring around her  to start going downstairs.

The kitchen bore the aftermath of a culinary hurricane—flour dusted every available surface, eggshells added a crunch underfoot, and a symphony of pots and bowls occupied the sink. Amidst this chaos sat a plate of hastily assembled pancakes, syrup awaiting its inevitable deployment. As Jill cautiously surveyed the scene, her foot met an unexpected puddle of milk, sending a shiver up her spine as the sock soaked up the liquid.

Suppressing a sigh, Jill turned her attention to her sister, ready to issue a gentle reprimand. However, before she could speak, (Y/n) beat her to it with a spirited declaration. "Don't worry, Jill! I'm cleaning it all up after I eat. I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat before Kirby picks you up." Her bright smile melted any lingering frustration, reminding Jill why (Y/n) was her undeniable soft spot.

"You're such a little troublemaker, (Y/n)," Jill joked, pulling off her damp sock. She walked to the kitchen table, grabbing a few pancakes to smother in syrup. (Y/n) climbed onto the stool beside her big sister, looking at her intently. "Speaking of Kirby, do you think I can say hi when she comes to pick you up? I want to show her the picture I drew of us three!" Jill looked over, shocked at her sister, talking with a mouthful of pancake. "You drew a picture of me?" (Y/n) corrected her, saying it was all three of them together, but Jill's mind was elsewhere. All (Y/n) ever drew was puppies and rainbows—childish things. Never had Jill seen her draw a person, never mind her.

Jill's fork hovered mid-air, laden with syrup-soaked pancake, as she stared at (Y/n) with wide eyes. The surprise etched across her face deepened, a mix of disbelief and genuine awe. For a moment, she was caught in the realization that her little sister had moved beyond the realm of fluffy animals and sunny scenes, venturing into something far more personal.

"You drew a picture of me?" Jill repeated, as if the words needed confirmation. The syrup dripped slowly back onto the plate, forgotten in her slackened grip. (Y/n)'s innocent nod was met with an almost incredulous smile from Jill, as if the simple act of portraying her in a drawing was a revelation.

"(Y/n), that's... incredible," Jill finally managed, her tone carrying a mix of surprise and warmth. The thought that her sister had chosen to illustrate her, amid all the subjects she could have picked, lingered in the air like a sweet revelation.

"I'll show it to you!" (Y/n)'s syrup-sticky hands seized Jill's, leading her in an eager ascent up the stairs, their footsteps an echo of shared laughter. The little haven at the top, (Y/n)'s room, painted in every shade of pink. It was a sanctuary of innocence, adorned with unicorns, magical creatures, and the captured moments of their life.

The walls told stories in crayon and glitter drawings, tales of a childhood untainted by the complexities of the world beyond. Pictures of Jill and (Y/n), frozen in time, grinned back at them. Jill couldn't help but notice the subtle nostalgia woven into the room, a familiar echo of her own youth. The glow-in-the-dark stars overhead seemed to promise dreams as pure and boundless as the universe itself.

Most of the toys strewn across the floor were remnants of Jill's childhood, a nostalgic scatter of innocence now usurped by time. Yet, what tugged at Jill's heartstrings most was the teddy bear lying on the bed, a mirror image of the one resting in her own room. (Y/n) never ventured anywhere without that bear. It was a shared relic, a testament to a bond forged in the simplicity of happier times.

As Jill sank into memories, the room became a vessel of echoes. Most vivid was the recollection of a day long past, a shopping trip with her father to find the perfect gift for baby (Y/n). The brown bear, soft and fluffy, had captured Jill's heart. She pleaded with her father to let her have one too. That day marked the last fragment of happiness she could recall with him.

A small shake brought Jill back to the present. She found herself gently pushed to sit on the edge of the bed. (Y/n) darted to the desk by the door, the chaotic rustle of pages scattering in her wake. Amidst the flurry, a small sound of excitement at her discovery. (Y/n) rushed back, concealing a page behind her back, anticipation dancing in her eyes.

Jill was presented with a page, a kaleidoscope of waxy stripes in every imaginable color. Amidst the vibrant chaos, three figures took center stage. Two of them stood at a similar height, towering protectively over a smaller figure nestled between them. A soft smile graced Jill's lips as she looked at her younger sister, who returned the gaze with anticipation sparkling in her eyes.

Gently, Jill pulled (Y/n) into her arms, the paper the only barrier between then. She whispered softly in her sister's ear, "Kirby's going to love this."

Kirby's car rushed into the driveway of the Roberts household, letting out a loud beep that echoed in the quiet neighborhood. As Jill stepped onto the front porch, the car's blaring music masked the sounds around them.

"Before you get in the car, you need to promise not to kill me!" Kirby shouted over the music, quickly turning it off as Jill approached.

"Why?" Jill asked, walking closer to the passenger door, while her sister eagerly ran toward the car. "What did you do?"

"Trevor called me last night," Kirby explained, and Jill's face twisted in disgust. "Why is he calling you?" She leaned down, poking her head through the car window, while (Y/n) stood on her tiptoes to get Kirby's attention.

"Because you won't take his calls, he knows I have you here and he wants to know," Kirby said. Jill opened the door with a roll of her eyes, and Kirby shifted her focus to (Y/n), greeting her with a warm, "Hi pumpkin!"

Ignoring Kirby's attempt to divert the conversation, Jill pressed, "Know what?" Kirby's eyes darted away from (Y/n), who stood eagerly waiting to share something. "How upset you are." She finished.

Olivia hopped into the backseat of the car, engaging Jill in conversation about Trevor. While they chatted, Kirby shifted her attention to the younger Roberts sister, who stood patiently at the door. With an exuberant greeting, she handed Kirby a piece of paper, saying, "I drew this for you!" Kirby smiled at the young girl, touched by the fact that her best friend's younger sister cared enough to create a drawing. "It’s me, you, and Jill," she explained, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

"It’s amazing, (Y/n)!" Kirby examined the drawing carefully before placing it on the dashboard. "When I get home from school, it’s going straight up on my refrigerator," she promised with a smile. (Y/n) beamed at this news. Kirby glanced at the time; if they didn’t leave now, they’d be late. “We have to go, pumpkin. Have a good day at school!” she called out as she watched (Y/n) run back into the house, waving back to the girls as she did and Jill shut the car door.

Olivia rolled her eyes from the back seat, letting out a scoff. She had something against Jill’s sister ever since she accidentally broke her cell two years ago. Olivia opened her mouth to state something when Jill quickly turned to face her, her stare cold and harsh, quickly shutting Olivia up. She huffed, “I wasn’t going to say anything about your sister!” Her arms raised in the air in defense.

Jill let a small smirk grace her lips; she could see Olivia was lying. “Really!” She turned back to the front, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. Jill wanted to see what kind of stupid story Olivia would attempt to create to dig herself out of the hole she made. “What was it you were going to say?”

Olivia stumbled over her words, desperately trying to come up with a story that would fit, but she couldn’t. “Fine!” She bowed her head in defeat. “But it’s not a crime to dislike your sister; she's just so...” She trailed off, seeing Jill's glare. “Clingy.”

The pulsating beat of a song jolted all three girls from their conversation. Jill's cellphone buzzed near her feet, prompting her to fish it out of her bag. As Olivia grumbled about the ringtone, Jill examined the caller ID.

"Why is Jenny Randall calling me?"

Both Kirby and Olivia shrugged, as Jenny wasn't someone they interacted with frequently.

"I don't know. I don't like Jenny Randall. She threw up on me at Tony Marshall's luau," Olivia interjected. Kirby rolled her eyes, and as Jill answered the phone, "That luau was freshman year!" Kirby turned to Olivia, who threw up her hands, “I didn't say my anger was rational!"

Both girls redirected their attention to Jill upon hearing her asking about the caller. Kirby returned her focus to the road, stealing glances at Jill's now irritated expression. "What does she want?" Jill ignored her friend's question, continuing to reprimand the mysterious caller. "Where’s Jenny?" Confusion deepened on the faces of Kirby and Olivia. Was Jenny Randall attempting to prank call Jill? Jill lowered the volume of the car's music. "Who is this?"

Kirby listened intently to the voice on the other end. It resonated deep and rough, like gravel on the highway. Certainly not Jenny Randall. Panic crept over Jill's face as she abruptly declared, “I’m hanging up.”

After a brief pause, Jill turned to her friends. "That was so weird. I just got a prank call from Jenny Randall." Olivia promptly interrupted with her own story, but Jill remained silent, appearing uninterested. "Jenny Randall is weird. Her and her little Marnie the Carny friend are freaks!" Glancing at Jill, who sat somewhat diminished in her seat and gazing out the window, Kirby sensed Jill might be anxious about her sister after such a peculiar call. Olivia continued to ramble on, it was very clearly not helping Jill. Kirby sighed before trying to reassure Jill.

"It's massacre week. People go looney, remember?"

it's so funny how my favorite ships are all menace x annoyed easily but then there is tamber where amber is an actual menace bc she stabbed tara a dozen times and tried to kill her and her friend group skdkd