v

23 / lesbian / @dreamersball on ao3

[dreamersbcll]

General Info

hello! i’m vic (they/them), and i write scream au’s. i’m also open to writing other pieces, just send me a message!

disclaimers: lots of stuff i write includes topics such as addiction, child abuse, religious trauma, self harm, mental illness, and canon-typical violence.

i do not write anything with incest/sexual assault/ rape/smut/kinks.

if you really want something of that nature, please private message me first.

love, dreamers

important stuff!

- AO3 profile

general tags

ao3 author

my writing tag

whumptober 2023 collection

scream

sam carpenter

tara carpenter

carpenter sisters

other writers tag

fuck christina carpenter club

hc tag

just talkin - i can’t shut up

au’s:

ink blots au- the letters tara wrote the five years sam was missing

sam’s heart au- codependent & murderous sisters

the core four! - fluff & fun

go with grace - one or both dies, whoops

a house in woodsboro- the home that grew them, the home that bruised them

i’ve got blood on my hands - one or both gets injured, but they live!

protect my heart - fluff & love between the sisters

tlou x scream - various tlou prompts, but the carpenter sisters

moonknight au- the eventual carpenter sisters x moonknight

letters never sent- the prequel to ink blots

scream x black widow - the carpenter sisters as yelena & natasha

scream x haunting of hill house - haunting of hill house x scream

[dreamersbcll]

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE

————————————————————————

hey guys,

after thinking about it for awhile, i’ve decided i’m going to stop posting on this account. due to a lot of personal stuff + my sobriety, i’m pulling back from posting.

i’ll still be active on ao3, and posting my stories and works there. as long as ao3 is alive, i’ll still keep posting.

it’s been a lot of fun interacting with y’all here. if you’d like to stay in touch or ask for some prompts, i’ll be here.

love, v

[dreamersbcll]

Rabbits

scream x the strangers

find it here

——————————————————————————

Frowning, Sam erased the line, displeased with its structure. It wasn’t as narrow or as razor-thin as she would like. She wanted it more profound, drawn with more purpose.

Purpose. That’s what her work was built on. It was about excellence with purpose— and the pursuit of perfection. Nothing less was accepted, but nothing more was desired.

She took her time, etching the details and smudging the lines. Behind her, she could sense Tara getting restless, her breathing growing more rapid, labored in a way. Her baby sister was always so impatient, always too eager. It wasn't a bad thing, not at all— but Sam was an artist. Her game was all about patience.

Their game was all about patience as well. After New York, and all the bloodbaths they escaped by the skin of their teeth, the sisters decided they needed something new. Something thrilling, something to keep them on their toes.

The Carpenter sisters were never too good at standing still. They were born to push forward and push the boundaries around them.

As her father used to say, Life is a movie. Only you can’t pick your genre.

Sam always had a taste for horror films, after all. As did Tara. Both sisters loved the excitement, the rush, the absolute adrenaline of it all. It was exciting not knowing what would happen next on screen— or whether or not everyone would make it out alright.

It was exciting, the unknown.

But once the sisters decided to make their versions, they knew it couldn’t be like that. Unknown, sloppy, let open to interpretation. No, it had to be meticulously planned, down to the last idea. Tara knew this well— as she wrote up the plans while Sam drew them.

Sticking her tongue out in concentration, Sam smudged another line, a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead. Perfect. It had to be perfect.

On cue, Tara spoke, her voice restrained but her tone equally whiny.

“Sam.”

Pausing her drawing, she put down her pen and turned to look at Tara. Sam arched an eyebrow of disapproval, staring at the girl behind her. Tara’s mask was trembling, the plastic quivering from her anxious lips. Tonight, Tara donned a new mask, a caricature of a woman’s face. It was a Pin-Up girl-styled mask, curled black hair, and gaudy pink eyeshadow to match. The red lips were pursed, and Sam could barely make out her sisters behind the plastic.

What she loved most about this mask, though, was the fact that their eyes had open slits in them. Surrounded by elaborate eyeshadow and long eyelashes, Sam could see her little sister's eyes quite clearly.

Big brown eyes stared back at Sam’s, flashing with a multitude of different emotions. Excitement, anxiety, and even fear flashed through Tara’s eyes. But none mattered as Sam could still see the only emotion genuinely needed for tonight.

Bloodlust.

Reaching over, Sam patted Tara’s mask, caressing the soft plastic. Even though Tara couldn’t feel the touch, she still leaned in, nearly sighing at the contact.

It took so much restraint for Sam not to engulf Tara in a hug. It was too much, almost. All she wanted was to devour her little sister and make her a part of Sam forever. She would do anything for her little girl. Anything.

Like putting together a hunt.

Turning back to her portrait, Sam hummed, smudging another line. But just as she started to get back into it, more whimpers began to distract her.

She looked over her portrait at her prey, three little rabbits, all ready to be taken apart. Glancing over them, she zeroed in on the one in the middle. He looked at her, his eyes full of hatred towards the girls. It was quite ridiculous, hating two people they couldn’t even see.

Sam’s mask was a simple burlap sack with two eyes crudely cut out. Unlike Tara, she wanted to look a little more menacing, a slightly more terrifying. The Unknown scared people in horror movies, and Sam would be that Unknown for her prey.

Rolling her eyes, she went back to her work. “I’m working,” she quietly warned.

Without hesitation, she received a response.

“Does a drawing help you humanize us?” spat out one of their prey. The biggest one, naturally.

They just didn’t know when to quit, did they? The game was set, the players were chosen— and it would all be over soon. Patience was the key.

Without looking up from her paper, Sam arched an eyebrow. Cocky. Always so cocky. It was amazing how much prey could say when they don’t know what they're talking about.

“Does a hunt with no violence feed anyone?” she retorted softly.

Immediately, the room erupted with questions, fear spilling over the brim.

“A hunt?”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Please don’t kill us,” whimpered the larger one.

Grinning behind her burlap mask, Sam cocked her head, a silent message to Tara. Her little sister never failed to understand Sam’s non-verbal request, that little genius.

Tara reached into Sam’s and nabbed the keys to their prey’s handcuffs, swiftly unlocking all three restraints. The handcuffs clattered to the hardwood floor, the noise echoing throughout the house. All three of their prey sat there, frozen, their hands still outstretched— as if they were still trapped.

Both sisters stepped back, picking up their weapons. Tara had chosen a long hunting knife, maybe a little less than a foot long. They had picked it up from their last hunt not too long ago, and it took perhaps a week to polish it new— as their previous hunt was a little too messy for Sam’s taste. Sam chose an ax, sharpened and gleaming in the fire's soft glow. It was a prize from their first hunt, the one in the abandoned building.

Sam was always a sucker for sentimentality.

Tara twirled the knife, the blade cutting through the stale with a whoosh. The ax rested on Sam’s shoulder, both girls waiting for their prey to make the first move. They could run, they could fight, or they could beg. Either way, the sisters would catch them.

They didn’t care for a sloppy ending, after all.

One of the prey, the meek woman who didn’t say anything the whole time, began to whimper. Her hands were still held out as if she was waiting to be cuffed again. Neither sister said anything, instead choosing to wait. They always found their words before the hunt began.

Finally, the woman found her words. Any longer and Tara would’ve ended their earlier, as her patience was wearing thin. Sam wouldn’t have stopped her even though this wasn’t how they did things. The whimpering woman was frankly getting on Sam’s nerves as well.

“Why are you doing this to us?” she cried, snot and tears running down her face.

Tara glanced at Sam, looking for permission to speak. Very slightly, Sam nodded. If it were anyone else, they would’ve missed the movement— but Tara wasn’t anyone else. Her baby sister knew Sam well, and she knew that it was time.

Staring down her prey, Tara took a few steps forward, resting the tip of the hunting knife against the woman’s jugular. The woman gulped, choking on her tears. The knife pressed into her soft skin, blood specks bubbling up underneath the cold metal.

Leaning forward, Tara spoke softly, very softly. If the room weren’t already dead silent, besides the crackling fire and the soft cries of their prey, nobody would’ve caught her words.

“Because you were home,” Tara said quietly, her tone unforgiving.

The words echoed across the room, their catch finally understanding what would happen. Tara stepped back to join Sam, both sisters watching as their prey twitched, their eyes rapidly surveying their surroundings. The sisters could see their eyes flitting to the windows, the doors, anything to escape.

Sam bit back a smile, slightly shaking her head. They always thought the escape would be the hardest part. How profoundly stupid they were. The escape, the chase, was the sisters' favorite part—nothing more refreshing than earning the kill instead of taking lives just because they can.

Besides, it was hard to escape a house with all its exits blocked and electricity and cellular reception cut off. It would also be damn near impossible to run without any clothing or idea where they were, too.

Stepping back, Sam held a hand out, gesturing to their prey that they were free to go.

“Go ahead,” she softly said, one hand out to freedom, the other gripping the ax.

“Run, rabbits,” Tara chimed in, her tone taunting the people before them.

Their three captures glanced at each other nervously, almost unsure. Sam wanted to laugh at their expense. Of course, they wouldn’t know how to escape, how to band together. There was no unity or perfection in their movements, unlike the sisters, not even close.

Sam turned and grasped the bucket of water next to the fireplace, tossing it onto the flames. Smoke and steam poured out of the fireplace, briefly enveloping the group.

Once the darkness engulfed them all, Sam slammed the ax into the floorboards, the movement damn near shaking the foundation of the house.

“Run.”

As their prey took off, scrambling to whatever room they deemed safe, Tara turned on her flashlight, both sisters admiring the drawing on the easel before them.

Three rabbits, all mutilated and torn apart, lay on the winter snow. Their blood colored the ground crimson, their guts strewn across the fresh snow; a christening.

Above the kill stood two hunters, watching over their prizes with pride in their eyes.

Tara gently took the drawing down, handing it to Sam. With one swift nod, Sam sent Tara to hunt while she pocketed her drawing.

Glancing out to the window to her left, Sam watched as the falling snow glistened in the night air. The color crimson would go so well with the glittering white ground.

Without a second thought, Sam disappeared into the house, grinning as she heard the first body fall to the floor.

It was time to hunt.

[dreamersbcll]

Silence

life can bring so much pain

(tara reeling with sam’s absence)

——————————————————————————

Tumultuous.

Tara was used to a tumultuous, ear-splitting, noisy lifestyle. Nothing was ever private or sacred in the Carpenter home. It was always a raucous household, one bathed in sound. From the way her mother burst in while drunk, to how Sam and her parents shouted—to the slamming of the door the day her father left, Tara’s ears always rang uncontrollably.

Sam loves to tell the story about Tara’s birth- and how her little sister was born in a fit of rage. Unlike Tara, Sam was delivered quietly, only crying a little once the Nurses showed her to her parents. They were concerned that Sam had pneumonia or poor lungs, but she was okay. Sam came into the world quiet, stoic, almost like she was plotting her escape.

On the flip side, Tara entered the world screaming, red-faced, and hollering. She was born two months premature, the size of a Coke bottle, with lungs that must have taken up half her body. Sam loves to recall that she had to plug her ears once Tara started screaming, squeezing her eyes shut because her sister was so goddamn loud.

Loved. Sam loved to tell that story. Her big sister left last night, slipping into the cover of the pitch-black night.

As quiet as Sam came into the world, she disappeared quite the same, leaving Tara to make up for the absence of noise that made her ears ring uncomfortably.

It was strange. Her big sister was a force of nature, the most assertive personality in the room. No man or woman could take Sam down, not even the girls’ parents. Unlike her little sister, Sam was the catalyst; the only person able to handle the thunder was Christina Carpenter.

There was nothing that could rival Sam, nothing at all. Tara was the quiet one, the mousy one at that. She locked doors silently and moved through the house like a ghost. Sam would slam doors, stomp down the stairs, and bang pots and pans— all to remind Tara that she was home and alive.

There was no comfort like a slammed door in the Carpenter house. It proved that they were still alive.

And when Sam left, she didn’t even slam the door. Her big sister disappeared, quietly locking the door behind her as she left.

Leaving Tara to make enough noise for the two of them to prove that someone was still alive in this spiritless home.

Once she had figured out that Sam had bolted, Tara called Amber the following day, both girls skipping school. Amber was excited to play hooky and splay out on Tara’s bed and watch horrible rom-coms.

Tara was looking for answers.

“I can’t believe she would do this. I cannot fucking believe it!” she swore, throwing one of Sam’s journals at the wall.

Useless. It was all useless. For as larger than life Sam was, she made no noise in her journals, no hints for Tara to follow.

Her big sister was now a ghost in Tara’s life.

Tara was never good at living in a graveyard.

Amber huffed from her position at Sam’s desk, her legs on the table, her arms tucked behind her head. “Was it really that big of a surprise?”

Throwing another journal to the wall, Tara swore. “Yeah, to me, it was!”

You’re lying, Tara.

She picked up another notebook, thumbing through the pages. Her fingers shook with rage, her bottom lip quivering in suit. “Sam wouldn’t have done this to me— to us! She knew better. She knew what happened to families when the parent leaves, disappears— she fucking knew!”

You know who she was. You’ve always known. Why are you lying to yourself?

“She was my parent. She knew better. Fuck, she knew better,” she swore, tossing the journal to the ground.

The journals and notebooks hit the wall with force but fell to the ground pathetically. The noise didn’t last long, like Tara’s anger.

How could she be mad at someone who wasn’t planning to stay long anyway?

Amber handed Tara another journal, unimpressed. “So why didn’t she do better? I mean, you’re torn up about it. Do you think she even cares what you think?”

Tara took the journal, faltering at her friend’s words. “I…”

You know better, Tara.

Instead of answering Amber, Tara turned around and looked down at her bed. She threw the blankets and pillows off her bed, tearing through the covers. She couldn’t answer that question because she knew the answer.

And she couldn’t handle the truth.

She yelled in frustration, throwing the journal at the wall. Both girls watched it bounce off the wall and tumble onto the floor, forgotten. Tara gripped her hair, tugging.

“And she took my fucking knit blanket! Unbelievable!” she swore, kicking the bed.

Amber sighed, her voice bored, indifferent almost. It was almost like her best friend didn’t care, didn’t give a shit that Tara was going through something monumental.

Just looking at Amber’s face enraged her, fueled by her undying desire to throw the bed at her head. She tried to take deep breaths in and out, forcing herself to stand down. Amber didn’t leave her; she was still here. It wasn’t fair for Tara to take this out on her.

Until Amber opened her stupid mouth again.

“Since when is lying and stealing from your loved ones a symptom of addiction? To me, it just seems like an excuse for shitty life choices,” the girl said, picking at her cuticles.

There it was—the catalyst.

Wordlessly, Tara turned away, reaching for her jacket. She slipped it on, beelining for the door.

Amber, ever the detective, stood up quickly, shoving her body between Tara and the door. Tara kept her eyes downturned, her breathing uneven.

Reaching out, Amber grasped Tara’s jaw, forcing the girl to look at her. “Wait, where are you going?”

Tara slapped Amber’s hand away, jutting her chin out. “To the twins,” she said simply.

The girl cocked her head. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes, pushing Amber out of the way. Opening the door, she turned to the confused girl, her teeth bared. “Shitty life choices?”

Understanding flooded Amber’s eyes, and the girl faltered, knowing she was caught. Sighing, Amber walked towards Tara, her hands up in surrender.

“Tara, I’m sorry. That was over the line,” she started, her voice somewhat apologetic.

Too bad Tara was on fire.

“You don’t even see the fucking line, Amber!”

Tara closed her eyes, breathing out. She had to be careful. She couldn’t handle another person leaving.

“You know, I missed her so much. So fucking much. All those years, she became someone I didn’t recognize anymore- and now she’s gone. But I know the truth.”

“I miss her now that she’s gone, but I missed her when she was still here. She hasn’t been mine in a long time. I don’t know why I keep fooling myself of that,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Amber sighed, reaching out for Tara’s hand. Tara resisted at first, but the girl still held on a little too tightly for Tara’s taste. But the hurt felt good. It stifled the quietness that surrounded her now.

“It wasn’t real, Tara. If it were, she wouldn’t have left. It’s that simple,” the girl soothed, rubbing her thumb across the back of Tara’s hand.

Breathing heavily, Tara watched the girl’s hand, trying to remember how it felt to be alive. “Amber. If it wasn’t real, then why does it hurt so fucking much?” she whispered.

“She let you lean on her when you needed it. In return, you kept her alive when she actively tried to fall apart. You were a crutch. Nothing more,” Amber urged, her voice unforgiving.

Unforgiving as the silent house was— as if everything that happened, their past, their history, was nothing.

Maybe Amber was right.

Maybe Sam was never there.

[lionydoorin]

i hope everyone who cares more about a fucking film than lives of actual people rot in hell

[lionydoorin]

"this is neve's moment" "it has sidney, ofc i'm gonna stream"

y'all were crying and yapping and posting #justiceformelissa until a day ago. yeah melissa you know the one who was fired and wrongfully accused of being antisemitic because she supported palestine? fired by spyglass, you know, the same one who's still producing this new movie that neve accepted to be a part of?

[dreamersbcll]

it is telling which of y’all were supportive of #justiceformelissa just because you weren’t getting a scream 7….

well now you are! white mediocrity is always celebrated and accepted! fuck spyglass & this shitty excuse of a ‘new scream film’.

[dreamersbcll]

a new collection of bloodier/spookier pieces of the carpenter sisters. vampires, zombies, serial killer sisters, oh my!

feel free to make suggestions as we go :-)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dreamersbcll]

Love Drought

spent my life in the dark for the sake of you & me

(notice me. i’m here. notice me)

——————————————————————————

Caring too much was taboo.

There was something too viscerally repulsive about having passion in the Carpenter household. Love was a child’s game. It was only valuable when you were a kid and wanted something from people who could give it to you. Love was just a currency now, something that only worked if someone could make something from it.

But no matter that her love was useless now, Tara still held onto it. Her heart was wilting, the love she took in drying up. The well that lived in her heart, the one that was nurtured and fed by her big sister was at the end of its journey. It was drying up quickly.

The worst part was that Tara couldn’t do anything about it. She had so much love to give to people who couldn’t give it back. She gave out more than she could replace, and now she was bleeding out slowly.

Maybe it was her fault. Perhaps she loved too deeply, giving all of her heart away to people who couldn’t handle it. But Sam used to take all her love and give it back to her little sister tenfold— like Tara was worthy of it.

That was four years ago. Everything had changed overnight, and Tara had no clue why. One moment, she received kisses all over her face; the next, she begged Sam to look at her.

Sam said she couldn’t handle this anymore and that “Tara needed to grow up.” Tara was grown now, and she wasn’t a little baby. Love was for children. Sam knew that, why couldn’t Tara? Sam told Tara she “had no more love to give any more”.

And maybe she was right.

Yet, ten times out of nine, Tara knew Sam was lying. But nine times out of ten, she knew her big sister was trying. So she tried to be fair while Sam tried to be there and to care.

But her big sister was caught up in her tumultuous emotions, so everything that Tara did or said went unnoticed. All the words and ideas and memories that Tara had hung up in the air, her big sister so unaware of Tara’s aching heart.

There was something so destructively beautiful about Sam being her lifeline and the person trying to kill her. Not literally, though. Tara may only be twelve, but she knows her big sister wouldn’t lay a hand on her— even on the copious amounts of substances she was taking. Even then, Tara might take a brutal death if it meant that Sam was aware of her broken heart.

Tara knows that nine times out of ten, she was just stuck in her feelings. Her sadness seeped out of her, coating everything she touched, turning everything permanently blue. It wasn’t fair that everyone she knew left eventually, and she was already preparing for Sam’s departure. It was only inevitable for her big sister to up and go— everyone else in their life had paved the road for her.

However, ten times out of nine, Tara was only human. She had no idea what she did wrong or what she did to deserve this isolation. She was twelve years old, barely old enough to cause destruction with her own hands. There was not a mean bone in her body that could treat her big sister the way she treated Tara.

Everything in Tara was committed and focused, even devoted to her big sister. The sun rose in Sam’s eyes, the moon rising in her smile. Tara lived and died for every conversation, no matter how sparse they were.

Gone were the days of the big sister who helped her get dressed every morning.

“Here, let me put your coat on, honey. One arm out, ready?”

There would never be another night of falling asleep in her big sister’s arms after a story.

“Goodnight, my love. I’ll see you in the morning. Remember you have a show-and-tell tomorrow, yeah?”

And she was sure Sam would never allow herself to be seen in public with Tara, much less hold her hand.

“Hey, I got us. This movie is a piece of cake. Just hold my hand, yeah?”

But what had she done to deserve any of this? She loved too loudly and too visceral; she knows that. Everyone in her life has half-moon crescent marks imprinted in their skins, physical memories of Tara's grip on their life. All she did was beg for people to stay, to love her. Nobody listened.

She wasn’t sure why she believed that Sam would.

Sam was seventeen now and off in her own world. She hadn’t been Tara’s for four years, and she hadn’t been sober in three. Tara had tried to dump out the pills, the handles of liquor. She hid Sam’s wallet and even threw her big sister’s phone in water; anything to disarm the suicidal killer within her sister.

What could be better than being with Tara?

Anything else.

Too many days had Tara spent staring at her big sister, watching her every move. Tara took notes in her head, jotting down everything her big sister did and didn’t do. She figured that if she tried to meet her sister in her make-pretend world, maybe the words would turn sweet again like they were at the beginning.

She begged silently, pleaded, and even screamed for Sam’s attention.

I love you.

Why don’t you notice me?

Why can’t you hear me?

I’m right here. See me.

It didn’t matter how loud she screamed or how hard she dug her nails into her skin. Sam never noticed, and if she did, she didn’t say anything. The blood oozed down her wrists, and the only thing open in her life anymore were the wounds on her skin.

Sometimes, she was lucky and had a little interaction with her big sister. But that was only on Fridays, the nights Sam spent at the trap house off Bell Street.

Tara would find herself wandering the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Rummaging through the empty fridge, she almost jumped out of her skin once she heard the silent laugh of her sister.

As nonchalantly as she could, Tara glanced over, not making eye contact with her big sister. She couldn’t spook the stray animal that lived in her home. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam sitting on the counter, her nose in her phone, a dopey smile on her face. Tara’s heart grew two sizes before it deflated quickly, knowing it wouldn’t last.

Instead of initiating conversation or fighting to be noticed, Tara closed the fridge and slowly walked out of the room.

But Sam had other ideas.

“I’m going out. There’s a frozen pizza in the freezer. You know how to make it?” she called, kicking her feet slightly.

Tara froze like a deer in headlights. Her heart raced, her hands shook. It was like a shot of espresso and running a marathon, all rolled into one. Sam was talking to her, not at her. This was it. This was the moment Tara would profess her love in hopes that she would get something back.

But to be open was to be weak and to ask to be hit.

So, instead, she resisted the urge to be open, swallowing her pride. “425° for eleven minutes,” she said slowly, her voice wobbling.

Sam nodded, humming. “Good. If mom comes in, go upstairs.”

You remember. You know mom is the devil. Please don’t leave me here. Tell me you love me. Please. Tell me you won’t go and leave me here alone with her. Please, Sam. Just tell me.

Tara bites down on her tongue hard. She couldn’t get herself to believe that anything would be different if she held out the same wilted olive branch again. “Okay.”

Sam clucked her tongue in response, barely looking up from her phone. If she heard Tara’s heartbreaking on the linoleum floor, she didn’t say anything. Her big sister just kept typing away on the screen, her dilated eyes glazed over like she wasn’t there in the first place.

Before Tara could snap out of her trance of want, Sam had already moved on.

“Good. Adios,” she replied, hopping off the counter and heading out the back door.

Tara watched as her big sister wobbled through the backyard, her steps shaky, her face tilted to the sky. She wasn’t sure how Sam could face life head-on like that when she left her whole world at home each night. It was as if Tara didn’t have any use anymore, unable to provide Sam the relief and love that substances gave her.

So, like every night she was left alone, Tara felt her love dry up, the bucket scraping the bottom of the well.

But she still gave out what she could muster, hoping that one day, Sam might end this love drought.

“I love you too, Sam. So much. I’ll leave the back door unlocked like I always do.”

[dreamersbcll]

Desperado

you better find somebody to love you, before it’s too late.

——————————————————————————

Some kids wished on shooting stars for their wishes to come true. Tara used to wish on passing cars instead.

As a child, she usually didn’t take chances. Tara was careful, always watching from the sidelines. It was easier to watch life pass by without jumping in and being carried by the current. She was okay with it, as Sam always took her hand and dragged her headfirst- fearless - through their lives together. No matter what, no matter where, Sam always made sure Tara was included and thought of.

Once her big sister left, Tara stopped watching. She jumped straight into whatever was in front of her, headfirst, unwavering. There was no reason to be careful, be skeptical, or even to wonder. She didn’t have a reason to believe in anything anymore. Tara believed that Sam loved her, but now she just believed she was crazy.

Most nights, when she couldn’t sleep in that bare-boned home anymore, she found herself watching the traffic flow through the town. Woodsboro wasn’t a big town, but it wasn’t tiny either.

A town big enough for the two of them, Sam said.

Or used to.

Her midnight adventures started the night after Sam left. Tara found herself wandering out of her house, the May evening air nipping at her heels, propelling her down the street. She moved past the cinema, the police station, and the Mom & Pop shops and headed towards the highway. It was maybe a thirty-minute walk, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t feel anything.

Sam had driven out of this town and took Tara's heart with her.

She eventually settled on the patch near the exit and watched the cars pass. Red tail lights flashed in the darkness, and various cars and trucks drove away from Tara as Sam did.

At first, she was furious with each cat that left and passed the THANKS FOR VISITING WOODSBORO sign. How could they? What could they possibly be leaving this town for? Who or what was out there to make them want to go?

Deep down, past all her anger and resentment for the departing cars, she realized what it was. It was yearning, a desire to be chosen. The habitual instinct that all humans are born with is not to be alone. She saw each car leaving the town she called home as a traitor because what could be better than living with her?

She had no answer. If she did, maybe she would have understood why Sam left. But she would never get the chance.

So, instead of screaming at the sky and the automobiles- both cold and unforgiving in their own right- she decided to play pretend. She had nothing but time anymore. She would wander every night to the exit and watch every car pass by, hoping, wishing, that one of them would stop and take her with them.

Those taillights turned into eyes, eyes that stared Tara down as they sped away from her—taunting her. They were red eyes in the dark, taking hope with them wherever they went. And Tara could never follow.

Eventually, her obsession with staying up all night and chasing cars caught up with her. She couldn’t stay awake during the day and found herself falling asleep in class. Sometimes, she wouldn’t even return to her home before dawn, falling asleep on her front lawn or the bench in the park. The twins caught on early, and once Chad could drive, he would circle the block until he found the sleeping girl. Amber and Mindy did the same until it became too much.

She was seventeen when Amber finally snapped. It was Tara’s fault, anyway. She fell asleep in the ditch, curling into the dry weeds and dewy grass. Because of her deep slumber, she didn’t attend school the next day, sending her friend group into a frenzied panic. She doesn’t remember falling asleep until Deputy Hicks shakes her awake.

Blinking, Tara sat up, rubbing her eyes. Behind the concerned officer were her friends, all in various states of concern. She remembers Chad’s red face, the face he caught before he cried, his eyebrows knit together in a troubled frown. Mindy was beside him, her arms crossed tightly, her lips in a tight, stressed line. Wes was crying, his nose cherry red, his cheeks slick and shining with tears. Liv just looks relieved, her face white as a sheet of paper.

And then there was Amber. Once Tara saw her best friend, she couldn’t take her eyes off her. As all her friends started to help her up, dust her off, and hug her, Tara didn’t blink.

“I’m glad you’re okay, but we can’t do this anymore. You need to get it together,” Mindy whispered sternly, hugging Tara tightly.

“Jesus, Tara. I thought- you know, that- God. I’m glad you’re okay,” Chad mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“God. Don’t do that again, okay?” Wes cried, hugging her so tight she thought her ribs would break.

But none of their words registered in her mind. All she could see was Amber, the girl staring her down, her eyes glowering in silent rage. She knew that look well. It was Amber's expression upon learning Sam left or the night Christina punched Tara. It was the look of egregious hostility, the simmering intensity of someone about to tear her apart.

Sam used to have that look. Her big sister saved it for their parents, the bullies at school, or the eyes of the townspeople. But she never directed it at Tara.

Yet Amber wasn’t Sam, which was why Tara was so afraid of her now.

Once all her friends left, Amber stayed, as she volunteered to take Tara home. The two stood there, watching each other, waiting for the other to start. As always, Amber took the lead.

The girl shoved Tara down, watching as she fell into the weedy grass. There, she kneeled down, getting close to Tara’s face, whispering, her voice penetrating all the paper-thin walls Tara had up.

“Listen, you better come to your senses. You’re not the only one with pain and hunger. People love you—people here who stayed. You don’t get to wander the world looking for someone to love you as if your waking life is a prison. Get it together,” she hissed, shaking Tara by the shoulders.

Amber stood up, her face full of disgust.

“You don’t get to just smash up all our lives because you’re trying a new treatment to forget your big sister leaving you, Tara.”

The girl turned around and walked to her car, not waiting for Tara to follow. She didn’t have to wait, as she knew her words would be the thing to shake Tara awake.

From then on, Tara stopped taking chances. She stopped getting up at night and stopped chasing cars. It didn’t matter whether or not she walked alone. All she had was isolation. All she would be is alone.

It was time she came to her senses anyway.

[dreamersbcll]

decided to try something a little new. lawyer sam x defendant tara, anyone?

how to get away with murder x scream

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dreamersbcll]

Wounded

it doesn’t matter where, i just don’t wanna be alone

——————————————————————————

Sam was twenty-four years old when she decided to stop sitting at the edge of bridges.

There wasn’t a clear explanation, which was the most frustrating part. She had this, this thing that lived within her, a virus of some sort. No, maybe a tumor. It lived beneath her ribs, tucked next to her heart, eating away at it. No matter how much she tried to clean herself out from the outside in, it stayed. It lingered, swallowing every drop of peace she could ever have.

She could feel it there in the middle of the night, thrumming against her ribs, a second heartbeat that overtook the first all too quickly. It was starving, desiring the flesh that encased and held it in place. All it wanted was to be free, be alive, to live.

But Sam couldn’t allow it to grow, so she did what she could to kill it alone. Cheap vodka and weed worked at first, numbing the sting.

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t ever enough to stop the pain, stop the bleeding. No matter how much she tried to clean out the body she sinned so profoundly with, the pain was always lingering.

Fuck, there was so much pain, and she just couldn’t stop noticing it.

So she tried to drown it out. She had to; it was the only way she would be able to fucking breathe.

Most nights, if not all, she found herself on the bridges around Woodsboro, staring at the streams and rivers that gurgled through the town.

She should’ve gone to New York with Tara. She shouldn’t have stayed back, in this godforsaken town.

All she did was punish herself, anyway. Why couldn’t she do that with her reconciled sister at her side?

It was too painful to be open, raw, exposed. It was far too much to inflict more pain because she couldn’t handle her own— especially on the person she had just got back.

But Sam was selfish. She couldn’t help but share the pain that lived within her.

Most nights, if not all, Sam would stand on the edge of the bridges and imagine what it would be like to jump off and become one with the water. What peace it must be to be able to disappear forever. No bills, expectations, serial killer fathers, or cruel intentions to bother her anymore.

Freedom. Complete and honest freedom.

Yet, before she could jump, she always made a phone call, just in case. Most of her friends didn’t answer- knowing that Sam was a headcase and bound to slip up anyway. It was easier to pretend that Sam was okay if it meant they could still live their lives.

But she tried anyway.

Just with someone she couldn’t afford to lose.

It took Tara three rings to answer, three long, lonely rings. Sam knew her little sister saw her name and sighed, knowing it was never a good call. Sam never called with good news.

Only with reminders of how fucked-up she was.

Once she heard Tara say hello, she burst into conversation.

“There isn’t, ah, there isn’t anyone left to call. I’ve burnt a lot of, um, bridges, I guess,” she said, wincing at her poor choice of words.

Tara sat on the other side, silent. Sam could feel her face flush uncomfortably, her throat starting to ache as well. Shit. She was too open, wasn’t she? Scaring away everyone who ever loved her, cared about her. It was better to be silent. It was easier to be quiet.

Why couldn’t she just choose the easy route and just jump already?

“Why should I stay?”

Sam paused her train of suicidal thoughts, her heart squeezing uncomfortably. Her little sister, always asking the questions Sam preferred to avoid— because deep down, she knew the answer.

There was no reason for Tara to stay.

But she tried anyway.

“I think, I think this pain has a purpose. That maybe, in a fucked up way, it’s worth it, you know? If I hurt myself just enough, it’ll all make sense. Fuck, I’ll make sense, yeah?”

“Sam,” Tara softly chided, her voice laced with impatience—a warning.

“Just wait, okay? I take chances. I hold the gun to my head and never pull the trigger, but I never turn the safety on. It just feels good knowing I am in control, even if I never really was. Ever. It hurts to feel good and feel in control. But lately,” Sam paused, taking a deep breath.

“Lately, since we started talking again, it hurts less. I don’t know why. It just slows down, and I realize I can’t keep standing on the edge, hoping a gust of wind will relieve me of the damage I've caused. In some sick way, hearing from you helps me figure it out. It helps it hurt less.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam breathed out, shaking. This was nowhere near quick, easy, or fair. But she had to expel all the words within her mind and make them come to fruition. Tara needed to hear them, and Sam needed to let them go.

Sam knows she should let Tara go, or herself, at the very least. She should free Tara of her dirt poor health and allow her sister to thrive without knowing what a royal fuck-up her big sister is. It was better when nobody was worried about Sam.

It was better when she was balancing on bridges in the midnight glow, her impending death a blissful experience.

Swallowing hard, Sam winced, knowing the more she talked, the more the feeling of regret taints her mouth.

She also knows that Tara is everything she wants, even if it’s so goddamn wrong; but Sam was everything Tara regretted.

But she couldn’t stop the pain that forced her to keep talking.

“I should've never let myself leave. I should’ve stayed in this town, should’ve stayed with you. And I know this isn’t fair, and this is a bad idea— and I know I’m only making it worse. But you make it hurt less. You make me hurt less.”

Silence.

She cupped her mouth by the receiver, her following few words barely above a whisper. She didn’t need the world around her to hear her beg. It was a fruitless plea they knew all too well. “Just don’t go. Stay. Please, stay.”

Swallowing hard, Sam looked up at the midnight sky, the starless night staring back at her. “I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she whispered, her words stilled in the night air.

A beat passed. Then two. Until all Sam could hear was the crickets in the grass and the rushing water beneath her feet—all cruel reminders of the person who didn’t die at eighteen like she was supposed to.

It hurt less when Tara was on the other line, but now, Sam wasn’t sure anymore. Everything was the same, identical, unwavering. Her reality wasn’t hers but one owned by everyone who wanted to buy in.

She must have been fun to watch as she lost her mind. Who wouldn’t want to see a fuck-up kiss the shadow of death each night? It must be a real circus show, watching the mirrorball spin and morph into whatever anyone wanted to see.

Sticking out her foot, Sam wobbled a bit, testing out her balance. Two steps, and she could be free, tossed in literal waves, letting her body be thrown against the wet rocks and become one with the river. Blood may be thicker than water, but it all looked the same through a rushing stream.

Until she heard it.

“I wish you didn’t go. I wish you had come with me,” Tara softly said, sniffling a bit.

Tears. She hadn’t heard that crying voice in a while. Naturally, Sam had to cause them to listen to them again— a malicious attempt to get what she wanted.

She hated that she succeeded, but she was so goddamn relieved that Tara was talking. Maybe this would work. Perhaps she would live through the night.

“You know, it’s never too late. To come here. We could share a room. Like when we were young. We could make it that easy, we could make it hurt less together, yeah?”

Despite herself, Sam smiled, her teeth bared to the starless sky. All she really wanted was somebody to want her, someone who wouldn’t disappoint her and would stay when Sam was determined to end her life there and then.

It was almost too much, knowing that someone was there. Maybe her pain was all for nothing; it was just futile acts of superficial self-sacrifice. Perhaps she was just a bitch, always crying wolf for the attention she was receiving anyways.

Why was she so goddamn selfish?

Sam squinted at the sky, blaming her tears away. It hurt less, but goddamn, it still hurt. “Why do you want me to stay? All I’ve done is found ways, creative, sick ways, to hurt you. Hurt us.”

“Hurt Yourself. You hurt yourself more than you could ever hurt me, Sam. It’s hard to know that no matter how much pain I feel, you’ll always feel one hundred times worse. And that reminds me how human you are and how you’re still my big sister. And I still love my big sister,” Tara gently said, her voice wobbling.

Tears. Tara was crying. So was Sam. Was it raining in New York, too?

“Why do you still do it? It’s rotten work, you know. I’m always going to be two steps from death, even on my good days. I’m nothing but a ticking time bomb,” Sam said, her tone husky with tears.

Her little sister hummed, sniffling a bit. “It was never rotten work. It would never be rotten work. Not if it’s you, not if it’s us.”

Sam cleared her throat, her chest aching with tears she said wouldn’t let fall. All she could say was one word, afraid that if she tried for a novel, she would fall short. “Yeah?”

Without hesitation, Tara was there.

“Yeah. Get off that bridge, Sam. Don’t burn it down. Come home. Come to New York. Come to me,” Tara urged, her raw voice softened with love.

Above her, the starless night sky was unforgiving, cold, and lonely, but it wasn’t completely alone. If she looked hard enough, she could see the moon hidden behind a few clouds. It was as if the moon was waiting to be seen, to be acknowledged.

How could Sam ever deny the beauty she neglected?

“Sam?” Tara said, her voice tinged with concern.

Tilting her head, Sam took in the moon, watching as it began peering from behind the clouds. It didn’t look like it would come out ultimately, but just enough to be seen, to be heard.

To be noticed enough to make the loneliness hurt less.

“I’ll come home.”

Taking a deep breath out, Sam stepped off the lip of the bridge, away from the edge.

Away from her cruel intentions.

[dreamersbcll]

Thirst

be not afraid

(scream x midnight mass)

——————————————————————————

They weren’t supposed to see. It was supposed to happen quickly, in the dead of night. Tara was supposed to have it all wrapped up within fifteen minutes, maybe ten, tops. They weren’t supposed to find out like this.

It was unfortunate that this time, there was so much blood. Truthfully, it made the situation appear worse than it was. The sisters were better than this typically; this—this was just a messy accident.

That’s what Tara had to convince them anyway.

Mindy took another shuddering breath, her face turning a sickly green color. Behind her was a white-faced Chad, his fingers clutching his stomach. Both siblings looked absolutely horrified.

Not for long. Tara was once afraid, too. But she remembers well what Sam had whispered the night she found out what was going on.

Be not afraid, Tara. I’m still here. I’m still me. Be not afraid.

Finally collecting herself, Mindy raised a shaky finger, pointing at the body on the floor. Tara could feel her hackles raising a bit at the gesture— as she could feel it was an accusatory expression. Almost as if Sam and Tara were in the wrong.

Darting forward, Tara laid her hands on Mindy’s, gently squeezing them. The girl flinched at the touch, her mouth agape, her eyes wide in disbelief. Ignoring the expression on the girl’s face, Tara pushed forward.

“Be not afraid, Mindy. All is well. We are all okay. In fact, we’re all alive. Do you know why we are alive?” she gently whispered, brushing a lock of hair behind Mindy’s ear.

Mindy pulled back a bit, her lips forming into a snarl. “Chad and I are here by accident. We are not getting wrapped up into whatever little freakshow you have going on here!” she shrilly yelped.

Tara fought the urge to roll her eyes. Pathetic. The twins were always so meek and pathetic. They could never understand the sacrifices and the blood the sisters gave to make this all happen— to save them. All their hard work was squandered away just because two nonbelievers couldn’t see past their rose-tinted glasses.

Be not afraid.

Holding more firmly to Mindy’s hands, Tara gently pressed her nails into the girl’s skin, relishing how she flinched at the pain. Good. They all must be ready for when it was their turn to give.

“Mindy. Do you understand the miracle that you are witnessing today? Do you not see with your own eyes what has happened here today?”

“Sam killed that guy. He’s dead,” Chad whispered, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Tara turned back to the miracle behind her. True, the man was dead, no longer living, no longer breathing their air. But why did it matter so much? The man wasn’t a loved person or a cherished one at that. Sam was opportunistic, but she wasn’t cruel. It was better to pick those who wouldn’t be missed— nobody would look for them anyway.

The man lay dead on the ground, dried blood staining the floorboards beneath him. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and arms out— as if he was welcoming the sisters.

They welcomed him indeed.

Her eyes slowly followed the trail of blood to the body in the corner, her mouth betraying her. She just couldn’t help but smile at the woman before her. In the corner, huddled up, was her big sister. How could Tara ever forget what Sam looked like?

Even with the streaks of dried blood running down her chin or the sweaty hair that clung to her forehead— and the eyes, oh, the eyes. Those eyes that Tara had looked for all her life, deep brown and warm, now tinted with a disc of silver in them. Even now, as they looked upon Tara with fright, Tara knew those eyes. Those were Sam’s eyes.

Who was she to betray them?

“So the killing bothers you now?” Tara said quietly, turning back to the twins before her.

Both Mindy and Chad looked at Tara as if she had gone mad.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Mindy whispered, her voice cracking with… fear.

Why were they still afraid?

Tara stepped forward, noticing how both people flinched and leaned their bodies back. She fought the urge to sigh. Changing the minds of the nonbelievers would be trickier than she anticipated.

But Sam was counting on her, and Tara would never let her big sister down.

Breathing out, Tara found her balance. Sammy needed her. Her big sister needed her.

She bent down, falling to her knees. She could feel three pairs of eyes on her, following her every move. All she cared about was the pair she was drifting to.

Sam lay up against a wall, her eyes dark, her mouth and throat coated in crimson blood. The dingy lighting illuminated her big sister’s face, lighting her sister from within.

Sam had never looked better.

Slowly, deliberately, and without any particular reason, Tara got down on her hands and knees and started to crawl toward her big sister.

Her palms scraped against the unforgiving floorboards, splinters intermixing with the trails of blood already seeped into the wood. The blood she stepped in was still warm, the viscous liquid sticking to her skin, coating her. She kept her eyes on Sam, letting her big sister watch her crawl towards her.

I am all yours. Consume me.

Tara sidled up to Sam, resting her blood-stained hands on her pants. Sam watched her every movement, eyes zeroing in on the handprints Tara left behind. The two stayed there for a moment, existing just for each other— as if there were no other beings in the room.

Quietly, almost noiselessly, Tara spoke, keeping her voice just above a whisper. She didn’t want to scare Sam away, not like this, never like this.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here. I love you, Sammy. I love you so fucking much,” she gently muttered, her hands twitching against her jeans.

God, she just wanted to envelop her big sister in a hug, hold her, and never let her go. She was so proud of Sam, so fucking proud. This is who her big sister was meant to be. Ruthless, protective, and loyal. All the things that made Sam who she was.

And Sam was here now.

“Tara,” Chad whispered from behind her, his voice laced with worry.

Tara ignored the question and rested her hand on Sam’s shoulder. Her big sister didn’t flinch, but her eyes widened like saucers. The blood on Tara’s hands seeped onto Sam’s shirt, and her big sister twitched beneath her touch. Good. Sam was alive.

She squeezed Sam’s shoulder, letting her big sister feel her prescience. “We can do this. We can fucking do this.”

“Tara.”

“It’s you and I. I’m not afraid. Do you hear me? I’m not afraid,” she said forcefully, shaking Sam slightly.

Her big sister tilted her head, her eyes glowing in the dim room. Tara shuffled closer, almost sitting on Sam’s lap, and held onto her big sister’s face with her bloody palms. Sam blinked at the touch but leaned in, letting her forehead touch Tara’s. The two breathed in the metallic scent of blood, tasting the copper that intertwined them forever.

Sam had never looked so good.

“TARA!”

Pausing, Tara gripped her sister’s face in her hand, smearing blood off the chin she loved so dearly. Sam didn’t take her eyes off of her, not even through the yelling or the suffocating room.

Tara nodded once, staring intensely into Sam’s eyes.

And Sam nodded back, opening her mouth to smile wide.

Both girls shivered at the sight of the glint of the white, sharp canines that poked out of Sam’s mouth.

Be not afraid.

Tara stood up, staring down at the blood on her hands. Sam watched her every move, almost goading Tara to do what she was thinking.

Taste it.

Who was Tara to deny Sam that pleasure?

Without breaking eye contact, Tara held her hand up to her mouth, licking the blood from her wrist all the way up to her fingertips. The warm blood coated her tongue, stained her teeth, and seeped into her gums. It was a strange feeling, the copper taste of someone else’s blood now in her body.

But it was the most divine thing Tara had ever tasted.

Once she finished with one hand, she moved to the other, the glint of Sam’s teeth flashing in the air.

As she started to taste the blood on her arms, Mindy reached forward and grabbed Tara by the shoulder, forcing her to turn around.

“Are you fucking insane?” Mindy yelled, her ironclad grip on Tara’s shoulder aching.

The girl shoved Tara forward, forcing her to look at the dead body on the floor. “That person is DEAD!”

Behind them, Sam growled, a warning shot. Tara held a hand up, forcing Sam to stand down. She could handle this; she could protect them.

Shaking Mindy’s grip off her, Tara bared her teeth, the blood dripping off her canines, pooling in her mouth. The twins stepped back, stunned, almost disgusted at the sight— as if Tara was the dirty one in this situation.

She would show them.

“Let’s not pick and choose the endless deaths that she saved our lives from to tarnish!” she shouted, pointing at the dead body on the floor. “Sam saved us tonight; that man was nothing! He was a selfish, cruel, and evil man! She saved us!”

“Saved us from what, Tara? A drunk fool walking around town?” Chad sneered, crossing his arms in defiance.

Tara bristled, her hands balling into fists at her side.

“Do not question the word of God!” she yelled, her voice thundering through the room.

The twins stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. Chad just looked disgusted and afraid, while Mindy found her voice first.

“God? You mean Sam?” the girl said incredulously, her voice going up an octave.

She was afraid.

Tilting her head, Tara crossed her arms, smiling sweetly. “You know what I meant.”

Clearing her throat, Tara walked towards the dead body, looking down at it. Without warning, she stepped on his face, smiling as she felt his nose crunch beneath her foot. The twins flinched at the action, their bodies pressing against the door.

Reaching down, she wiped some of the blood off of her boot and tasted it. It wasn’t quite as warm anymore, but it would do.

As she played with the blood on her fingers, she spoke carefully. A warning shot— a test of some sort, to see if her former friends were worthy of giving them their love.

“She’s protected us before, she’s protected us then, and now here she is, doing what is made to do. How dare you insult her like that?” Tara paused, staring down at the twins.

She stepped forward, noticing how Chad gripped the doorknob and how Mindy’s hands went to her pocket— no doubt to grab the pocketknife she kept handy there. It was almost laughable, their attempts to avoid their fate; as if Tara hadn’t already padlocked the door and blocked off all their exits. The twins shouldn’t be here tonight; they shouldn’t have barged in. What happened next was only fate itself.

Besides, the Carpenter sisters were not known for their mercy, and the twins, of all people, should know that well. It was a pity they would know their wrath tonight— what a waste of a friendship.

Be not afraid.

“Sam protects you, me,” Tara murmured, turning to look down at her big sister.

There was some glint in Sam’s eye, a hint of some sort. Tara realized it was a challenge, a challenge to show Sam what she was made of.

Who was Tara to deny her big sister of that?

Tara grinned, turning back to the twins. “And we don't have to be afraid ever again.”

And there Tara lunged, her white canines flashing in the dark, her silver ringed eyes the last thing both twins saw before they hit the floorboards.

[silvercistern-deactivated202307]

i’m going to say something that might make me seem ungrateful, but i think it’s true of many fic writers:

we want you to leave comments ON ao3.

we’re not angry or disappointed or anything like that when you leave qrts or lots of tags on our fic posts, not at all. we don’t NOT want you to message us to tell us how a fic touched you. but in addition to that, please consider just copying those words and posting them on ao3 as a comment.

why?

the reason is simple: leaving commentary in other places is ephemeral. story posts get pushed down. chats get pushed down in the list of chats, or worse, pushed up in lists of messages as the conversation continues. but comments on ao3 are easily accessible. and this is important because writers read and reread these comments regularly.

writing, especially writing longfics, is exhausting and drains your confidence over time. having a collection of people who enjoyed your past work at your fingertips is an excellent way to build yourself up when you’re feeling down. fic writers need this a lot.

i know over the past few years there’s this trend to be very descriptive with what is an “acceptable” comment. that’s all nonsense, as long as you’re not being an asshole, just say what’s on your heart.

but post it on ao3. please.

[eemamminy-art]

Also something I see a lot: people gushing to their friends in discord about a fic but not commenting on it to the author themselves. It's reassuring to find out secondhand that people gushed about your creation, but it's so much better when someone tells you directly! Reaching out directly on AO3 also helps to curb any lingering doubt of like... Is this something they'd only admit to in private but don't want their name connected to mine on AO3? Since there's a lot of weirdness around who someone associates with in fandom these days

[dsudis]

I will say also that some of my FAVORITE comments I have EVER gotten were copy-and-paste Discord conversations, like that is PURE! JOY!!! If you ever find yourself gushing about a fic in a server and everyone else in the conversation is cool with it, PLEASE copy and past that into an AO3 comment, you will make an author's YEAR.

[bomberqueen17]

oh i've never had anyone copy-paste a discord chat but that sounds really lovely!! what a great thing to read!

[dreamersbcll]

Omg i was watching scrram 5 and i just had an idea for a prompt.

So what if in that hospital scene when judy tells sam that "when the sun comes up, she should leave", sam actually does that? Because she thinks she's only causing tara more trouble but tara stops her.

“Leave”

she said “love me” so i loved her, she said “leave me” so i left

——————————————————————————-

“Like we’ve been so far?”

Sam knew the moment the words tumbled out of her mouth she made a mistake. But she couldn’t help it. How could she? She had just been attacked in the hospital where her injured sister lay after being stabbed by the same asshole in the mask. It was a ridiculous notion that one fucking cop would keep them sake.

Hell, give Sam a gun. She could lock this down.

But Officer Judy, well, Hicks now, didn’t love that answer.

Smiling tight-lipped, Officer Hicks spoke firmly. “Samantha, let’s step outside.”

Fuck.

As she stepped outside, Sam gave herself an internal pep talk. She wasn’t going to back down from the shitty cop that arrested her too many times. Sam wasn’t afraid of Deputy Hicks- she was just a cop. Sam was older now and clean. She knew better, and she wasn’t going to stand down.

Sam straightened up, glaring at the woman. “Nice to see you, Deputy Hicks. So many fun memories,” she lamented, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

The woman smiled sickly, her face confronting into a pained smile. “It’s Sheriff Hicks. I remember you, too. And all the trouble you used to cause your family,” Hicks sniped, looking Sam up and down.

And damn it to hell, Sam stiffened at that. She fucking loathed that the woman wasn’t wrong. Sam was a menace to the Carpenter name, a shitstain across that family history. A monster to a family that she wasn’t actually a part of.

Sam was Loomis. And like Loomis’ did best, they destroyed everything in their path.

Judy smirked at the look on Sam’s face, smugly knowing she had her beat. “Your presence here is not helping. So maybe, when the sun comes up, you and your boyfriend can hit the road and leave it to people who actually care about this community.”

With that, Offi- Deputy- Hicks walked off, leaving Sam and the other shithead cop to stare at each other. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. Fuck. She couldn’t let this go on any longer.

Sam had to tell Tara who she was and what she had done to their family.

——

Naturally, Sam fucked it up.

“I just couldn’t be around you, Tara,” she whispered, her heart tearing in two at the way Tara froze.

Fuck.

She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice level. “Not only because I destroyed our family that night, but because those diaries told me who my real father was.”

The two sat there, staring at each other. Sam could see in Tara’s eyes the little girl she once broke and who she was about to fail again. It’s funny. Sam always thought she would be able to visit home years into the future, and Tara would be older, and they could reunite once again. Like it should be.

But she would never get the chance again once she uttered the name that tainted her heart and plagued her life from the age of thirteen and on.

She might as well rip the bandaid off now.

“It was Billy Loomis,” she blurted out, tears blurring her vision. “And somebody knows, and I’m so fucking sorry that I never told you and that I ran away. I’m so-”

“Get out,” Tara softly spat out, her voice cold and eyes vacant.

Sam froze; her mouth hung open, almost cartoonishly. Her little sister stared Sam down, her eyes darkening with rage, her lips curling in disdain.

Tara spoke quietly, her voice tight. “Five years. Five whole years, and then I get stabbed, and then you want to dump all this shit on me?”

Swallowing hard, Sam gasped, shaking her head violently. “No, no, I swear, I was trying to protect you-”

“-Protect me from what?” Tara whispered, her face painted with disbelief. “The truth?”

“No, no, I- Please, Tara,” she begged, her hands shaking.

But it was too late. It was always too late for Sam. She was so good at destroying everything, demolishing any perfect thing she had ever held. All she could do was beg on deaf ears.

“Sam, I need you to get the fuck out.”

Sam shook her head, reaching out for Tara’s hand. “No, please-”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Sam froze at her sister’s tone, faltering at the tear-filled eyes she had seen far too often. Fuck. She was so good at fucking it all up. So good at ruining everything she touched. And here she was again, burning down the relationship that was already a pile of broken twigs.

She had seen the film before. She knew the ending, and she didn’t like it. This was the part where she was exiled from the love she knew and left forever.

Maybe if she left, Tara would be safe.

So she got up and collected her things, beelining for the door. As she pushed through it, she could feel her sister’s eyes on her back, those eyes adding insult to injury.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, and Sam rested her forehead against it, focusing on swallowing her tears. There was no amount of crying that Sam could do for this. She ruined it all. It was all her fault, and fears were futile. They wouldn’t fix this.

Fuck, Sam couldn’t even fix this if she tried. All she did was fuck up.

Sam wiped away the few tears that escaped, sniffling softly. She turned on her heel and walked towards the exit, her jacket in one hand and her keys in the other.

The soft jangle of keys was the only thing keeping her stable as she death marched to the elevator.

“Sam!”

Shaking her head, Sam gripped her keys a little tighter, letting the cold teeth sink into her skin. Stupid. She’s so stupid. She’s just hearing things. It was a matter of time before her brain would twist itself back up again. What a fucking idiot she was.

“Sam!”

She paused, her finger hovering over the buttons. That couldn’t be… no. Tara wouldn’t. It was Sam’s fault. She was just hearing things. Her meds were just fucking with her head. Yeah, that was it.

The yelling didn’t stop.

“Sam! Samantha Carpenter!”

Sam turned around, peeing down the hallway. The shouting was coming from the room she was just in. Tara’s room. That didn’t sound right. Fuck, that couldn’t be right. She wasn’t worth fighting for. Sam was the reason their family was so fucked-up in the first place.

But still, the voice yelled.

“Sammy,” the voice hoarsely screamed, slightly muffled by the door it hid behind.

What the hell.

She fled down the hallway, trying to control her body. Her limbs felt foreign, her movements jerky and uncontrolled. It took everything in her not to sprint down the hallway, throw open that door, and collapse into the arms that she loved.

But that would be ridiculous and much too soon. So, instead, she sped-walked and slowly made her way to the door. She paused in front of it, trying to control her breathing. Tara didn’t deserve her tears, her blubbering. This was Sam’s fuck up. She had to pull it together.

Opening the door slowly, Sam kept her eyes averted, her head down. She could feel her little sister’s eyes on her, burning holes in her skin. Righteous holes.

“Sam,” Tara breathed, her voice filled with wonder.

As if Sam wouldn’t do anything for her.

Sam nodded jerkily, her cheeks blushing. “Yeah?”

Her little sister spoke softly, her voice wavering with choked-up fear. “Please don’t go.”

Sam was sure the sky was purple, and the year was 3024. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what she deserved. She was a fucking Loomis. This wasn’t the end of the storyline she deserved.

This wasn’t what a sinner like her deserved.

She paused, her mouth dry. “You want me to stay?” she said, her voice strangled.

Don’t show emotion. Don’t be weak. Be strong. Your sister needs strength. Not your pathetic tears.

Tara nodded, closing her eyes as if she couldn’t handle another one of Sam’s rejections. “Please.”

Sam closed the door behind her, the soft click forcing Tara to open her eyes. Unbridled relief and brief flashes of joy flickered through her little sister’s eyes, all because Sam was standing right before her.

She didn’t deserve this. She never would. But here she was, all for her sister’s taking.

Tara motioned to the chair next to her, eyes glassy—those beautiful brown eyes. They had haunted Sam for years, and here they were, still warm.

Forcing her legs to move, Sam quickly made her way across the floor and sat down in the chair next to her little sister. Tara just observed her quietly, taking in her sister’s every move. Sam bowed her head in admission, refusing to make eye contact with her little sister— like a stray dog, Sam didn’t know how to love when all she knew was loneliness.

But her little sister did.

“Just, stay. I can’t watch you leave again. I can’t do that again. Please, just stay,” Tara cried softly, her voice thick with tears.

So many words swirled through Sam’s head. I’m sorry, for one. I love you, and I didn’t mean to hurt you, was another. I have always loved you, and I thought of you every single day, was the best one that sat on her tongue.

Yet, she couldn’t get herself to say it. She couldn’t get the courage to let it all out. It was too early. It was all too early to say the things she should’ve said years ago. She just got Tara back in her life, and their relationship was hanging on by a thread.

Despite her chest aching and her heart tearing at the seams, Sam said three words, three words she had been dying to tell since the day she left all those years ago.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

And so she did.

[dreamersbcll]

OKAY SO let's suppose sam went to rehab in those years she wasn't with tara, what if years later tara also finds comfort in alcohol and drugs and there's a moment where she realises how big of a problem this is becoming and sam is the only one that understands her

“Stranger”

and it echoes when i breathe, till all you see is my ghost

——————————————————————————

Sandpaper.

That’s all Tara could taste the moment she woke up. She was lying flat on her back, her eyes fixated on the ceiling above her. Popcorn ceiling. Today, it was white, but last night, it was an array of colors— like a rainbow.

Tara felt more like the storm that came before the rainbow.

She couldn’t quite remember the night before or even the day before that. In fact, she wasn’t really sure whether or not she was alive right now.

All she could do was stare at the ceiling and count the white popcorn puffs. Her mouth was so dry— sandpaper. The pillow beneath her head was stiff. She moved her hand behind her head, only to find out that it was a crumpled t-shirt that supported her head.

Groaning, she propped herself up, blinking hard. Her vision was blurry and doubled, and her head swam with nausea. She was pretty sure five people were in the room with her, all in various sleeping positions on the floor and dirty mattress.

This wasn’t a home. It could’ve been one a long time ago. But now it was just a house with a dirty mattress and too many addicts sprawled across it.

Tara got up, swinging her legs onto the floor. If she leaned forward too far, she would crash into the person curled up next to the radiator. Fuck. Her head was pounding. Was there water anywhere? She surveyed the room, only seeing empty liquor bottles and various needles and joints littered across the floor.

Never mind that. She needed out. The walls were closing in, and she couldn’t breathe. The more she looked around, the more she realized she shouldn’t be here.

She shouldn’t fucking be here.

Pushing herself to her feet, she winced, her head pounding. Fuck.

Carefully, Tara made her way out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house. As she pushed through the front door, she squinted as the sun hit her face first, blinding her. She stumbled back, her hand covering the sun, blinking rapidly. Shit. Was it always that bright? How long has she missed the sunlight?

She averted her eyes, noticing her shoes were sprawled across the dirty welcome mat. She bent down quickly, ignoring the wave of nausea that ran through her body. Mind over matter. Mind over fucking matter.

After she put her shoes on, Tara perched herself on the porch railing, her legs dangling above the ground. She looked across the yard, watching cars passing by. Kids were walking with their mothers, people were walking their dogs, and runners were jogging. She was always surprised that the world kept turning even if it stopped for her.

Looking down, she dug her nails into her thighs. If she looked closely, she would see under the half-mooned crescents all of her sins that she tried to hide. There was a scar across her left thigh— she believes it was the time she attempted to heat the spoon with a faulty lighter. Or maybe it was when she tried to see how many rings she could make with one lit cigarette.

Time was a fickle thing. She can’t remember what she did last week, but she still remembers how excruciatingly visceral it was to watch Sam go. Nothing had been the same since then. Tara hadn’t been the same since then.

She knows she made terrible choices. The moment she held the joint to her lips, she knew it was over. Seven years ago, she watched Sam light her first joint on their porch, coughing and gagging as it worked its way through her lungs.

Sitting on the porch railing next to Sam, Tara remembered that she smiled as Sam coughed and damn near threw up. Good. That’s what Sam deserved for trying to disappear on Tara.

But Sam did anyway— and like every little sister, she followed her big sister down the same path.

Here she was again, on a porch rail of a home that she didn’t recognize or know, wishing she was someone else— feeling sorry for herself.

Yet this was all her fault. Tara knew the risks; she knew her fate. Fuck, she saw it with her own damn eyes. She remembers very well seeing Sam lose hair, come home in the early hours, and the bruises. God, she remembers the bruises. It was as if Sam didn’t care for herself or her well-being at all, as if she was asking for the pain.

Tara didn’t understand then. But she does now, and god damn it, was it fucking agony.

She always wanted to be just like Sam, and now she was. She was just like Sam.

Laughing a bit, Tara hiccuped, wincing as her ribs flared in pain. Fuck. She doesn’t remember where that pain came from. She doesn’t remember where any of this pain came from.

All this pain, all this pain that she was so goddamn afraid of, still a part of her. She tried to run, she tried to hide, but it found her. It found her on the sunniest days, the quietest of nights, the most tranquil mornings. No matter how far she ran or how many times she hid, it found her, and it infected her.

If someone opened up her chest, she was sure they would find nothing but decayed organs and bones broken to dust. There would be a heart that no longer beat- black and molding. Around her chest cavity would be littered needles, vials, and blood that no longer were needed.

She was so sick of being tired and so tired of being sick.

Without thinking, Tara pulled her phone out, wiping dust off the cracked screen. She mindlessly scrolled through her contacts for a moment, wondering who would respond, wondering who was there.

One name stood out to her— the one she hadn’t heard from in years.

What the hell? Tara couldn’t remember her own last name at this point.

Clicking on it, she pressed the speaker and let it ring. She expected it to ring for one, two, maybe even seven times.

She didn’t expect it to pick up on the first ring.

“Hello, this is Sam.”

Sam’s voice was clear, clearer than Tara had expected. She doesn’t remember the last time she heard Sam so level, so calm. It had been years. Fuck, it had been nearly a decade.

Her big sister was always her rock, love, and safe place. She hadn’t heard that voice so clear in so long. Sam was back.

But now Tara is gone.

Time was a fickle thing.

“Sam,” Tara breathed, her voice cracking. She answered. Her big sister really answered.

Her big sister paused, putting together the pieces. Sam spoke slowly, calmly, as if not to spook her little sister. “Tara? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Tara swallowed hard, looking down at her feet. She was missing a sock. Where was the lace on her left shoe? Has it always been like that? When did she last have a shoelace?

Fuck. She can’t remember. She just can’t remember.

Running a hand through her hair, Tara laughed a bit. This was all so fucked-up. She shouldn’t be here. She should be in the second period, learning about chemistry. Sam should be finishing college, planning to stay home for the summer, maybe stay for the rest of their lives. They would’ve been so happy.

They should’ve been happy.

“Sam, I, I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. I don’t know, fuck,” she choked out, her chest twisting.

Hot, shameful tears started to run down Tara’s face, coating her sinful lips and hands. She was so pathetic for becoming this monster. So fucking pathetic.

There were no words she could say, no phrase that could fix this. She couldn’t even find the words to say I Need Help.

But she tried anyway.

“Sammy,” she cried, ducking her head in shame.

It took all of five seconds for Sam to respond.

“I’m on my way. Send me your location, and don’t move. Got it?” Sam said levelly, her voice stoic.

How could Tara ever deny her big sister?

Tara let her tears flow freely, coughing a bit as she listened to her big sister get into her car and pull away. Wherever she was, whatever time of day it was, Sam would find her.

Sam would save Tara from herself.

Just like it was always supposed to be.

[dreamersbcll]

Prompt: tara going to her first party (amber's party) and sam finding out and not liking this idea at all and indeed, things go wrong

“Swimming”

(au where sam never left woodsboro)

——————————————————————————

The first drink wasn’t bad.

So Tara had another.

And another.

Now, she was hammered in a sea of bodies with no one to rescue her.

It wasn’t entirely her fault. It was her first party, after all-, and she had promised her friends that she would get fucked-up.

Chad had said several times that It’s high school! You gotta get fucked up once before college!

So, in all fairness, this was everybody’s fault. Tara stood by the speaker, listening to the tracks change (were they repeating? she couldn’t tell), and then, lo and behold came the devil herself.

“Whatcha doing, babe?” purred Amber, wrapping her arm around Tara’s neck, squeezing a bit too tight.

Tara shrugged, clutching her half-full solo cup. Alcohol tastes bad. It stung her nose and made her stomach rumble uncomfortably. Sam told her she would hate it. Why didn’t she listen to Sam?

Why? Right. Tara was a big seventeen-year-old now. She didn’t need a babysitter.

Oh, how she wished Sam was here now.

But it was too late. Amber was holding a bottle in her hand, grinning wickedly. Tara gulped, clutching her cup a little tighter. She knew what this meant.

Amber chuckled, kissing the side of her girlfriend’s face. She not so slyly peeked at Tara’s cup, sighing. “Oh honey, if you want to get fucked up, you can’t just drink that much. You need more. Let me do the honors.”

Her girlfriend batted her eyes at Tara, those dark, slightly terrifying, intoxicating eyes, and Tara knew she was fucked. Who was she to deny those brown eyes that would give her everything?

So Tara held her cup up and allowed her devil to fill it.

Somewhere around her fifth cup of tequila (maybe vodka, she couldn’t remember), Tara was having a much better time. Suddenly, the same pop hit sounded like Mozart, and her lips loosened into a lazy grin. Everything was easier while drunk.

She was starting to feel alive.

Waltzing her way to the dance floor, she allowed Amber to press up against her, and the two danced. The dirty, horny teenager style of dancing that was technically jerky, dry-humping, but who cares? Tara was drunk and alive. That was all she needed.

Just as she was about to capture Amber’s lips with her own, the rainbow LEDs turned off and were replaced with the harsh fluorescent lights that everybody hated. Everyone stopped dancing and started groaning, swearing, and alcohol-filled cups tossed around the room.

“Am, the lights. M’m you gotta get ‘em off,” Tara slurred, gently batting at her girlfriend’s chest.

Amber, oblivious to the change in ambiance, still pulled Tara in, her usually sharp eyes glazed over. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re still here,” she growled softly, tugging Tara.

Tara allowed herself to be pulled in, her eyes closing, her lips closing on Amber’s.

And then she was unceremoniously picked up and tossed over somebody’s shoulder.

Blinking, Tara could feel the blood rushing to her face, and her eyes crossed at the sudden change of direction. She was upside down, her stomach resting against the shoulder of someone much taller than her, her nose tickled by long black hair growing from said stranger’s head.

“Sam?” she gurgled, blowing hair out of her mouth.

Her big sister grunted back, snagging a fleeing Amber by the neck. With her catch in tow, Sam turned, giving Tara whiplash.

Surveying the gawking high schoolers, Sam glared at all of them, satisfied with how they recoiled from her glare. “Well? What are you looking at? Parties over!” she barked.

“Actually, it’s not-” Amber retorted before Sam squeezed the back of her neck a little too hard, the girl squealing in response.

Sam began to drag her catch to the porch, where she had the other culprits waiting, watching the underage kids scramble out of the house.

“Hey, you!” she called to the kid nearest to the speakers.

The kid, probably fifteen, with a mop of orange hair on his head, froze. “Me?” he timidly said, pointing at himself.

She nodded, trying not to roll her eyes. “Yes, you. Turn that music off, and get the hell out of my sight!” she growled, ignoring how Tara groaned at her sudden yelling.

He nodded and scrambled to unplug the phone. The minute he did, he ran, letting the phone clatter to the ground.

“My phone,” Amber moaned, watching her new device hit the ground with a dull thud.

“Don’t care,” Sam sniped back.

With the music stopped and the kids out of the way, Sam sighed in contentment. Good. Now, she could conduct her business.

Dragging Amber by the scruff of her neck, Sam made her way to the porch.

“Come on, Freeman, judgment day.”.

——

“What the hell were you all thinking? Seriously! A party? On a school night? Are you fucking insane?”

Six high school kids sat on the stoop, all in various shades of drunk. Chad, by far the drunkest, was leaning against Wes, both boys still having the decency to look guilty. Mindy and Liv looked bored, but both had the fear of Sam Carpenter shining in their eyes. Amber just looked pissed, her arms crossed, but her movements were jerky and robotic.

And Tara. Her sweet, gentle little Tara. Propped up against Amber, her eyes half closed, dozing off a little in her seat.

Sam was so going to kill these kids.

Wes tentatively raised his hands, his eyes looking away from Sam’s. “Sam, can I just say this was Amber’s idea?”

The girl threw her hands up in frustration. “Snitch!”

Mindy looked at Amber, frowning. “Don’t call him that! It’s not our fault you can’t follow basic homeowner guidelines!” she hissed.

Chad just grinned blissfully. “She’s got good drinks, though. Can I get it?” he crowed, holding a hand out for a high-five from Tara.

“Quiet!” Sam barked, all six kids freezing.

Despite the order, Tara clumsily gave Chad a high-five, ungracefully falling into Amber’s lap. Four kids giggled at the action, Amber huffing as she pushed Tara back into a sitting position.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sam sighed in annoyance. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re all grounded-”

Predictably, she was cut off by several pubescent voices.

“-What? You’re not my mom!” Wes complained.

“-No fucking way. This is my house!” Amber shrieked.

“-Okay, whatever you say,” Chad said glumly, pouting.

Mindy reached over and slapped the back of her brother’s head. “She’s not our mom!”

“QUIET!” Sam hollered, her voice echoing off the now-empty Freeman home.

All six kids quieted, shocked eyes staring up at Sam’s.

Sam bent down, her hands on her knees, getting to eye level with the kids. All of them, even Amber, stayed quiet, their eyes on the angry grown-up before them.

Even her little sister, while heavily intoxicated, kept her attention on Sam, big brown (dazed) eyes following her big sister.

“Like I said, you’re all grounded until I say so. And no, no more parties. If I hear or see anything that has to do with a party, I will hang all of you up by your underwear at the high school flagpole and let you stay there! Am I clear?”

Six kids just stared back at her, gulping in fear.

Sam rolled her eyes. “I said, AM I CLEAR?” she half-shouted, relishing how the kids jumped.

“Yes, Sam!” they all shouted back in drunken unison.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Okay. Twins, go pick up the floor. Wes, get a mop and broom for glass and spills. Liv, get trash bags. Go!”

Four kids got up, scrambling back into the house. Chad slipped on a half-crushed cup, nearly taking Wes out with him. Mindy just kept shoving the kids forward, Liv at her side.

As soon as the four kids took off, Sam turned back to the pissed-off girl holding up her little sister.

“Amber,” she said softly, pausing to find the words.

The teenage girl looked up at her, hatred in her eyes. Hate didn’t matter to Sam. She didn’t like the girl very much either. But Tara did. So she had to try.

“Yes?” the girl said through clenched teeth.

Sam bent back down, getting right in the girl’s face. “Don’t you ever, ever, get my little sister hammered like this again. I will make your life very painful and very short. Am I clear?”

Before the girl could retort, Tara opened her mouth and vomited all over her lap. Though it was gross, Sam couldn’t help but grin.

“Well, you better go change. Then come find me. It’s time to clean up the mess you made,” Sam chirped, carefully peeling Tara off the disgusted girl.

Amber got up with a huff, running to her room to change her clothes. Tara melted into Sam’s side, her eyes watering.

“Sam? I don’t like parties,” Tara whispered, sniffling.

Sam bit back a smile. That’s what she wanted to hear.

“I know, baby. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?” she soothed, rubbing Tara’s shoulder.

Tara burped in response.

[radicalfrancoiseappledelhi-deac]

[dreamersbcll]

taking a break from tumblr & posting. might be active on ao3. we’ll see.

happy holidays.

dreamers