#anyway. i do not know when i got perfectly comfortable letting critters hang out near me but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boneswriteswords · 4 years

Note

I have seriously fallen in LOVE with your writing now. Thank you so much but I would love to request another if that's alright! Iv always wondered what Jason would do if hid s/o turned out like him? Drowned or killed in some way only to come back stronger than before ?

***sneaks in and posts this after letting it sit here for 100 years***

Sorry. Hope you like it anyway. Its not my best but I tried.

~~~~

Jason cried behind his mask, garbled wounded sounds from broken vocal cords. He clutched you to him, drenching himself in your blood as it trickled to a stop. You were gone, had been for hours, and he was frantic. He rubbed against your rigid skin, desperate to return the warmth and color to it.

Grey didn’t suit you.

He couldn’t feel your thumping heart against his chest. He regretted every moment he took it for granted.

“Jason. Sweetheart. You have to bury her.” His mother’s voice echoed inside his head, strong in all its softness. He shook his head, clutching your corpse tighter against his chest. He would not put you in the ground. It was cold and dark and you deserved the sunshine. You deserved to see the day.

“Oh my sweet boy,” she sighs and he can feel her phantom fingers stroking his head, “You must let her go. You must honor her. Let nature take its course. It will be okay.”

For the first time in his life, he doubted his mother’s words. How could anything ever be okay again? He lost you. He failed you. He miscounted and those stupid teenagers ripped you apart before he could catch them. Your screams echoed inside of his rib cage. You had cuts all over your hands and arms, skin jammed under your fingernails and blood on your lips and teeth and bruises on your eyes.

You had fought them. Viciously.

But they had been too much for you.

Jason wished he could resurrect them, pump life back into them just to take it away again. He had raged, slashing at the group recklessly until parts of them started flying off with the force of his machete. Torture wasn’t really his thing but his time with Freddy had showed him the benefits of a long drawn-out kill. He wanted them to experience the pain they put you through before your body gave out, before you had fallen helplessly into death’s waiting arms.

He regrets their short deaths and promises to get his revenge on the next group of teenagers that show up. They were all the same and all of them would fall victim to his blade.

“Jason,” his mother coos again, “We can’t leave her here. Let’s put her close to us. They did like that spot beside your cabin. They used to read out loud to you as you cleaned traps. You can watch over her there.”

Another wail, a sound that can only be called a hybrid between agony and haunted, burst from his mouth. You did like to sit outside and read to him while he worked. You had said that you liked being close to him and, this way, you could spent time together while doing different things. He wasn’t really interested in the stories but the soothing lilt to your voice kept him calm and focused.

He had known that you loved him then, that everything he felt was reciprocated and he didn’t have to worry if you left. You had sought him out instead of running. You had chosen to spend your time with him as a companion instead of locking yourself away from him, thinking of a way to leave.

And now you were gone and he’d never experience the feeling he got when he saw you approaching, book in hand and sweetness dusted along your face, ever again.

“Oh my sweet boy,” Pamela shushes as her son moans, distraught “I know it hurts but you need to get her buried. Come on now.”

You were buried in a well dug, perfectly shaped hole. Jason didn’t go six feet down, it was too dark and he didn’t want you to be scared down there. He crafted a headstone from a chunk of rock with the tools he had around the campsite. He couldn’t spell so he engraved a love-heart into the stone instead of your name.

Pamela watched on with fondness, her hands guiding his when they started to shake.

Jason, changed in ways he had never understood before, returned to his life before you. He was no longer the man he had been before he had known your soft eyes and kind touch. His killings became more brutal. More drawn out. He chased them more. He skinned and flayed his victims in ways that even Freddy was intimidated by. His trappings became more elaborate – filled with ways to break their spirits before he broke their bodies. He leaned into a nature that wasn’t completely his but fit him well enough all the same, determined to uphold your honor and destroy those who sought to taint the land you were a part of now.

He visited your grave consistently, making sure it remained untouched and nice. After a month, he saw that grass had started rising from where he buried you and he wept. He was tempted to pull it all out but his mother reminded him of how much you liked nature. You liked grass.

So he left it.

He left the grass that grew on and around your grave.

He left the dandelions that sprouted soon after.

He left the ladybugs and butterflies and all manner of critters that came to hang out alone.

He left the bush that began sprouting from the hole.

A cycle of seasons passed and he remained the same, standing guard over the camp and your grave. You had become your own legend, the counterpart to Jason and Pamela. The last batch of campers had told ghost stories of you, weaving words of malice as they compared you to Davy Jones’ chest. How finding your grave was supposed to bring them protection.Their deaths were brutal but Jason savored the way your name sounded out loud. He made sure to rest his weary head beside your headstone that evening, his hand buried in the dirt under the bush that grew there.

He had no need for sleep but his dreams offered him the comfort of you alive in his arms so he took to doing it regularly. Freddy didn’t touch his dreams any more. The last time he interrupted a dream of you hadn’t been pretty and neither of them had really recovered from the incident.

On the anniversary of your death, he woke up to something feeling very wrong. He could feel his mother nudging him, urging him to wake up. She sounded pleased but something in Jason’s stomach told him that there was something wrong. Something was different. The energy around the camp had changed.

“Go to the grave Jason,” his mother urges, “Go now.”

He did, anger rising to the surface as he turned down the path that led to your cabin. Was someone at your grave? Had someone escaped his notice and found your resting place? He knew that finding your grave had become a sort of game for those who intruded and bringing back proof that you existed was ‘desirable.’ There were ‘bragging rights’ associated with the desecration.

Jason would not allow it. God himself would tremble at the fury he would unleash on those who dared lay a hand on your grave.

As he neared, he could feel the presence of another and he was fully expecting to find intruders to slaughter. He couldn’t hear any and he couldn’t see any but someone was here.

He wasn’t expecting to see you.

But there you were, sitting in the dirt beside your headstone, confused and terrified and new. The bush was gone. The dandelions were gone.

If he had a heart, it would have stopped. Distractedly, he could feel his mother smiling.

“Jason,” you whimpered, eyes wet and wide as you gazed at him, “Jason.”

Jason has never moved so fast in his life.

~~~~

End

~~~~

#jason voorhees #jason voorhees imagine #jason voorhees x reader #My writing #ask #slasher #slasher imagine #slasher x reader

171 notes · View notes