"James Charles and Trixie Mattel love child." Is what you told your friends, and that was that. Halloween was here, school was out, and it is time to work honey! Your strict dieting and sporadic exercise routine meant that you had lost a decent amount of weight since the beginning of this school year, and with that done, you went dress shopping. You were determined to become the most fabulous drag queen this side of the Mississippi. Crystal Lake watch out! Mama Bear is here.
Unfortunately for you, Walmart brand dresses aren't nearly as outrageous and slutty for your holiday tastes, so you take to the World Wide Web for your boutique browsing. Eventually, you found a website called "shopakira.com," and it had everything you could ever want. After hours of browsing the domain, you found the one. A shiny, sheer leopard print long-sleeve gown and black leotard that beckoned to the repressed crossdresser you never knew you could be. In no time at all, you put up the $40 (plus shipping) for the dress. By some miracle, it came in your size too, as if cementing how meant to be it was. You decided to then pair that stunning dress with a pair of black velvet wedges you’d impulse bought on a mall outing (once again in your size!), as they were cute and wouldn’t take away from the glories of your gown. All in all, the look would probably be tacky, but in true Trixie fashion, it was nice hair and cheap clothes.
Speaking of nice hair, the wig was easy to find and magic up, one of the pop-up stores in those corners that never last being a wig shop. The only reason it was likely still open at this point was because Halloween was fast approaching, so they were likely inundated with orders, and yours was among them. You'd gone and ordered a wig to rule all wigs in New Jersey, literally telling the man taking your request, "think a Texan style beehive on steroids." Of course you were going to be making adjustments once the piece arrived, but the general style was set.
A few days before Halloween night, everything was ready. The wig had just came in, and it was stunning. A giant, glossy, jet black mound of artificial hair all wrapped up and ready to go. You messed with it only a bit, making it so that short locks of hair would fall and frame your face, giving off Amy Winehouse vibes as well as the drag innuendos.
The day of, you started. The makeup was straight forward for the most part, but was of a higher difficulty than you were used to. Your mom was in the know with your fashion and cosmetics hobbies, and was fairly supportive for the most part. She, in her generous ways, gave you full reign over all of her supplies that you didn't have, which was really just a beauty blender and some mascara. Other than that, you had everything else you needed.
You first got into makeup a few years ago, and only really enjoyed it initially because you found it was great practice in developing a much steadier hand. You are hoping to become a surgeon, and we all know a surgeon can't be operating on someone if they have Parkinson's-lite. That won't end well. But, as you developed more in the world of beauty, you found you enjoyed the artistic expression greatly as well. Your two best friends - Ana and a girl named Em (short for Emberlyn) - were phenomenal artists, and it often left you feeling on the side when they would hang out and paint together. With this, though, you found common ground (they were also cosmetics fans) that you could connect on, and you were at a higher level than they were. It came almost naturally to you.
So here you were, about to put all of those years of practice to the test. All of the products splayed out on your mother's vanity, it took nearly 2 hours of heavy concentration, cussing, and work to get to an acceptable final product. First, a shave. Not just the face - no - whole body. You were going to be going out in a very revealing dress, so the last thing you want to look like is a cross-dressing Gaston. Next, you kept the contour very natural, but you used a heavy hand in doing so, making it seem like your face was in extremes of really light and high, and really dark and deep. Since you adored Trixie Mattel so much, you kept her classic bat-wing eyeliner with the things shooting out of the bottom to create a faux lower eyelid, but toned down the size a bit. Covering your eyebrows was surprisingly simple, but then again you had watched close to a hundred videos showing how it was done. Making sure your highlighter was blinding and in the right places, you set about creating an eye look. You eventually decided on a deep blue smoky look, figuring it would contrast nicely with the dress.
Next, the dress itself. You didn't have any of the fancy ass-making leggings or fake boobs that most professional drag queens have, so you decided to let your currently naturally curvy waist work for you there, and resorted to stuffing one of your mother's smaller bras to make a more feminine silhouette. Using your mom's help, you squeezed into the dress and pulled on your booties, and you presented yourself to her, asking if she's proud. She said nothing, and merely shook her head and laughed softy. Your 'candy bag' wound up being a black purse from your mom's closet, and you topped everything off (literally) with the wig. You got it custom fitted, so it was nearly seamless in its appliance. It was at this point you realized you forgot to put on eyebrows – nor was there any real James influence here – but fuck it. This is your Amy Winehouse/Jeffree Star/Trixie Mattel look now, honey, no brows needed. You also realized you forgot lipstick, but that was a quick and easy remedy, and you went with a smoldering, deep red, over-drawing your lip-line slightly.
Finally, the look was complete, and you practically ran out of your house to start the night. Your friends all loved the get-up, and you complimented their outfits as well, though knew with a smugness you usually didn't have that your drag look was by far the superior get-up. Despite Crystal Lake's small size, you have to say that they really go all out for Halloween. Town events gave out treats, most every house was open for trick-or-treaters, and the costumes all seemed to be decent. People gave you plenty of looks, but you hardly cared at this point: you had never felt more confident in your entire life. You looked absolutely fabulous, and actually told a lady staring at you to either "Give me $5 or move along, cause mama's got bills, hun." You openly flirted with most any men you happened upon, getting into a Katya-esque character of sorts. All in all, it was the best night you can ever remember having in a long time.
Well, not including your times with Jason.
And that brings it to now, when an idea suddenly pops into your head as you think about him, and you realize he probably doesn't even know that it’s Halloween. He died in the 50's, so he's very likely celebrated the holiday at least once, right? Looking down at your now heavy purse, you come to a very non-traditional resolution: you're going to share with him. Classically, for you especially, you horde and hide your candy to gorge on it in controlled intervals, but not this year. Jason - should he have celebrated it before he died - hasn't had a proper Halloween in over 60 years.
It's an effective mood-dampener when you think about it, so you shake it off, not wanting to alarm your friends. Yes he may be living a very depressing life, but you were going to help further fix that tonight. So, keeping the less depressive facts in mind, you enjoy the remaining hours of Halloween night and have a new drive to get as much candy as you can shove into your carry-on.
It's 1 a.m. by the time your friends call it a night, and Em drives you home. Rather than go inside, though, you wave her goodbye and enter your own vehicle as soon as she's out of sight. Grabbing a spare plastic bag out of the backseat (your car’s kind of a mess), you deposit half of your collected candy into it for Jason. Judging by the lights being off in the house and knowing your mom has work in the morning, it's safe to assume that she's asleep, and you feel no nerves as you start the car and drive off towards the camp.
Having driven this path many, many times before, you know the quickest routes to get to the parking lots, and also where to park once you're there for maximum proximity to the familiar cabin. It's there you go, and from there you walk, grateful to the wide base of your wedges as you walk through the grass and dirt, and are completely unaware of the incoming danger. The only thing that strikes you as weird is that Jason is nowhere to be found - usually by now he greets you on the way, seemingly able to sense your presence (which is probably accurate).
Well - surprise surprise! - He is about to greet you! But not like you're expecting. A wave of déjà vu (instead of something normal, like fear) washes over you as you're spun around quickly, and a familiar rough, cold hand is quickly clamped against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You find yourself looking into an equally as familiar pair of lopsided hazel eyes as your body is effortlessly lifted off of the ground, making you drop all of the bags as a result. It would be oddly romantic if not for one kind of big thing: the love of your life was currently strangling and hanging you at the same time. Instinctively, you reach up and grab his large arm, but give off no other form of resistance, a wave of confusion rendering you rather useless as needles of betrayal sink into your heart. Has he grown tired of you? Were all of those tender, even loving moments just an act? Was your judgement really that off? Looking at the hatred in his normally soft, soothing eyes, you feel like he isn’t even looking at you, but instead at some monster in your pla-… holy shit he can’t recognize you. He can’t recognize you because it’s Halloween and you’re dressed like a Rocky Horror Picture Show REJECT!
If it weren’t for the fact that you were steadily running out of both oxygen and time, you’d probably be laughing your ass off, but all you can manage to do in the sad hilarity of the scenario is jerk more violently than you already are.
You notice a small waver in Jason’s gaze. Nothing much, but enough for your trained eye to pinpoint: bewilderment, no doubt caused by your sudden lack of fear and hurt. With your strength quickly failing and wanting to make an attempt to stop Jason from making possibly the worst mistake in his life, you manage to lift your hand and give him a weak, short wave, almost casual in nature. To also add to the absolute clusterfuck of a scene this already is, your wig – which has been slowly sliding out of place due to the sporadic movement – finishes its decent off of your scalp and falls unceremoniously to the ground. You can’t see Jason’s reaction, your vision being quickly blurred by numerous black spots, but you can feel his hand unclench a little bit, sending a dull throb through your crushed trachea and allowing you a small gasp of air. Vision returning just a bit as you get a small amount of oxygen, you see him staring confusedly at the pile of hair on the forest floor, obviously never seeing anything like this before in his years of hunting. Looking back up at you, you can practically see him doing the work in his mind. The wave, the wig, the lack of fear… oh shit yeah, wrong person, babe!
He locks eyes with you, noticeably deep in thought, and then it all comes crashing down. In a fashion that’s almost comedic, his eyes slowly widen, his expression falling behind his mask as he realizes who exactly he’s currently asphyxiating. Next, his hand loosens considerably as his other arm comes up, almost cradling you as you’re lowered to the ground. Trying to nurse your drag-induced pride, you find your own footing, giving him a dismissive wave as you keel over, coughing hoarsely and painfully. You start to topple over, and this time you’re thankful as Jason grabs your frame unbelievably gently, intent on not doing any more damage. You taste blood in your mouth, and can genuinely feel the immense shame radiating from Jason. You want to tell him that it’s fine, all is forgiven, but it might be a while before you’ll be speaking again.
As for Jason… nothing’s fine for him right now. This takes the cake in terms of fucking up for him, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Will you even want to be around him after this? He actually almost killed you, and… what if he had? He shakes his head roughly, not wanting to picture that. You… dead by his own hand… it’s too much for him to imagine. The best he can try and do right now is let you know that this was a terrible, terrible mistake, and that even that was an understatement for him. For now though, Jason simply stays next to you, gently keeping you upright as you hack your lungs out.
A few minutes of coughing and labored breathing later, you’re finally feeling somewhat functional. While Jason never let go of you fully, he’s been slowly reducing the amount of work he’s doing in keeping you upright as you regain your own strength and balance. When he’s sure you won’t crumble without him, he takes an apologetic and ashamed step back, not wanting to meet your gaze but forcing himself to – he’s going to face the consequences for his action and take responsibility. He’s caught off guard when he finds no anger or hatred in your eyes, and sees only the usual things like affection and happiness, along with a ton of amusement.
Trying to make sense of everything that just happened, Jason decides to talk about the elephant in the room: what the hell you’re wearing. Giving a sweeping gesture to the dress and fallen wig, he tilts his head, turning the expression in his eyes from sincere apology and regret, to a mixture of that plus a question. You laugh softly, grimacing as the sudden jerks make your neck hurt, and lean down to grab Jason’s plastic candy bag as a response. He’s confused terribly as you hand it to him, and you quell this by managing to croak out “Happy Halloween, Jason.” You cringe at the sound of your voice, your mind immediately going ‘I’ve been smokin’ for 55 years,’ like those old commercials.
So many emotions hurtle into him as you wish him a happy Halloween, the primary one being a literal mountain of extra shame. He was already withering inside at what he’d done, but this makes him disintegrate internally. He’d been ready to mercilessly kill you because he didn’t recognize you, while you were bringing him a gift. It mortifies him, and he blanks stupendously, freezing in place while holding the bag limply for a solid 2 minutes. He’s only snapped out of it when your tiny, warm, and soft hand falls delicately on his shoulder, pushing against his frame to wake him from his haze. “You still with me, bud? You alright?” His head jerks down, eyes finding yours as he processes the question. Is he alright? Really? He didn’t just have his throat slowly and methodically crushed by someone he thought he could trust! He’s still so… shocked. How could he not tell it was you? Looking down at you now, there’s no denying it. He can recognize you from miles away if he had to, and either way he should’ve sensed it. He got too greedy – too carried away – and it almost cost him everything.
Another piece of him rises up, killed decades before it was ever allowed to flourish, and it’s a piece he didn’t even know he was missing. Just like the resurfacing of his humanity, it throws him off guard. Undoubtedly caused by almost losing you, the weight of your hand on his deltoid becomes heavy, and his face heats up considerably while his normally slow heart suddenly starts pumping iron. It takes Jason all of his control not to panic on the spot. What is this? What the fuck is this??? The only thing he can think of to do is close his eyes and look away. Well shit. He’s watched enough random YouTube videos with you and watched how you reacted to most everything about him in the beginning, so it doesn’t take Jason long to recognize what having a crush is, but he didn’t realize how sudden things like this could occur, nor how extreme. The worst part? He knows you like him too, and that’s terrible because he will never allow that to happen. He can't.
You notice his discomfort, and when he looks away it concerns you more. You figure that it’s linked to what just happened, so you further dismiss the attempted murder that just took place. “Hey, c’mon… Look, I’m going to be honest here, it kind of… turned me on.” While you presented it as a joke, a ring of truth still came through. Was seeing Jason so animalistic and cold absolutely terrifying? Yes, very much so. But… damn it was the sexiest thing you can ever recall seeing, and that includes watching Lady Voldemort’s performance on Instagram with Tito Ashbone (butch, you’re in love... again). Unfortunately, that was the literal worst thing you could’ve said in this situation, and only serves to further fluster Jason. He looks back at you, but his gaze doesn’t meet your eyes, and instead it falls lower: your lips. He doesn’t like that they’re colored, but waving that away mentally he remembers something you said what now feels like a lifetime ago: “You almost just tasted the rainbow.” Thinking about it now… Jason very much wants to taste the rainbow, but can’t bring himself to just let go.
You notice where he’s staring, and suddenly it all just kind of flows to you. Well fuck, this is a thing that's happening. You blush and falter, harder than you did when you first met him, and you’re certain that one could probably see the maroon shade of your skin through the foundation. “Uuuuhhhh…” You want to get the attention away from this, which is ironic considering during all of the times you fantasized about this exact scene, there was no uncertain hesitation on your part… Life is Strange.
Jason actually jumps, eyes shooting up to yours as you see the visible parts of his skin somehow lose more color. Oh fucking shit you saw him staring. You know. Wanting to avoid a panicking Jason and also going over how much of a rollercoaster this evening is turning into, you quickly change the subject. “How about we go to the cabin and hang out, eat some candy?” You give him a small head tilt, smiling faintly. He nods eagerly, silently thanking you for saying something. In a flash he turns himself around, walking way too fast for you and your wedges in the direction of the cabin. Quickly grabbing your wig and purse from the ground, you awkwardly run to catch up to Jason, and then need to uncomfortably trot in order to keep pace with his walking. Your feet had already been screaming at you for the past 4 hours, and this was not helping.
The cabin is like it was the last hundred times you’ve been here: cozy, familiar, livable, perfect. You seat yourself on the bed, taking off the boots and letting out an exaggerated sigh as your feet breathe in the cool air, your heels especially reveling in the freedom. Jason awkwardly situates himself next to you, refusing to look over in your direction. The cold shoulder stings for you momentarily, but you have to remind yourself that he’s legitimately never encountered any of these feelings before. Also, it really doesn’t help that for the past half a century he’s been killing people for having the exact same feelings he’s now finding himself to possess, so…
“I’m going to use the bathroom, get all this off.” You make a circular motion over your face, and see Jason give a small nod from your peripheral vision. The bathroom is fully functional, save the overhead fan for the shower, and you have been keeping it decently stocked as you spend more and more time here. Grabbing a roll of toilet paper, you set about wetting the fabric and wiping the copious amounts of cosmetics off of your profile. It takes 20 minutes before the final traces of lipstick and eyeliner are gone, and you stare at yourself briefly. So, your fat, ugly ass managed to ‘seduce’ and garner the affections of the ‘unfeeling’ serial killer Jason Voorhees. You managed to be the first he purposefully let survive, and are – as of record – the only person to ever befriend him, and now very likely the only person who will ever engage in a relationship with him (knock on wood). That thought alone makes your heart skip a beat and then race, so you shove it out of your mind as to not accidentally freak yourself out. Crouching and opening the cabinet under the sink, you praise yourself for your foresight as you pull out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, peeling the dress off and casting aside the bra before shoving yourself instead into them.
When you emerge from the bathroom, you meet Jason’s eyes as he looks up, and both of you feel the same cold shiver run down your collective spines at the sight of the other. Jason – as per the usual – is looking damn fine, and his large, powerful physique is looking particularly inviting at the moment. For Jason, now that you're in normal clothes and bare-faced, he has to disagree with your mental assessment by thinking that you look much better without all of the makeup on, and his heart leaps into his throat as you approach. His mouth is suddenly unbearably dry, and even though he can’t too much, he feels like he’s sweating profusely. Sitting next to him, you know that in anything that could happen next, you’re in charge. Jason’s never came across these urges or sensations before, while you’ve had all the experience in the world.
Despite this, you still draw nothing, and sigh dejectedly at your lack of ideas. Instead, you pick up your purse and sort through the candy inside of it, deciding just to munch on the treats you’ve collected and hope for the best. Jason, seeing an opportunity to distract himself as well, starts rifling through his own bag of candy, suddenly feeling 10 years old again as he gazes upon the various candies within. He recognizes some of the brands, like Hershey’s, but for the most part everything’s relatively new. He can recognize some products, but others are unfamiliar. He picks out one he can’t recognize, sounding out the label in his head: “Kit-Kat.” It’s chocolate, he remembers that word and can see by the picture, and he carefully opens the plastic wrapping to get to the confection inside. The smell is rich and savory, and his mouth immediately starts watering, anticipation filling every empty crevice in his body. That’s soon replaced by a large wave of disappointment, though: he’s still wearing the mask, and he really doesn’t want to have to make you turn the lights off.
You look over at him, pausing halfway through a mini Snickers bar, and see the defeated nature in which he’s holding the Kit Kat. You’re about to get up and dim the lights when something catches your eye for the first time, oddly enough. The strap on the side of his mask has a buckle, and from that is a loose strap, which tells you that the mask’s fit can be adjusted. Jason normally keeps it tight to his face, but if he were to loosen it a bit, couldn’t he easily push his mask up and eat that way? Deciding to suggest it to him, you swallow the bolus of chocolate in your mouth and chime in, “Hey, couldn’t you, like, loosen the mask a bit? Then you could push it up without having to take it too far off and eat?” This catches Jason off-guard, and he thinks for a few seconds, an overwhelming feeling of idiocy encroaching on him. In his many years of wearing the hockey mask, he’s never even thought to try it.
Reaching up slowly with his free hand, he feels the cool metal buckle on the leather, and looks at you with a singular message: “help.” Giving him a warm smile, you scoot closer to him as he lowers and turns his head to give you better access to the adjustor, and you marvel in how much trust he has in you. The one thing in this world – to your knowledge – that he is most fiercely protective over is his face, or rather, not letting anyone see it. You could very easily right now just tear the mask off of him and expose his profile to you, but of course you won’t, and he knows that. If you’re ever to gaze upon his features, you want for it to be when he’s ready.
Pulling the strap gently, Jason gives a small tremor as the mask starts drooping off of his nose, sliding around and becoming less encasing. He gives a small little hand twitch to tell you that’s fine, and you stop loosening the straps. Going back to your previous position, you give Jason an expectant look, and he breathes rather heavily. The lower half of his face isn’t really deformed much, save for his god-awful teeth and somewhat exaggerated overbite, but it’s still terrifying for him.
Looking at you, though, he sees no judgement, and no expectations of how it’ll look. You merely want to see him enjoy the candy, and he won’t let you down. Bringing the Kit Kat up, he uses his other hand to lift the mask up off of only his mouth, and as he does so his view of the outside room is obstructed, save for the tiny holes that allow him to breathe easier. This vision impediment is a good thing, because he can’t see your expression change. It isn’t a bad change, but to someone like him who’s so cautious about these things, it could send him over the edge.
You’ve – obviously – never seen his lips before. Really, the only part of his face you can see are his eyes, so anything else will be new. You’d already noticed a scar along the side of his face, like at one point there’d been a huge gash in his cheek, and you find that from that area it spreads out over his upper and lower lip. The lips themselves are a darker grey-ish color, but a hue of pink shines through, showing that his body is slowly reintroducing blood and hemoglobin to his skin. You’d say in a few years his skin might almost look normal. His teeth… they’re fucked, you’re gonna be honest. But it doesn’t deter you at all. Going back to that bitch Dylan, his teeth weren’t the best either. He’d been in a car accident when he was younger, and that severely messed up the way his teeth wound up coming in, but that didn’t stop you from falling in love then, and Jason’s even worse teeth aren’t stopping you now.
The actual bone itself looks clean, showing that Jason actually does have some sense of personal hygiene, which doesn’t surprise you. Pamela was reported to be a helicopter parent, so it should come as no surprise that Jason might have a great sense of cleanliness and manners. All in all, you would wager to say that the condition of his teeth is a mixture of birth deformity, and also a desperate need for childhood braces that was never fulfilled.
Crunching down on both sticks of the bar, the crunchy inside comes as a pleasant surprise, and the chocolate taste is everything to him. He quickly shoves the rest into his mouth, eagerly chewing on the candy and feeling a warmth run through him as you laugh softly beside. Swallowing and pulling his mask back down, he looks at you, eyes glistening with the smile you ever so briefly saw play across his lips, perfectly matching the complimentary one on yours. He wants to eat more of the candy tonight, but remembers his mother telling him that it’s unhealthy, and that he should save it and snack on it throughout the year, since candy doesn’t go bad quickly. Putting the bag down, Jason instead makes a bold move without really thinking about it. It just feels right in every sense: right moment, right thing to do, etc… You had given him so many things, he just wants to do something way out of his comfort zone, too. Just looking at you – how happy you are with him – he wants to be a part of that happiness in this moment, even a tiny bit. So he just… does.
Reaching out, he tenderly grabs your hand, which makes both of you shiver at the contact. Following almost what his body is telling him to do at this point, he pulls you closer, lying down and placing you just next to him, staring at the ceiling and just enjoying your presence. After all, not 2 hours ago you’d almost... Jason doesn’t want to think about it.
You, fighting off a panic attack and also following some instinct you have, nestle your shoulder into his axillary (armpit for non-nerds) area, resting your face and head on his chest, heart racing in your mediastinum (you can look this one up on your own) as your face burns up. Once again you're grateful to yourself that you stashed clothes here and ditched the dress as you curl up against him, and the both of you stay like that, the silence companionable and warm. You eventually relax, too, finding his woodsy scent to be calming and soothing, with the gentle rise and fall of his chest almost feeling like a tide when you close your eyes, reminding you of home.
Neither one of you knowing what comes next or what any of this really means, you both lay there and just breathe, time becoming merely a concept as the clocks of Crystal Lake strike 12, and Halloween slips into the past.