Archive of Our Own

The gentle thrum of the cheap projector is occasionally cut by even scratchier audio quality. An impulsive purchase from the local thrift store, and quickly attached to it in all its mediocre glory. 

Sneaking personal items into the 'Plex hadn't ever been much trouble, but sneaking yourself in here after hours tended to be. 

Overtime unwelcomed, but as if you weren't excitable to the prospect of cheap Fazco candy and hanging with a pal. 

Couldn't convince him to wear a costume though. Scowling briefly to the suggestion. 

Casting still dawned with neon vibrant hues, some crackles in the white skeleton adjacent paint along his arms. 

For someone who seemed so adverse on gimmicky holidays, Monty sure seemed to enjoy it. Leaning more toward the trick part of trick or treat. Unsure if it's a good or sorrowful thing he can't be out roaming the midnight streets terrorizing people. 

Though, given the option, it's difficult to believe he would anyway. Who knows! 

A offhand remark on he's as scary to you as the girl from the Exorcist, only taking some back and forth before pinning his frustrations on why you're calling him weak and feeble. 

"You haven't see it, have you?" 

"Tck. If it ain't made by Fazco, then no." 

Covering the irritated flick of his tail with a sharp pathway around you. Directly into some old freaky storage room. 

Not much needed to add heart palpitating ambience, you'd both need it to stay conscious through all the dreary talking bits. 

The visual effects for the time were endearingly unsettling, but you just never could take ghoulish possession stories all that seriously. The spooks lingered around every dark ridden corridor of the 'Plex had ruined the fun quite some time ago.

The appetite for indulgent horror had for sure dwindled when you lived through it. 

Tossing popcorn in your mouth from the pile you've collected in your hand. Noting each and every time you reach for more, Monty's gripping the fabric of the sofa tighter, and tighter. 

The final time you claw your hand for another handful of buttery popcorn, his sprawled out claws had begun to splinter the fabric of the sofa. 

... He's so bored, he's going to shred the thing before the movie finishes. Shame too, guess he's even programmed to revolt entertainment not surrounding the 'Plex. 

Eventually, wide red eyes flicker to your peeping direction. Unrelenting on the staring, you just continue eating popcorn.

"Sorry dude, didn't think it sucked this bad." You say, watching his posture relax some. Claws still indented in the sofa though. 

"I'll turn it off." Immediately beginning to search for your phone. 

"... What? Think I can't handle watching some cheap ol' movie?" He scowls. Flopping back to slump against the sofa. "Seen worse. Heard worse."

"Have you now." You quip. “Prove it.” 

One hand reaching into the popcorn bucket, crumbling some of the pieces as he tosses them directly at your face. 

Opening your mouth as some of them do made it in. Most of them just hit the bridge of your nose though. 

Too busy laughing as your lamely impressive skills draw his attention, attempting to toss more into your mouth. He can hit cheap point shots and arcade high scores with uncanny ease. 

Entirely purposeful the way he just carelessly flicks a few pieces at once in random directions to watch the struggle. Stubbornly trying to contort the best you can. 

It's not until he slices a pack of sour gummy worms open that you protest his nonsense. "Do not! I'll literally eat those off the floor if they fall and get sick." 

"Psh," He huffs, nudging your upper arm. "Even just one would make ya hurl? Floors ain't that bad."

"I'll get sick and die dead and it'll be all your fault." You insist, stupidly warmed to your dramatics cracking through that demeanour of his.

But Monty drops the one in hand anyway, drops one right on the floor with a full blown shutter. Like a monster trailed it's cold incorporeal fingertips up and up his spine. Expression blown wide to match. 

Sometimes. Your friends did things you didn't understand, evasive to things that were mostly normal. Monty didn't like closed spaces. He did not like the bowling alley.

Dude, is the word that almost ghosts past your lips. The one that dances to be said on the very tip of your tongue. 

The grainy output of the projector catches your attention first. You'd recognize the scene anywhere, you recognize the frame. 

It had been a jump scare. Cheap and tactical for the time period. One that never settled that eerie uncomfortable dread in your chest the way it was supposed to. 

Wide eyed gaze darting back to the Gator.

And he's stressed. He's so freaked out the entirety of his claws are out. 

And you. Are a raging asshole. 

"Wanna turn it off? Kinda boring." You shrug, not bothering to hide the sheer amusement a horror movie from the 70's is what's got him so damn rattled.

" No ." He scowls, whipping his frame so roughly back to face the screen it shakes the sofa, knocks a couple popcorn kernels out of the bowl. "Scared? Thought ya said this was boring. Why you wanna turn it off so bad, punk." 

Swatting a hand over to give you a little shove. Doing in back wouldn't do much good, besides. He'd have to push you so much harder to wipe the triumphant grin from your face. 

Montgomery Gator is scared of at least one beloved horror film. 

You'll keep such a secret tucked tenderly to your chest, much to his gruff and tuff dismay. 

"Maybe." Turning back to the movie yourself, a small smarmy hum following. "Maybe it is a little scary."

Silently shifting the snacks barricading the two of you off to the side. Wordless offer of solace should he want it. Pretending he'd just been drumming his fingertips atop the armrest instead of shredding it. 

It had been awhile since you'd watched the movie in full, much less never tucked away inside a closet decorated with cobwebs. Finding yourself shifting closer.

Discovering you really hadn't needed to shuffle all that far. Your legs tucked up on the surface bumping against his thigh. 

The next scare that you'd already known was coming, still has you jumping alongside Monty. Despite his stature, manages to curl himself around you, practically eased into your lap.

It's so ridiculous you try and fail to stifle your laughter, winding your arms around his shoulder. He hunches further down to evade your gaze. 

"Shut up, shut up. Only watchin' this 'cause you wanted to so damn bad! I ain't scared!" He grumbles, wobbly and dishevelled. 

Apologizing in strings of words to cushion the sting of giggling yourself stupid. You'd seen Moon crawl down all tangled from ceiling beams, and it had been the visual of a human person that freaked him out so bad. 

Strange. 

Giving his upper arm a squeeze, very well knowing the ticking time bomb of well deserved frustration would keep stirring in your lap, until you'd inevitably end up shoved face first on the ground. 

"... You really aren't scared'a that?" He huffs. Resting his head oh so subtly on your shoulder. A little awkward, but you'd take it. "Somethin' wrong with you. More than the usual." 

"Oh something is. Something is for sure." You muse. Leaning further back against the sofa.  "We can turn it off now, if you want. Doesn't get much better than this." 

"Maybe." He relents. "Depends. What else happens? Everyone else get possessed by demons too?" 

"Naah. That'd be a pretty good twist though. Demon infects everyone else, couldn't even imagine how terrible that'd be." 

"... Yeah." Monty parts your frame with a pat to your thigh. Kneeling up to turn the projector off himself. "Terrible." 

The lens flickers off with a faint click.