#c: egon

[sigmasoyboy]

tfw the weird kid you pulled out of a basement window turns out to be a bratty stubborn dumbass who refuses to go to the hospital despite the fact he's completely incontinent, there's blood in his urine and he needs to eat ibuprofen like candy to not be doubled over in pain (but you keep him around because it feels so nice to not be alone after all this time)

[🔥Jasper/Egon🔪]

[chaigirly]

Egon Spengler

Oh my good looking boy ⬅️ Link

Preview ⤵️

Saying you loved Egon was an understatement.

You adored this man with your whole heart, even if you didn’t understand most of the things he’d talk about it.

“So how do the ghost trappers work exactly?” You ask, walking with Egon downstairs to load todays catch into the containment unit.

You knew that would spark one of his rants, going on about things you couldn’t even repeat due to the complexity of his vocabulary.

You didn’t care though, it was intentional.

Just because you didn’t get it didn’t mean you couldn’t listen and try to understand.

Plus you loved his voice and the little glimmer in his eyes whenever he talked about something he was passionate about.

“When they’re activated by spiritual energy, they generate a localized electromagnetic field that attracts and captures spectral entities.

The trap opens to create a containment vortex, which, assisted by our proton streams, draws the ghost inside.

Once captured, the trap seals automatically, securing the ghost within a stable containment grid to prevent its escape,” he says as if it was common knowledge and you hadn’t zoned out while staring at him.

Oh he was so cute when he talked about anything to do with spiritual activity.

This hadn’t been the first time you had asked him about it and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time either.

How could you not?

He loved talking to you about it even if he knew you didn’t completely understand.

And you loved listening to him.

Well, staring at him and daydreaming would be more accurate.

———————————

[blackwolfflame]

Hey, @egonspenglershusband it's our men and some other guys.

Forgot I made this in a dazed state last night and got jump scared by it in my drafts

[iomadachd]

❝ The idea of enjoying having your head metaphorically crushed between a woman's thighs is more interesting than I'm prepared to readily admit. ❞ - Egon randomly musing this in front of Penelope? Why not?

Outrageous propositions from (1) idiot scientist

She may have just been out-innuendoed, and she has no idea how to take that. She might be a little bit in love.

"And yet... here you are admitting it, Dr. Spengler. Any other pressing fantasies you want to air out while we're here? Miss Penelope Garcia is all ears. Discretion guaranteed."

[leatherandmossprints]

‘The Embrace’ (detail) by Egon Schiele, c. 1917.

[bebs-art-gallery]

Dead Mother (c. 1910)

— by Egon Schiele

[antonio-m]

“Portrait of the painter Anton Peschka”, c.1909 by Egon Schiele (1885–1918). Austrian Expressionist lithographer, photographer and architect. Vienna, Austria. oil on canvas

[gacougnol]

Egon Schiele

c.1905.

[spirit-of-art]

Egon Schiele, Sitzendes Mädchen (Seated Girl), c.1910

[elishanelsonfanacct]

death and the maiden

niklaus manuel deutsch c. 1517, richard bergh 1888, matthias claudius c. 1774, hans baldung grien c. 1520—25, niklaus manuel deutsch c. 1517, hans sebald beham c. 1547, hans baldung grien c. 1517, edvard munch c. 1893—94, joseph beuys 1957, egon schiele c. 1915—16, karl siegfried guthke 1999

[ilovetheriddler]

egon spengler fluff alphabet please?

I've never done one of these alphabet ones before, but I'll give it my best go, I hope that you enjoy it!

Egon Spengler Fluff Alphabet.

A: Attention (How much attention do they regularly give you?)

He gives you a fair amount of attention, as much as he reasonable can in between his research and his work as a Ghostbuster.

B: Bedtime (How do they prepare for bed with you each night?)

Egon is a very straightforward man. He showers, brushes his teeth, makes sure his alarm is properly set, and then lays down. However, you do have to remind him to take off his glasses every time, a small oversight on his part.

C: Cuddles (How much do they enjoy Cuddles/How good are they at giving them?)

He doesn't necessarily require them, but he understands that they make you happy, so he allows you to cuddle with him whenever you ask to. Despite not needing them himself, he's very good at giving them.

D: Date Night (Where would they take you on a date?)

He's done a fair amount of research into what would commonly be viewed as the best place to take someone on a date, so he gets a reservation at a nice restaurant for the two of you.

E: Effort (How much effort do they put into what they do for you?)

A lot more than you'd think, in fact, he has an entire list of things about you that he's noticed and how you overall like things. If he's asked about the list, he will deny its existence.

F: Fun (What fun activities do they like to do with you?)

He lets you help him organize all of his charts and research notes. And after that he enjoys reading to you.

G: Gestures (What sweet gestures do they like to do for you?)

He's compiled a list of everything that you like and will regularly do research into it so that He's always able to share in your interests.

H: Hugs (How good are their hugs?)

It's a bit stiff and sometimes awkward if you hug him first, but if he's the one hugging you, then he's a bit more relaxed about the whole thing.

I: Infatuation (When did they first realize that they loved you?)

He definitely knew that he found your presence enjoyable, but he didn't realize that it was love he felt until quite a few months into knowing you.

J: Jokes (How funny are their jokes?)

He believes his jokes are extremely well thought out and educated. You sometimes find them funny, but most times, you don't even realize that what he said was meant as a joke.

K: Kisses (How often do they kiss you?)

He gives you kisses on the cheek quite often, but he's not a big fan of PDA necessarily, so he prefers to save anything more than that until you're both alone.

L: Love Letters (How would they write you a love letter?)

It's extremely well thought out and well written, however, decoration wise.... let's just say that for a moment, you thought he was handing you a document.

M: Movies (Their favorite type of movies to watch with you)

Other than documentaries, he doesn't really have a preferred genre. He'll enjoy whatever you want to watch, most likely.

N: Naps (Do they ever really take naps?)

He's not too fond of napping. He has a planned out schedule, and he intends to stick to it, and resting outside of his scheduled seven hours of sleep each night would throw everything off.

O: Observations (How perceptive are they when it comes to you?)

He's extremely perceptive most of the time. However, sometimes he's a bit blunt when asking how you're feeling.

P: Presents (What type of gift would they give you?)

He regularly gifts you interesting mugs that he finds. It was really sweet at first, but now you have 30 mugs and are running out of room!

Q: Quirks (Something specific that they do)

Instead of stopping giving you mugs, he gets you another cabinet. It would be easier if he'd just stop, but he won't.

R: Resentfulness (How likely are they to hold a grudge against someone?)

He doesn't really hold any bitter feelings for anyone for that long. He doesn't see a beneficial reason to do so.

S: Stress (How do they handle stress?)

Egon has gotten fairly decent at working under a lot of stress. He can handle that just fine, but stress related to his personal life? That's more draining for him.

T: Trust (How much do they trust people?)

Most people? He averagely trusts them. You? He's given you his spare key, a list of his medical history. If you told him something, he would trust you without much question.

U: Unexpected Kisses (How do they react to sudden kisses?)

Once again, he's not a big fan of PDA, so if someone else was around, he'd be a bit embarrassed. However, if no one was around, then he'd expect another one.

V: Valentines Day (What do they do for Valentines Day?)

He got you a whole bouquet of flowers! Lilies, Roses, Marigolds, a bunch of different kinds, because he believes that you deserve them.

W: Wishes (What do they hope for from their relationship?)

He has a 27-step plan for your relationship. No, he will not disclose what exactly is all there, but the important thing is that step 19 is marriage.

X: X Ray (What goes on in their mind regularly?)

"How can I implement this into our ghost busting? Hmm..."

"Reasonably that wouldn't make much sense.... however...."

"They really seem to like it when I cook dinner, perhaps I should do it more often?"

Y: Yearning (How much do they miss you while away from you?)

He sees no reason to really spend too much time thinking of you while at work. After all, he'll see you afterward, and you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, so why worry?

Z: Zzz.... (What do they dream about?)

His dreams tend to consist of him capturing ghosts, so, surprisingly, pretty much the exact same as his work every day.

[sigmasoyboy]

some soft exploration of Jasper and Egon's relationship. I really enjoyed drawing them being both weird and lovey-dovey during grosstober so I wanted to do that some more.

Bonus of the sfw part of a nsfw page I did with them:

Egon is such an ass lol

[eebydeebyderby]

Can We Talk?

A one-shot in which reader tries to comfort Egon after a lab accident leaves him shaken and a bit injured.

Inspired by this post for Whumptober for Day 1: Apology, but it leans much more towards hurt/comfort than true whump. Thank you for your patience as I start getting back into writing <3

General info:

Egon x Reader, established romantic relationship, hurt/comfort (Egon gets got), minor injuries, gender neutral reader

~1.8k words

The trap clatters to the ground when you regain consciousness, smoking and hissing at Egon's feet. You shake your head a bit, trying to clear your head, regain your bearings as you slowly look around. The lab is in complete shambles around you: papers scattered and fluttering about, tables turned over, equipment thrown on the ground, an overhead light is shattered and sparking.

You turn around to find Egon looking intently at you from just a few feet away, proton gun still buzzing in his hand, the trap still smoking at his feet. He's completely disheveled, his glasses askew and his hair a complete mess. His face is expressionless, completely blank except for the tears burning in his eyes as his fingers slowly ghost over the side of his face, the stinging handprint on his cheek painfully red and already beginning to swell into an aching bruise.

Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach and you gasp. “Egon, what happened?”

He stays quiet.  

You start moving towards him but freeze when he sharply recoils away from you, backing into a bookcase and knocking several books to the floor around his feet, startling you both. 

Your heart starts pounding in your ears and your chest tightens, threatening to stifle your breath. “Egon, I'm scared. What happened?”

He just stares at you, blinking rapidly. 

“Can you tell me what happened?”

             Nothing. 

Then, finally, he shakes his head. His breath catches behind the lump in his throat and he struggles in vain to try and swallow it down, his entire body trembling from the tension building in his chest, threatening to burst.

You slowly, very slowly, walk towards him, broken glass and equipment crunching beneath your shoes. He all but flattens himself against the bookcase, but still lowers his proton gun as you approach, halting just a few feet from him.

With delicate, deliberate movement, you reach towards him, making sure he sees and knows your intent.  

When your hand is about an inch from him he squeezes his eyes shut. Your hand grazes the uninjured side of his face and he sucks in a breath. His eyebrows knit together and he tries to keep his breathing steady, but he's unable to bear it and flinches from your touch. You yank your hand back, accidentally knocking a large thermos off a table. It hits the ground with a harsh, resounding clang, startling you both once again. His gaze fixates on the thermos as it rolls along the floor behind you. You keep your eyes on him.

“I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry,” you sputter. 

Complete silence falls between you two. The only noises you hear are the sparking of the broken light fixture and your own heart pounding in your ears. 

"Egon, whatever happened—I'm so sorry; I would never want to do anything that hurt you. I'm sorry. Whatever I did back there, I’m so sorry." The words spill from your mouth before you can process them. You open your mouth for a split second as your mind scrambles to find something else to say, anything, but it draws a blank and you remain quiet. Then, you mutter, “I love you. I never want to hurt you.” 

His gaze snaps up to lock onto you, and it breaks your heart to see the tears welled in his eyes, so close to spilling over as he uses all of his willpower to hold them back. Egon is never one to express emotions openly, always keeping them guarded behind a shield of polite detachment. But, here you can fully see the sorrow etched on his tired face, the hurt and vulnerability and conflict and, something else, something you can't quite place—

He breaks eye contact and swallows. "I th—” His voice cracks and he clenches his jaw for a moment. “...I think it would be best if we separate for now." His voice is strained and unsteady. He swallows again, avoiding your eye. Then, he manages to eke out, “I…I need space. Please.”

His request hits you hard and you feel your own emotions swelling in your chest. You force yourself to take a deep, slow breath and you're grateful that your wildly beating heart calms down a bit.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “I'll be upstairs in the bedroom.”

The room is dark and quiet when you walk inside. The sky outside is beginning to lighten with the dawn approaching over the city skyline, bathing the room in a faint blue glow through the window. You sit down on the foot of his bed and think, think, trying to recall what happened before you regained consciousness in the wrecked lab. 

The two of you were alone in the firehouse. You remember helping Egon tinker with a live trap—the mechanism for releasing the entity into the containment unit was malfunctioning, and the two of you were trying to fix it. There was a loud bang, a flash of light. You remember yelping, then dropping your screwdriver, then crumpling to the ground, then—

Nothing. 

There's a tentative knock at the door, tearing you from your thoughts. “Come in,” you say.

Egon slowly opens the door and walks inside, his entire body still trembling. The bruise across his cheek is swollen and darkened into a splotchy red. “Can we talk?” he asks quietly, his voice thick with congestion. 

"Of course."

He sits down on the bed next to you and you have to suppress the urge to wrap your arms around him. You're facing him, but he faces the floor, arms slung over his knees and his hands clasped tightly together, trying not to meet your gaze. He sighs, unable to keep himself from shaking with nervousness. "I…don't know where to start."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

“It…The entity, it…” The lump in his throat seizes up and he quickly becomes overwhelmed. He sighs, starting to get frustrated with himself, and shakes his head. 

“That's alright,” you mutter. “It's alright.”

Silence falls between the two of you. You stay quiet, wanting to give him as much time as he needs. Your gaze wanders over to the window; the horizon over the city skyline now glows with the faintest hint of pinkness beneath the cool blue dawn. The street outside the firehouse is quiet, but you still hear the faint noises of traffic from the city. It's still too early for the birds to be awake, and you wonder if—

"I know it wasn't you.” His voice nearly startles you, and your attention immediately snaps to him. “It wasn't. I know it wasn’t, but I just…” He lifts his head to look at the ceiling, hands clasped firmly together in his lap, and you see the tears burning in his eyes. He clenches his jaw, trying to stay grounded. 

“Egon, can I touch you?”

He nods hesitantly, still shaking like a frightened dog. 

You stand up and slowly bring your hand up to the uninjured side of his face. He braces himself, squeezes his eyes shut, fearing a strike he knows isn't coming. “Hey, it's okay,” you coo. “It's just me.” Your fingers graze his face and he tenses, clenching his jaw as you gently stroke his cheek with your thumb, feeling the light scratch of his stubble. Your hand gently cups the side of his face and you delicately tilt his head up to plant a kiss on his forehead. 

The tension gripping his entire body finally bursts. He exhales sharply and gasps as tears flood down his face and you immediately pull him into a tight hug, cradling his head against your chest. Sobs spasm in his throat and he wraps his arms tightly around you, trying to pull you as close to himself as he can, despite his glasses going askew and digging sharply into his skin. His breath comes in short, abrupt gasps that rack through his entire body. 

“Oh, Egon…” you mutter, running your fingers through his hair. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“I-I know it…it w-wasn't you,” he sputters between gasps. "It—...You would n-never say th-the things it said,” he swallows, struggling to force down the lump in his throat that’s stifling his words, and his voice steadies a bit, “or raise a hand to me, but it...it weaponized things that…that only you would know, things that I-I confided only to you and it—...I know it wasn't you attacking me, I know it wasn't.” 

His voice thickens as emotion swells in his chest and fresh tears drip off his jaw. He pulls away and looks up at you with red, swollen eyes, absolutely exhausted, markings dotting the areas around his eyes and on the bridge of his nose where his glasses were digging into his skin. You slowly bring your hand up the side of his face again and this time he leans into your touch as you stroke his cheek. He sighs and closes his eyes, relishing your touch, allowing himself to start gradually relaxing, fatigue weighing heavily on him. 

You look intently at him, reading the emotions etched plainly on his face, and you recognize the one from earlier that you couldn't quite place. You scowl a bit. “What's the guilt?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you, a bit befuddled. 

“Egon, come on. I've done things to you that would patronize Babylon the Great. I can tell when you're keeping something.”

He smirks briefly through his tears, the half-smile that is so delightfully Egon. It quickly fades and he sighs, trying to keep his breathing steady. “I should've been more cautious. It's my fault the entity broke containment.” 

Your brain scrambles between saying, ‘why do you say that?’ and ‘no, it isn't’ and you blurt out, “Why do you isn't?”

“I knew you'd disagree.” He pauses,  and you see a slight glimmer of humor return to him. “At least, I think that's what you're attempting to do.” He lies down on the bed and gestures for you to follow. You're more than happy to oblige and lie down with your head on his chest and your hand on his collarbone. He slings an arm around you and sighs deeply, sinking into the bed and allowing drowsiness to start taking control. 

“I think we should put some ice or something on your face,” you say, curled up against him.

He shakes his head. “Ice only works to temporarily replace one form of discomfort for another. It does nothing to actually aid healing.” He’s quiet for a moment and yawns deeply. “The lab is in complete disarray,” he mutters. 

“It's always in complete disarray.” 

He snickers. “You know what I mean.” 

“How about we worry about it later?” 

“Alright. We'll worry about it later.” 

[tuliptired]

He's Good People Ch.2

Chapter 2: We Could Steal Time, for Just One Day (We Can be Heroes)

Pairing(s): Gn!reader/Ray, Gn!reader/Egon, Gn!reader/Winston

Summary: (Egon centric) You get to spend most of the day with the quiet scientist, as per his out of character invitations.

Warnings: talk of having a baby, though reader biology is never specified

Thank you for all the support so far!

read it on Ao3!

 There was a soft light hitting your eye, lulling you back awake. You were safe, in your own bed, in your own house, about to go to work.

Oh. These aren’t your sheets. This was not your house. You sat up. Ray was still asleep, curled up in extra blankets beside you. You looked around, Peter and Winston were motionless, the clock reading 7:22. Egon’s bed was empty.

Normally, you didn’t wake up in beds that weren’t yours. Normally, you didn’t wake up in beds that weren’t yours in houses that weren’t yours. Normally, you didn’t wake up in beds that weren’t yours in houses that weren’t yours that belonged to some men you had only just met. And you don’t wear their spare clothes, and sleep in close enough proximity that you can hear their snores catch in their throats. You ran a hand over your face. It all felt so shameless. Not respectable. What were you doing?

The door opened softly and Egon stepped in, holding a stained piece of fabric. He appeared to have showered and dressed in the earlier hours of the morning, and he pulled a drawer open for a new tie. You felt awkward in his space, as he went about his business. Thankfully, he broke the silence.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning…sorry, Ray told me I could sleep in here.” You unconsciously pulled the sheets over yourself, despite the fact your body was fully covered in baggy sleepwear built for the physique of a 50 year old firefighter.

“I don’t mind.” He pulled a tie out and examined it.

“You didn’t sleep?” You ask idly. His fingers made ease of the garment, smoothing it out.

“I’m fine.” He looked over at the sleeping forms of his friends, dead to the world. “They won’t be up for a while. It’s a Sunday.” He paused for a bit, pondering something, shutting the drawer.

“Would you like breakfast?” The question takes you by surprise, but the emptiness in your stomach is starting to ache.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” He freezes up, as if he didn’t expect your answer. He blinks, gears turning, the offer coming out beyond his own volition. Egon shakes his head slightly, as if wiping a thought away. He and Ray had habits of doing that, you noticed.

“None at all.” He starts out the room. When he reaches the kitchen space, he stands there for a moment, hands at his sides. Robotically, he pulls out eggs, butter, sugar, and a few other things from the fridge, managing to lay them all out methodically, in an organized chaos.

You feel a bit rude, just standing there. “Is there any way I could help?” You unconsciously roll up the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

Egon keeps working, mixing something intently. “No.” You blink. Hesitantly, you move to sit at the table somehow feeling a little ruder. As Egon notices you pulling a chair out slowly so as to not disturb him, he sighs, slowing his work.

“Not because I think you’d be inadequate. I just have a system.” He lit a pan on the stove, pouring a small amount of oil into it.

“A system for pancakes?” 

“Mrs.Stantz taught me how to make them in graduate school.”

You got a little thrown at that. “Mrs…Stantz?”

A silence. His arms are suspended in the air, batter flowing into the hot pan. “Ray’s mother.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He held one.

“Your parents never taught you to cook?” You try to alleviate some of the palpable tension still in the air.

“My parents were fans of quark on their gruel,” is all he said. “But. The Stantz family was different. They…put sugar in their coffee. Had big ‘sundee’ dinners.”

He seemed to think hard before speaking again, measuring each word like they could betray him. “Mrs. Stantz told me that…cooking for others was a way of saying you wanted them to live.”

That’s why he offered. You could smile at that. In the short time you knew him, you’d gathered that he didn’t seem as skilled as his friends in the ways of sociability. You really didn’t know him as well as you’d liked- he hadn’t shown you much, but you could appreciate the gesture. 

“Thank you, Dr. Spengler.” He stilled again, ever so slightly. You hadn’t noticed until then that the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Maybe you ought to call him that more often? If you planned on sticking around. You didn’t know what your plan was anymore

There was a comfortable silence as he continued to work, diligently managing pancakes in one pan, potatoes and eggs in another. After a while, he pulls a small container out from the back of the fridge. 

“Do you feel strongly about mushrooms?”

“Do you want me to?” 

“These are top shelf. The Hennessy of the mycology world.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Eventually, he was plating food for the two of you, potatoes and eggs (with Hennessy mushrooms) on one half, steaming pancakes on the other. Before you could smile and thank him, he stops you.

Swirling around a small pitcher one final time, he carefully crouches at the front of the table. A light, yellowish liquid pours out of it and slathers onto the pastry, making you unknowingly drool.

With delicate precision, he adds a heap to his own. When he decides it's enough, he takes a seat, gesturing for you to start. You take a bite and…

Good god, this was the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The pancakes were cooked thoroughly, the texture of it all feeling like clouds in love on your tongue. The mysterious syrup was the best part- it was homely, and almost like a candy that melted down your throat. You stared up at Egon in disbelief as you swallowed.

“Holy cow” 

‘More or less. Buttermilk syrup”

It's safe to say you dug in, making quick work of the stack that was once on your plate. Wiping your mouth, you had to sing his praises. He had the slightest hint of an indulgent smile, watching you eat. One of pride, maybe?

 “These are incredible, Dr. Spengler. What do I have to do to get Ray to give me the recipe?” You asked earnestly. To that, his smile quickly fell, and he hastily dismissed the idea.

“Don’t bother. His mother says I’m the only one who can replicate them.” He speaks as if you’re discussing nuclear codes. “Besides, I’ve got it memorized.”

“Are you willing to share?”

“I’d have to kill you.”

You made pleasant conversation for a while, even after both your plates had been cleared. Nursing a pot of coffee, he recalled something. 

“Your bag ended up in the laundry chute. Here.” But he misjudges how secure the latch was- and as he holds on to the wrong part the contents spill onto the table. The worn, brown bag of candy from the day prior rips, and Crunch Bars, hard candies, and fruit chews tumble out in front of you. Embarrassment engulfs you as you apologize, just short of lunging over the table to clean up the mess, detesting how weird you must look carrying around a bag that had nothing but sweets. 

He helps you rather the treats up wordlessly, before handing you one of the many blue wrapped chocolate bars.

“Would it be optimal to keep candies in my flight suit?” He voiced.

“Don’t patronize me,” your face burns still, your hands crumpling up the paper packaging.

“I’m serious. It would keep my blood sugars high.”

“Go for it, Dr. Spengler.” You grinned, sliding him a Crunch Bar. Something twinkled behind his eyes. Was this the first time you noticed that he and his arms looked strong, under all that clothing?

“Hey noise machines. You woke us up.” Peter stands in the doorway, Winston and Ray behind him sleepily.

“Sorry,” you pardoned yourself. Like a pack of bears, the men made their way to search for the delightful smell that was wafting towards them from down the hallway.

“Don’t be. I’ve never heard the professor talk so much so early,” Winston yawned.

“Hey! You left us with the dishes!” Ray whined, holding up the dirtied mixing bowls and oily skillet. 

“There’s raisin bran in the pantry.” Egon conducted you out of the room. He had you follow him back to the bedroom, stopping at the door to think to himself. You were used to it at this point. He emerged, with a light blue sweater and an unworn pair of track pants. 

“I’m assuming you’d like to shower now. Here’s a change of clothes-” His voice got a bit worried at the end as you thumbed through the garments, musing at a dark blue fabric sandwiched between what he had handed you.

He couldn’t meet your eyes, his pupils darting in different directions. He fumbled with his folded hands. “They’ve never been worn. It was either those or long johns.” He shuffles past you, in a hurry to leave you be.

Opening up the pile, you see a dark blue pair of boxers, making your face ignite with embarrassment. It's the thought that counts?

“Dr. Spengler!” You call over your shoulder.

He’s halfway down the hall. “...Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He nods, and disappears into the corridors of the firehouse.

The showers are in one large bathroom, reminiscent of a locker room. A wall of sinks and mirrors, opposite a wall of spacious shower space, where curtains separate each showerhead. Well, you´re already there. There's a small bottle of coconut body wash staring you down as you do your business. Of course a little bit wouldn't be missed right? It's a lot more liquid than you expected- and that ´little bit´ went a long way. As you exit the shower careful not to slip on the slick tile, the coconut scent wafts into your nose pleasantly.

You stared at the pile of clothes neatly folded on a bench, like it's a dragon to be slain. In a way, it was. You pulled on the boxers- they fit better than you thought. Ignoring how the image in the mirror made you feel. As your skin still dried, you felt the blue sweater in your hands. The knitwear was delicate in your palms, the yarn a bit worn. It felt more personal than the spare loungewear left in the basement. It felt like a person. 

 It was fairly large, dwarfing your body. The fibers carried a similar coconut and sandalwood smell that the soap had, making your body feel protected. There were the sweatpants, too, but whatever. They weren't like this. 

You left your pajamas in a neat pile as you dropped it down one of the laundry chutes, hoping your undergarments didn´t tumble out into the open. As you crept down the stairs, Janine was working at her desk while Winston gave Ray a hand repairing the Ecto-1. You sat with her for most of the morning, as she insisted on your presence as she handled clerical work and gossipped simultaneously. The 2 men listened to your conversations fondly. 

“You smell nice,” Janine commented questioningly.

It was around 12 when a woman walked into the firehouse holding a baby, greeted by Ray and Winston while they worked on the underside of the car. Winston seemed a little less enthusiastic as he held the bright hot flashlight.

"Hi Dana. This is Peter´s keeper,” Janine filled you in. The woman, Dana, gave you a kind smile. "The little bald one is Oscar."

The baby sat patiently, if not curiously, in her arms, a hand in his mouth. Dana joked at him to say hi, and he blew a small raspberry in response.

“He's adorable," you cooed, letting instincts take over as he reached out for your finger, which you gave to him. "How old?”

"10 months, and already very handsy." Dana bounced him in her arms as he tried to replace the hand in his mouth with your own. "Is Peter around?

"Somewhere." Janine yelled for him, and he beckoned for her to give him a second. Egon emerged at that point, wondering what all the noise was. His features relaxed at the sight of the infant.

"Hi, Egon." Dana greeted him, as he stood peering at the mother and her child.

"May I hold him?"

She blinked, a little dumbfounded. "I thought you said babies carried pathogens detrimental to your lymphatic system?" Oscar seemed very interested in him.

"Normally." He held his arms out, expectantly. Dana slowly concedes, and he takes the baby awkwardly. Oscar didn't seem to mind the weird angle, held almost like a freshly caught fish on his back. He kicked his feet and stretched his arms out, and Egon looked as if he was scared to move.

You laughed, though partially concerned for his stability. Babies got heavy fast. "Have you ever held a baby, Dr. Spengler?" You repositioned him so that he sat comfortably against Egon´s shoulder. "May I…?" You asked Dana, to which she nodded warmly.

Taking Oscar, you held him with ease, as he reached up to grab your nose. Bouncing him in your arms, he hit you on either side of your temples, exploring your face. "What´re you looking for?"

Unbeknownst to you, Egon was gazing at you playing with Oscar. So was Ray, across the garage. As you walked in a circle with him in your arms, Dana also watched on, amused.

"You're a parent?"

The question catches you off guard. “Oh, no. Not yet at least.”

“Waiting for ‘the one’” Janine cuts in, eyes not leaving her computer.

“Among other things.” Oscar plays with the collar of the sweater, tugging on it. Peter hopped off the last of the stairs then, exclaiming at the spectacle.

“You’ve got some hairless monster on you,” he feigns fear. Oscar looked at him once, before going back to your collar. 

Ray crosses to you both, cooing at the kid in your arms. Peter stopped him halfway there.

“Wash.”

Ray looked down at his motor-oil covered hands, and defeatedly sulked over to the garage sink. Peter turned to you, opening his mouth to say something, before snapping it closed. He narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at you.

“Is that Eges’?”

You look down. “Is it?”

Egon went rigid, as usual, and swallowed silently. “Today’s forecast predicted a cold front.”

“We’re in the middle of the warmest spring in a decade. Mr. Softy’s outside.”

“Inaccurate journalism, then.”

While Ray’s eyes turned into slits from the sink, Peter’s widened. He put a hand on Dana’s shoulder and steered her towards the door. “I’m gonna have a quick walk with my girl here.”

“I was only stopping by for-”

“A quick walk.”

Oscar looked confused at seeing his mother go. He balled his fists in the front of your shirt. “The baby?”

“Keep it,” Peter called over his shoulder before the door shut. 

As Winston packed up all the tools under the elevated vehicle and Ray vehemently turned the pipe off, the phone rang. Janine took it, listening with “uh-huh’s” occasionally, before scribbling down an address on a notepad.

“There’s a client at,” she ripped the paper out and held it out for Ray, “this address. Golf course- she says there’s a puppet ripping out the green.” His eyes grew to the size of saucers as he read it to himself.

“Man! Are you sure this isn’t out of our zoning?” He pleaded with the tiny woman.

“I don’t know, Mr. ‘We’re ready to believe you’.” Janine resumed her typing.

“The day barely started and we’re already driving 2 hours out the way,” he grumbled., “Isn’t it Peter and Egon’s turn?” 

“It’s not. Last month we went down to that beach in Jersey.”

Ray’s incredulous glower deepened. “And you got ice cream afterwards!”

“And we’re very sorry yours melted.”

 He muttered a few things, before surrendering and pulling on his flight suit, Winston behind him begrudgingly. They repacked the car, pulled out the garage, and they were off.

Peter and Dana still weren’t back, so you sat back in the chair at Janine’s side. Oscar reached out to grab her sleeve.

“I’m returning this later, he’ll stain it.” She rolled her chair an inch away, sharpening a pencil. 

He babbled at her. “Don’t worry about Janine. She’s mean and old.” He tried leaning out of your reach to touch her face, entranced by something, before you spun the chair around. “She’ll steal your youth, Oscar.”

He looked a little bored, as he hit your temples for the second time. His brow furrowed as much as a baby could manage, as he examined your face again. “What?” You asked. He looked sad, making small whimpers at you. You turned the chair around again, showing him Egon. “He looks constipated, Dr. Spengler.”

Oscar suddenly got very excited, bouncing up and down and grabbing the air. You laugh, using your foot to bring a wheeled-stool over, waving Egon along to sit. He sat, legs comically too large for the tiny chair.

“Sure, let’s have a meeting at Janine's desk,” the woman commented dryly.

Egon looked a little bemused as the boy exclaimed for him, sitting in your lap. You scooted closer to him, so much so that your knees touched and formed a bridge, his skin getting warmer as you did. You place Oscar on the ledge you created, and he eagerly leans into Egon. He reaches for his face like he did you and Janine, but falls onto his butt in the process. Egon’s stiffness is endearing. It’s like there was a baby bear on his lap rather than a baby child. Jeez, he’s gonna burst a blood vessel at this rate.

Putting him out of his misery, you lightly grab each of his hands, steadying them on each side of the sitting baby marveling at the man in front of him. Egon’s skin is still warm, even more so now, as you coax him to pick Oscar up. The backs, at least, were a little rough and worn, but you expected no more from a scientist. He was still a man, at the end of the day. You glanced up at his panicking face, and you didn’t know any better, you’d say his chest was rising and falling more than normal. You held Egon’s large hands under your own as you aided him in raising him to eye level.

You leaned to the right, keen on teasing his bewildered face from behind Oscar’s rear end. “Was that hard, Dr. Spengler?” Oscar starts gleefully hitting his temples as he did yours.

“Do you want to have a baby.”

Janine’s typing stops. Egon’s glasses go flying off his face and land behind you, as the baby in your hands erupts in a fit of giggles before you could say anything. His hands recoiled from yours like you were a burning stove as you gently set him down, back on your own lap.

Egon looks like his brain is short circuiting and melting out his ears, which, for all you know, it was. Even with his glasses off, his face never failed to absorb you. He definitely had the face to make a few college girls lose their humility. 

He remembered human interaction and cleared his throat. “What I meant was. Oscar has a larger than normal head and large eyes. He also has an upturned, small nose.” His tone regained the scientific timbre it normally had. “Many people of,” he fished for the words, “child-rearing-age find these features…’cute’.” Janine snorted a laugh, then got up to search for his discarded eyewear somewhere on the floor.

“He’s to die for, no doubt. I just…” he’s resided lying against your legs now, his wonder satisfied for one afternoon as he teethed on one of Egon’s fingers, “Unfortunately, it takes 2 to to make a baby. I’m not exactly properly equipped to complete that job on my own” You sighed. How was your life gonna go back to normal, once your apartment was safe again? You hate to admit, but that job was you at your peak. Janine pressed the eyeglasses into Egon’s palm.

The door opened then, and Peter entered with Dana in tow. She smirked at the sight of you and Egon, knee to knee with a baby in between you.

“How cute, we’ll call up JCPenney and they can take a family photo,” she took to teasing Egon as you handed her back her son.

He sat limply in her arms, about ready for a nap. “He’s delightful, Dana.”

“Makes you wanna have one?” Janine turns in her chair to face you.

At some point during the afternoon, Janine sighed heavily at the idea of running around and completing the list of errands she’d let fester over the week as you ate together upstairs. Egon was tinkering with something at the workspace near you when he spoke up.

“Do you want me to do it?” He put the contraption down on the desk.

“You would?” Janine let her head fall on the back of the couch, holding the list out to him.

“I might as well. I can’t focus today.” He folded the paper, placing it in the pocket of his coat. As he started down the steps, he slowed, and turned his head towards you.

“Y/N? Would you mind joining me? I don’t get to the store much.” You had no objections. After washing the last of the wares you both had dirtied, you dried your hands off on a teatowel before descending the stairs on Egon’s heels.

He held the door for you as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, and the humidity hit you like  a brick. It had been a pretty warm spring, but the recent light rain seemed to cool the earth off, just a bit. It was getting gray and wet outside the longer you walked, clouds ghosting over the sun every now and again. You both walked together in comfortable silence, in an arbitrary direction (you’ve never been shopping in this area), as gentle drops on your head slowly turned into genuine precipitation.

Before you could suggest turning back, or grabbing umbrellas, the rain above you suddenly stops. As you look up, he’s holding his overcoat above your head. Head and shoulders undoubtedly getting soaked. 

“There’s a bus stop down the block. We can catch it if we run.”

With that, you’re off. Running like little kids down a hill, you narrowly avoid deep puddles and streetlamps as you giggle uncontrollably. As your feet hit the sidewalk with every step, the petrichor in the air fills your lungs like it’s your soul. In a way, in your adrenaline rushed mind, you equate it with the man next to you. 

When you finally reach the stop, the bus is lurking from the end of the street. Doubled over, you catch your breath, the air now feeling like fire leaving your esophagus. But you laugh through it all. And the man who shielded you from the rain lets out a weak, barely there chuckle. You straighten to thank him, when you notice how bad mother nature got him. Egon’s usually pomaded, high and tamed hair had fallen out of place, curls now coming loose on his head. He looked wonderful, other than most of his upper body being stained by the sudden downpour.

You can’t speak, staring at him, at the almost Grecian picture in front of you. His lips were parted slightly as he regained his energy, almost curled in a simper as the strong hands you felt earlier wiped some of the dampness from his forehead. His tie was a sky blue, unlike the sky that had dominion over you now. And god, he looked nice in blue.

As he noticed your staring, an eyebrow quirked up, only slightly. There was nothing for you to do but laugh, leaning into the tall man in front of you. He was stiff at first, and confused, but he succumbed to it soon enough, holding you as well as he couldn’t hold himself back from the ridiculousness of it all. You both probably looked like idiots, losing your minds on the side of the street. But for the first time since yesterday, you were sure of something. If this was what it felt like to be an idiot with him, you never wanted to be smart again.

[interventionlullabies]

Egon Schiele, Mourning Woman, c. 1912

[leatherandmossprints]

‘Dead Mother’ by Egon Schiele, c. 1910.