#college!egon

[rig0rm0rbid]

Idk man they seem way too comfortable in each others' faces way too consistently

[bixiebeet]

Question for the fandom: what do you think the Ghostbusters wrote about in their college/grad school admissions essays?

[yellow-dejavu]

Egon and Doris made the best decision ever by saving money for Claudia's university. Thank you Egon and Doris for seeing your daughter's potential.

Their failed marriage didn't matter; these two made it possible for Claudia to break an impossible knot, to fool 2 high school dropouts who became cult leaders, and to erase from existence a cursed family tree.

[spenglercore]

So I wrote a bit for my college AU, Carbon Dating. In which a 24-25yo Egon learns something about himself and strips a gear during a lecture.

Victoria is my OC bc I have no shame, she and Egon have been classmates at MIT for about a year, and he's got the floof and the aviator style glasses, and are both getting their PhDs in Nuclear Engineering and there may or may not be some hidden feels at play.

Tagged with my NSFW tag for brief mention of spicy things.

Once he and Victoria found their usual spot at the back of the hall, they settled in together and went over notes from the last lecture. But as the professor was getting ready to start, Victoria put a hand on his shoulder. "Hold still, there's something stuck in your hair," she said quietly.

He felt a slight, quick tug on the left side of his head, above his ear. Whatever was stuck there must have been stubborn, because Victoria tugged on his hair again; this time the tension was accompanied by an odd, not-unpleasant, hot sensation that seemed to bleed through him like ink on blotting paper. His heart was pounding and his face felt warm, and another tug made him inhale sharply at the sudden rush of...something. "Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to pull!" She whispered. "S'fine." The breathless way he responded surprised him, and as he tried to figure out what was going on, there was another gentle pull. He pressed his lips together as something seemed to tighten pleasantly in his lower abdomen. He tried to place the feeling, figure out what was happening to him. But his mind was suddenly foggy and he was having a hard time focusing on anything except the sensations themselves. It was both soft and sharp at once, almost adjacent to something like pain, and yet most definitely not that. This was without a doubt a pleasant feeling, one he wanted more of. He wanted to chase it, to seek more, to push somehow, and as he felt the muscles of his thighs and lower back tense in tandem to change the angle of his hips ever so slightly, the realization hit him; this was sexual arousal. That's very new...and awkward... he thought to himself. At least it couldn't get any worse, and as long as he didn't say anything, Victoria would never know. "Dammit..!" She swore quietly. Just when he thought things would stop at 'slightly uncomfortable', he felt her fingers gently run through his hair at the spot she'd been tugging at, and that gentle tension became constant as she continued her efforts. His left hand clenched into a fist, and it took a surprising amount of self-control to keep his face neutral at the warmth that bloomed in his chest and burst of almost electric pleasure between his - Oh shit. He'd been somewhat tense to begin with, but now every muscle in his body had gone taut. His face also was burning from more than just arousal now, even though he knew it was just an involuntary physical reaction. But he was reacting to a stimulus he hadn't even known would elicit that specific response. In the middle of a classroom, no less. At least he was sitting down... "Almost got it." The tension released, but as he was about to let out a metaphorical sigh of relief, there was another soft, almost sensual pull on his hair. He bit the inside of his upper lip when he felt what would have likely been a very...horny noise rise in his throat as his erection throbbed against his leg. He wanted to drop through the floor or otherwise somehow vanish, especially when he realized that if she kept this up long enough, he was going to - "Got it!" The light tension on his scalp vanished with her hand, and he could have passed out with relief. "Huh, piece of masking tape. No wonder it was so fucking stubborn," Victoria groused in a low voice. "Hwa?" Was all the response he could manage.

[wolfdog-weatherman]

*in college*

Peter: Hey Spengs I’ve gotta turn this paper in tomorrow can you just check to make sure it’s good.

Egon: Alright let me see-

The essay:

[agaypanic]

Kinktober is cumming Coming

october is in like a week or two which means that kinktober is in like a week or two!! i plan to have a fic for every day, but with college starting (first day is literally tomorrow omfg) i cant promise that a fic will come out on it's intended day

soooo if you don't wanna miss a kinktober fic, i have great news for you! not only will i have a kinktober masterlist, but i will also have a kinktober taglist. since ill be writing for a lot of different characters, you can ask to be tagged in every fic, fics for a certain fandom(s), or fics for a certain character(s). if you want to be tagged for a fandom or character, i can also add you to a taglist for my regular fics if you'd like (ppl part of my regular fandom/character taglists will be tagged in these fics unless they say otherwise)

heres a list of all the fandoms + characters that'll be a part of my kinktober 2024 masterlist:

Jurassic Park: Ellie Sattler

Saltburn: Felix Catton, Farleigh Start

Twilight: Carlisle Cullen, Emmett Cullen

Mean Girls: Regina George

Scott Pilgrim VS. The World: Gideon Graves

Heathers: J.D.

Ghostbusters: Ray Stantz, Egon Spengler

Five Nights at Freddy's: Mike Schmidt

Pitch Perfect: Beca Mitchell

What We Do In The Shadows: Nadja of Antipaxos, Laszlo Cravensworth, Nandor the Relentless

That 70's Show: Steven Hyde, Eric Forman

Hot Fuzz: Nicholas Angel

[notquitecanon]

Tell 'em bout the Twinkie // Dr. Egon Spengler x extroverted!Reader

Summary: Egon takes care of you after a long night on the town with the other Ghostbusters. While somethings are always the same, you surprise him yet again.

I found this hand written in a notebook from two years ago while I was cleaning so I figured id type it up and post it since there wasn't much new stuff in the tag. Dinner is served.

Warnings: alcohol use, drunk reader, sober Egon (obvi), descriptions of scraped knees and cut hands, blood mention, and first aid. Lots and lots and lots of fluff. Possible cringe. shameless use of Twinkie as an emotional allegory

Dr. Egon Spengler was enjoying a rare night of quiet in the firehouse. Janine had scheduled the whole week around the entire group being free tonight. Peter had insisted a little R&R was due in spades. And for Egon that meant spending a quiet night in, lackadaisically charting his mold and fungus, and catching up on relevant literature at his leisure. 

But for the rest of the Ghostbusters staff, it meant going out to a nearby bar for drinks and music. That included you, the Ghostbusters resident research analyst (as you were listed on their payroll). 

You had been hesitant to leave Egon alone, especially on one of the few nights you wren’t working to the wee hours of the morning or having dinner interrupted by what Winston had dubbed the "bust alarm". Still, the scientist encouraged you to join the others, knowing deep down you wanted to go. 

One of the many reasons he admired you was your easy and outgoing nature, your desire to be out in the world. Due to his introverted and nose in his book habits (even worse when he was in college), your extroverted demeanor was probably the only reason you had managed to befriend him. And because he admired it and profoundly enjoyed your company, he never Egon ever wanted to be the reason you didn’t do the things you wanted to. 

However, that didn’t mean he had the slightest inclination to join you in a Friday night crowded bar: packed with sweaty people he didn’t want to touch, drinks he didn’t want to drink, loud music he didn’t want to hear, smoky air he didn’t want to breath, and sticky countertops he didn’t want to sit at. And that’s just the reasons he got out before Peter gave up trying to convince him. 

So, he was content to gently push you towards the door with the assured promise he’d be happily waiting with for your return with leftover takeout- both of your favorite ways to end a late night since meeting each other as Grad Students. Nothing better than cold noodles after coming home little drunker than you meant to- and well, Egon didn’t drink but did enjoy an excuse for a late night snack (and an excuse to be close to you).

And with the firehouse still and quiet, Egon was enthused, seeing how ectoplasm interacted and affected the growth of his molds, making mental notes to show you. 

Aspergillums wouldn’t grow at all, actively decaying at ectoplasmic contact. Cladosporium both grew and decayed erratically with Ecto contact, creating a cascading starburst affect. Alternaria first grew at unprecedented rates but wouldn’t produce spores. Penicillin frew at normal rates but produced an odd smell. Fusarium grew rapidly and abundantly at first but died off just as rapidly. 

"Spengie!" A recklessly loud shout, Peter no doubt, echoed from the main entrance, "You gotta marry this girl!” 

And thus his quiet night was suddenly over- con. But it meant you were home- pro! Venkman's shout was accompanied by the sound of quick footwork stomping and scuffing above him, and Egon could imagine him doing a little spin around the fire pole. It was Winston’s voice that following in scolding. 

"Peter if you don’t shut the hell up, I will leave you at the bottom of the stairs for the night. We both know you won’t make it up by yourself.” His voice was a warning, but Venkman’s voice was cheeky. 

"After all we’ve been through, Zeddemore?” 

"Especially after all we’ve been through.” 

Egon smirked at his friend’s antics, shaking his head as he removed the Trichoderma slide from the microscope, encapsulated it, labeled it, and sorted it into his hobby file base. A well practiced move as a set of footsteps clunked down the stairs to him. His eyebrows twitched. 

Those weren’t your footsteps. 

And while he loved his friends dearly, they had gotten your company and attention all night. Despite his insistence on your outing, he was feeling uncharacteristically territorial about his night time traditions with you. 

"I’d knock but I don’t have a hand." Ray’s voice called out, sounding three quarters of the way down, chipper tone underplayed by a touch of strain. His steps were unaccompanied and you hadn’t called out to him yet- not even a good night. Had you decided to skip takeout all together in favore of crashing on the upstairs couch? If anything, the couch he had in the basement would be better for your REM cycle. Not to mention Egon was also in the basement.

Nonetheless, Egon answered, inviting him into the lab as he rose from his work stool. Finally, Ray turned the corner, silently answering all the scientist’s questions. Because there you were, wrapped around Ray’s back like a proton pack, your own jacket hanging behind the both of you like a cape, your purse on Ray’s shoulder, and shamefully useless shoes in his hand. Rays arms looped under your lax knees, and your arms were loosely around his neck like the worlds drunkest scarf. Meanwhile, your face had tucked into Ray’s neck, between your arm and his collar, now smudged with your lipstick. 

There was a momentary flash of jealousy until it was squashed by Egon’s sudden attention to your knees. He tensed, seeing a patch of blood on both knees, staining ripped tights and dripping to your ankles. There was a more subtle smudge of injury on both of your palms. 

"What happened?" Egon’s voice was clipped, zeroing in on your wounds as he crossed the lab, suddenly much more worried that you hadn’t even twitched. You were breathing deeply, but hand’t made a sound…

Ray had been expecting this reaction and kept a calm face, "Just took a little tumble, Spengler, see?” 

With that, he shook one of the arms holding your legs, jostling you enough to rouse you a little. Without looking up, one of your bloody hands weakly formed a thumbs up before going limp again. Egon looked between your hand and Ray’s face in a mix of disbelief, worry, and irritation. Stantz swallowed thickly, shifting from foot to foot under his friend’s discerning gaze. 

"That didn’t answer my question, Raymond.”

It only took one more cold look for Ray to start rambling the truth.

"Awww, don’t Raymond me, Spengs, it was all Peter’s fault, honest! It was like graduation weekend all over again. Venkman wanted a rematch, and, you know, (Y/N) had just enough to drink that she was feeling competitive. They agreed to the same stakes as last time and since you weren’t there (Y/N) placed a bet on your behalf." Ray explained quickly, not managing to hide his happy smile as he moved to gingerly deposit you on the couch. Egon was following like a shadow, taking great care to keep your head from falling back uncomfortably. Graduation Weekend had been the last time you had been carried home like this, only Egon had done the carrying that weekend, after going shot-for-shot with Venkman. After that and the subsequent hangover, you had vowed to 'grow up' and never get too drunk to walk for yourself. Until tonight apparently, Egon mused, brushing some hair out of the dried sweat on your forehead and noting your breathing, heavy but shallow. Not unusual after alcohol consumption. As Ray unlatched your knee from his hip, he perked up, "On the bright side, Peter’s cleaning the soot out of the Proton packs’ exhaust vents for a month! Lost on a technicality.”

"Hmmm." Egon hummed, adjusting you into a more comfortable sitting position as you slowly started to wake up, "Get the first aid kit for me?” 

"Sure thing." 

Egon watched your slow, scrunched blinks and how you slowly lifted your head to look at him, squinting before deadpanning until the blurry shape came into focus. It was hard to be irritated with you when your flushed face broke out into an unabated, silly grin, half lidded eyes brightening as you called in sleepy excitement, "Egon!" 

Spengler took the opportunity to analyze the dilation of your pupils-  glassy and dilated, but responsive. Good. He offered you a dry smile to appease you as Ray put the first aid kit beside you. In his other hand were three bottle- another college tradition. A non-FDA approved electrolyte and mineral enriched drink, formulated by Egon when he lived with Peter who was insufferable when hungover. Venkman called it "Liquid Rewind" and begged Egon to patent and copy right it, only after convincing him to add flavoring to mask the terribly bitter taste. 

Spengler nodded a thank you as he plucked the red one from Ray’s hand, giving it to you. Ray watched you pressed the chilled bottle against your warm cheek. This left the already opened grape to Ray who sported a purple ring around his mouth and orange for Peter. 

"Egon, red is Pete’s favorite." Ray pointed out as Egon started unpacking the first aid kit.

"I know." 

"He hates orange." Ray reminded him. 

"I know." 

Ray nodded slowly, he knew how petty Egon could be when he was irritated, and he didn’t plan to attract the scientist’s wrath. Instead, he cheerfully patted Egon’s shoulder and moved towards the staircase, "Alrighty then, she’s all yours now. G’nite, Spengs." 

"Goodnight, Ray. Thanks for getting her home.”

"Well, she sure didn’t make it easy. For a research analyst, she’s pretty slippery." Ray laughed, mostly to himself as he shuffled up the stairs most likely to the bunk room while Spengler pulled on a pair of medical rubber gloves. Egon also knew this from experience- Graduation Weekend he had also done the chasing when you pulled honestly impressive feats of escapism. Now, alone in the lab, Egon was kneeling in front of you in record time. 

He took the first aid scissor and made quick work of ripping off your already shredding tights with such an efficiency that if you were in your right mind you probably would have been too flustered to think straight. 

Egon ignored your little noise of protest, attractive scientist or not, those had been your good tights. The scientists offered you a cocked eyebrow as he rolled the tights down your legs. You simply sighed as he started gentle strokes to clean the blood off you now bare skin.

"Did you have to give Ray such a hard time?” 

The scolding was playful even though delivered with his usual level of directness, still, even drunk you knew him well enough that it made you smile. 

"Well, I was actually giving Peter a rough time, Ray just happened to be collateral damage." Sleep was starting to wear off, leaving your words only a little slurred, as if you were taking great efforts to make sure they were clear. 

"And what did Peter do to deserve your ire this time?" Egon dousing some gauze with antiseptic. He didn’t flinch at the acrid scent, and usually you wouldn’t either, but this time your nose scrunched as Egon moved in even closer. However, you didn’t flinch in the slightest when he started dabbing at the shredding parts of your knees. Instead, you took the chance to appreciate the view of the good doctor kneeling in front of you, overhead lights casting a halo on his dark curls. It would be the perfect distance to lazily run gentle fingers through those curls. You seriously contemplated, but decided not to. You didn’t want to get blood in his pretty, soft hair. Wait- you were supposed to be answering his question… 

"Made an uncouth comment." You sniffed as Egon moved to the next knee to clean the scrape. He hummed again noticing your non answer but not commenting- one problem at a time.  

"Most of his comments are uncouth." He pointed out, pausing to smirk up at you, sighing in relief when you giggled. The was a comfortable pause as Egon focussed in on the deepest gash, but not for long.

"How is the ectoplasm variant going?" You asked after going quiet long enough that Egon wondered if you had fallen back asleep. 

"I’ll have to show you tomorrow. I want your thoughts." Egon informed, a slight smile and point of pride that you had inquired after his work even in your current state as he dabbed antibiotic cream on your knees, "The Cladosporium is behaving particularly erratic." 

"Ugh, my bet was on the Asparagus." You sighed, prodding at the edge of one of the deeper cuts at the top of your knee. Egon gently, but sternly, nudged your hand away, giving you a warning eyebrow before taping large bandage on over one knee. 

"Aspergillus." He correct, almost sounding amused as he moved to the next knee, applying the bandage with just as much care, "Hands." 

"Yes, doctor." You teased, offering both your palms. Egon gently took your left in his larger hand, using his other to repeat the same process. These scrapes were much less deep, mainly superficial, a product of catching yourself before your head hit the pavement, your knees had taken the brunt of it, but Egon was nothing if not thorough. It was quick work to clean and bandage both palms. 

"There, that should prevent an infection." Spengler informed you, holding both of your treated hands in his after disposing of his gloves, he gave them a quick, tender squeeze before pressing the bottle of red ~liquid rewind~ into your grasp, quickly cracking the lid off for you, "Drink that." 

"You know I’m not even that drunk." You scoffed, giving him a playful glare but obeying anyway, taking a long pull of the bottle, only stopping to swallow and breathe before going back in. This time both of his brows were raised as he stood, taking the trash from his impromptu clinic to the nearest bin. 

"How much have you had to drink, exactly?" 

You thought to yourself for a second, raising your eyes to the ceiling and mouthing numbers before tallying them on your fingers while you mentally replayed the night. Egon waited expectantly as he removed his lab coat, getting increasingly more concerned the longer the tally went on. 

"Lets see…. approximately pi cubed divided in half times 1.5, minus six." 

Egon didn’t even have to think about the calculation, instead being bewildered by the sheer amount of liquor you had managed to imbibe. His voice raised just a bit, mostly in disbelief and concern, "17 drinks?! (Y/N)." 

His disbelief sounded more like frustration to you, and your lip wobbled a bit as you lurched forward, regretting the sudden move but powering through as your eyebrows knitted up, looking up to the scientist pleading, voice a whine, "Don’t be mad." 

Egon shook his head with a deep sigh, catching your hand as you reached for him.

"I’m not mad. Surprised you��re coherent? Yes. Impressed at your current equational prowess? Definitely."  He listed as you weakly pulled him back towards you. Egon nudged the forgotten red stained bottle, "C’mon, a little more." 

After a long swallow, you nodded, "Well, after I slipped the boys, I made it pretty far uptown before they found me-" 

You had started almost sheepishly, this time expecting Egon’s crinkled eyebrows and interruption. 

"They lost you?" He repeated lowly, but you just shrugged, squeezing his hand as you continued your tale. 

"Only for an hour, but it was a long walk back home. Well, it was for Ray at least. So I had plenty of time to workshop my math, Ray doublechecked it for me. And I still had time for a nap." You seemed pretty proud of yourself. Egon opened his mouth, eyebrows raising then falling as his mouth closed. 

"I see. Is there a particular reason you needed to escape?" 

"Noooo…."You dragged out, using his hand to pull yourself out of you slouched sitting, using him to keep yourself steady. Egon didn’t budge, allowing the contact. His head cocked ever so slightly to the side, looking at you over the rim of his glasses. You crumbled instantly, "Yes." 

With an innocent smile, you fished into your jacket pockets, patting yourself down with increasing franticness, "I kept going until I could find a 24 hour bodega." 

"You ran off inebriated by yourself in the middle of the night to a late night convenience store in New York City? This neighborhood is basically a demilitarized zone. We’re definitely going to have to discuss that." He muttered, checking you over for any injuries he or Ray might have missed. You were undeterred by his scolding because you had found whatever you had been searching for.  

"Well, where else was I gonna find these at this hour?" You asked earnestly, revealing two only slightly squished Twinkie's. It was your turn to quirk an eyebrow, "What? Did you think I would forget about our late night snack?”

You were interrupted by a overpowering yawn, eyes suddenly drooping, "Gonna be honest though, don’t think cold Thai food is a great move for me at the moment. 

Egon took the slightly squished confection out of your hand, giving it an appraising gaze, before breaking into that signature sideways smile as you leaned into his chest. With all the secrets of the night in the open, you didn’t have much else fighting to keep you awake. Egon his arms around your back, using one hand to rub soothing circles on your back. The good doctor allowed you to stay like that, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. As your breathing slowed, more and more of your weight slumped against him. 

Egon didn’t mind, finally getting that close contact he’d been waiting all night for. Instead, he stared down at the twinkie in his hand. The cream was squeezing out of the sponge cake and smearing onto the crinkled plastic wrapper, but you had ventured countless blocks out of your way, escaping three of New York’s ghostbusters, just to pick up something you knew he’d like.  Even with 17 drinks actively shrinking your neurons, you were always so thoughtful. 

Egon was well aware of how much his friends loved him, and he would always be grateful for finding each of them. But there was always just something different about your love. If Egon possessed a more artistic disposition, he might describe it as a warm ocean wave washing over a beach. Gentle, yet unstoppable. All encompassing. He wasn’t quite sure what he had done to deserve someone like you to love him like you did, but whatever it was he’d do it a thousand times over- even if it meant cleaning you up after a long night out on the town. 

"Did you have a good time tonight?" He asked quietly, feeling you nod into his chest . His sweater was soft against your cheek and he smelled as wonderful as always: earthy yet clean and the slightest hint of something smoky like a full trap or lab experiment gone wrong. After a deep inhale you nodded again through another yawn. 

"Mmmhm. ‘missed you though." Your voice had slowed back down to its sleepy, slow tone that Egon would never admit to loving as much as he did, the warmth of him and quiet lulling you. You were fighting to stay afloat, but Egon’s thumbs working slow circles into your back were winning as he answered. 

"I missed your company as well." 

-

And it was later, when you had fallen into a deep unbothered sleep on the lab’s couch after stealing one of Egon’s t-shirts- the ones he would wear under his jumpsuit-, and using his lab coat as a blanket, that Egon thought about all this, taking a slow bite of his slightly squished gift.

Peter was right. One day, he needed to marry you.

-----

so I tried two somethings new. 1.) tried writing this more from his perspective, which isn't something I really do with any character. 2.) Paired him with a more extroverted out going reader, because I feel like we usually see him paired with more introverted types

anyways I typed this up at 3 am after crying for five hours so please excuse any typos.

[manicpanicaddict]

"Right..," he affirmed. He pulled a pen out of shirt and added to his scribbled notes. If anyone could ever make out his scrawl, it would read as follows:

Resident. Met 11:30pm. "Jimmy". Same height, approx. 6'2". Blond? Favorable: offered directions and assistance to "Shady Oaks Cemetery". Unfavorable: Wandering outside at 11:30pm. Questionable motives. Knows something.

He replaced his pen and his hand went back to his hair for a moment before packing his notebook away.

"Spengler," he hesitated a beat, "Hn. Egon Spengler."

He hadn't prepared himself to meet anyone this late at night. It was unexpected. His brow furrowed. He was told many times over not to be out alone, not for his safety but for--.

No he shook his head, his matted curls bouncing.

"A ride, yes. I would appreciate that. Thank you." He forced the words out of his mouth. What else? Surely he should say more.

He pat his bag, "I brought a flash light."

Jimmy sighed again, nearly regretting his offer. Yet again, if this guy was that determined to go, it would be better for him not to go alone.

He was more likely to make it out alive that way.

"Shady Oaks, yeah. That's the older of the two official ones we've got. I don't think it's still being maintained though. Shadybrook...that's somethin' else."

He really didn't like talking about that place. And there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd be taking this stranger there.

"We can take my truck," He offered. "It ain't too fair, 'bout a five minute drive, but it'll be better than walking."

"I'm Jimmy," He said, offering the other man a smile but not a hand to shake, he didn't want to make him anymore nervous. "Figure if we're gonna be wandering around in the dark, we oughta at least know each other's names."

[sodaclown]

I'm still to busy with college to make new digital art. I've been practicing in traditional tho, so here are some Egon (and Ray) drawings

[ask-sister-solaris]

Egon with a reader who is buff???? I wanna pick up this man and chuck him around Istg-

He’s scared

Egon Spengler x buff!reader

Warnings: swearing

“You work out?”

You hummed as you fiddled with your baggy shirt. You always wore baggy, none form fitting clothes. You were helping Egon in the library waiting for Ray and Peter. Of course once they arrived things kicked off and you had to contain laughter when Peter got the ectoplasmic residue in his eye, jokes aside you followed Egon as rolled your eyes at Peter’s remarks. You’d been with these guys since day one back in college. And yet they didn’t know everything about you.

After Ray tried (and failed) to touch the spirit you all ran from the library. You walked with Egon as he calculated the results and finally told his peers that they may be able to capture and hold a ghost. Of course you were just excited as Ray and Egon, even peter was showing some excitement.

Fast forward to the first night at the firehouse and you were dressed in a tank top and combat trousers. You heard the door for the Chinese and headed to the dining/kitchen area, Egon nearly choked on his water seeing you “You work out?” You looked at him confused but smiled and nodded “course I do! If I’m going to be working within the parapsychology field I need to be able to handle myself, specially now I’m a ghost buster” you winked and hummed as you all began to eat.

As Janine yelled out and pressed the bell a grin spread across your face and you were the first down the pole and into your jumpsuit. As you set of to the hotel you felt Egons eyes on you still. His gave a look of good lord I want this woman to carry me.

[bixiebeet]

Title: I Think We’ve Met Before

Summary: The Ghostbusters’ new secretary wants to get her college degree. The team is eager to help with her application—and in the process, they realize that they’ve all crossed paths before.

Chapter 1–450 words.

Clack, clack, clack. Fuzzy green letters filled Janine’s computer screen. She told herself that it was kosher to finish her resume during her lunch break. After all, she was allowed to use the computer for non-official purposes.

All things considered, it was work related. She desperately wanted—and needed—training that her bosses couldn’t provide. In her first few months as the Ghostbusters’ secretary, she’d become their de facto office manager, legal department, and chief financial officer.

Her mind was set: she’d go back to school.

Truthfully, Janine felt embarrassed about lacking a degree. She worked for three of the most highly educated men in New York City. In a city of nearly 16 million people, that was no small feat. She lost count of how many degrees Dr. Spengler had, much less the whole team.

With the ghostbusting business booming, she had a steady income to afford classes. Plus, societal norms had changed since her childhood. This was the 1980s! Modern women could pursue careers and higher education.

Janine had a copy of her high school transcript for her application. She hoped that a resume and cover letter might bolster her chances of admission. Maybe being an older student wouldn’t be so bad; she had lots of real-world experience to offer.

“You seem busy,” Ray said as he walked by.

“Oh, not really,” Janine said shyly. “Whaddya need, Dr. Stantz?”

“Call me Ray,” he said with his usual warm smile.

“Sure…Ray,” Janine said as she slowly smiled back.

“We accidentally destroyed a city bus. Again,” Ray sighed. “It wasn’t our fault. Another damn ghost driver. We need a letter for the mayor…”

Janine searched for a notepad on her desk. That’s when Ray got distracted by her other papers.

“Is that an NYU brochure??” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. I’m thinking about taking a few business classes. No big deal,” she said. She worried that any perceived distractions could get her fired.

Ray’s face lit up. “What a great idea!!

“I’d work normal hours. It’d be night school—wait, what?” Janine said. “You don’t mind?”

“You may notice that we don’t have the best business acumen,” Ray admitted with a chuckle. “Don’t let Peter know I said that. But he could use help.”

Janine beamed. “I went to secretarial school a few blocks from NYU in ‘72. It’s my dream to get a real diploma.”

“Small world! Spengs got his parapsychology degree at NYU in ‘72. We hung out there a lot,” Ray said. “Did you ever go to campus?”

“Every week,” Janine said. In fact, her high school best friend had been an NYU student. Janine started to wonder if she’d ever crossed paths with the Ghostbusters before…

[sonicscrewdriverstantz]

Headcanons, Being Ray Stantz's Child

gender neutral!reader, child!reader

Being born during the groups college days, and just adding a dose of daily chaos to their otherwise uneventful studies.

Three men and a baby. Enough said. It's absolute pandemonium.

Ray being the mother hen. Egon being the irresponsible father, and Peter being the fun uncle.

You have an entire family, even if not by blood.

Ray bringing you to college with him, and multitasking because he can't afford childcare.

Him using you as someone to rattle off all his theories about the occult and paranormal to before you can even crawl.

Peter uses you as a 'mini wing-man'. Women flock to him because they think you're his child and find the fact that he's a seemingly decent single dad attractive. (GIRL, IT'S THE BARE MINIMUM) Peter being himself, of course, doesn't bother to correct them.

Constant compliments being directed towards you by women, to which Peter's reply is always the same.

'Mhmmm, yeah, they get their looks from their father' *insert cocky, arrogant smirk*

Ray then reminding him that he's not actually the father.

'Oh, no, I know, I was complimenting you, honey' *cocky, arrogant smirk still in place, this smug guy knows exactly what he's doing*

Ray immediately becoming quiet and turning a bright, red colour, stumbling, tripping, collapsing over the English language, of which he's usually quite eloquent with. Then picking you up in his arms, and walking off muttering variants of profanities and insults directed at Peter

This section was greatly inspired by a ficlet my friend, @xraylovers wrote for me :) Thanks for letting me use your idea bestie.

Egon views you as a science experiment... problems ensue.

Days spent leaning over old occult books, the dusty aroma worn like a birthday badge as a testament to the age of the journal drifting into his child's face as Ray carefully reads each line.

Him having no concern as to whether this is proper bedtime story material for a 5 year old, as long as their happy, which, judging from the small inquisitive smile and plethora of questions asked, they most definitely are.

Ray is so excited to have a mini replica of him, just as interested in the occult as he is, someone to share his special interest with and experience the excitement and wonder of it all for the first time through their eyes.

Peter looking upon Y/N as his niece/nephew and calling them 'Baby Stantz' or 'The Littlest Ghostbuster' or variations upon. All the while, Y/N constantly complaining about wanting to be a Ghostbuster now.

Naturally, Peter buys a mini Ghostbusters suit with 'Baby Stantz' custom inscribed as the name tag, as well as a toy replica proton-pack. Which Egon promptly turns into a miniature, but fully-working proton-pack... until Ray confiscates it, sharing some harsh words with Egon about children's safety.

'Ray, I was merely teaching Y/N the proper way to operate a proton pack to prepare them for when they become a Ghostbuster'

'EGON! You can't give a child an unlicensed nuclear accelerator!'

Winston becoming the only semi-normal parental figure you have: Egon knows nothing about children, your dad is an extreme mother hen, and Peter is... himself.

Your dad would often take you out in the Ecto-1, wheels spinning, sirens blaring (after you begged ro have the sirens on, and every time he agrees because he has no backbone when it comes to you). You roll down the window and hold your hand out, letting the air rush through your fingers in quick succession as you take in the sights of New York City.

Despite his initial protest, when you became a little older and he realised how serious and passionate you were about following in his footsteps, your dad taught you how to use a proton pack and ghost trap (while supervised of course!) in the basement. While others your age were playing sports or video games, you were being taught how to wrangle ghosts and spirits.

Despite the dangers and challenges of being a Ghostbuster, you've always been proud of your dad and your family. They're not just heroes to the world, they're heroes to you, too.

[rgbfactsdaily]

Egon got an A- on a test in college once and his parents wouldn’t talk to him for a week. (The Devil To Pay)

[tuliptired]

hello! I don’t want to bother you but could you possibly right about old man Egon Spengler x fem reader?

Empty Pocket Waltz

Pairing: Old man!Egon Spengler/Fem!Reader

Not a bother at all! Firm believer that some pussy would've saved him

Better formatting on Ao3!!

You’ve been living in Summerville, Oklahoma for at least the last handful of decades. It was a cold and windy night when you loaded Callie into the backseat, before you and Egon left your lives in New York to save the world, supposedly. After starting from scratch in a gilded age farmhouse, sending a child off to college, meeting her children- it felt like more of a family dinner. Nevertheless, you were happy. And, despite the threat of constant doomsday for years on end, Egon seemed at a weird sort of peace. Every morning you wake up, you wonder what your future would’ve been like, if your daughter didn’t cry out in the middle of that argument. If he had never gone to hold her, and realize that this was a matter of your little family, as well as the planet.

That was then, in the confines of your miniscule apartment, paint peeling off the walls and water endlessly dripping out your taps. You took a long breath in, grateful for the abundance of fragrant house flora you had managed to keep alive. It was just you and the rolling farmland this morning, a silent little symphony as the sun beat down on your face. Not even the pan below you dared to make any noise.

Your moment alone was cut short by the gentle running of water, and later the creak of the floorboards that made up the steps. Egon had become a better sleeper in time. He used to insist on going in late, getting up early, taking care of Callie before you’d managed to open your eyes. But his old habits came crashing down after a while of falling asleep to gentle wind chimes, chirping crickets, pittering rain. And you found it adorable- his messy hair and soft pajamas seeing you off to your job in town every morning.

You felt a warm body at your side as you finished making breakfast. “Did you sleep well?” you asked, the question as familiar as he was. Egon didn’t answer, leaning his head on your shoulder while you carefully poured him coffee, one cream and four artificial sugars. Time may have altered his disposition, but never his tastes.

“Well,” you started, plating pancakes after he trudged over to the table, “I hope you eat as well as you sleep. We have a big day today.” you spoke excitedly.

Egon woke up a bit after a sip from his old and worn out mug. He puzzled over your proclamation, brow furrowed a bit. “We do?” he wondered, growing nervous in wake of your bright smile.

“Pruning day!” you announced, wrapping your arms around his neck from the back as he let out a soft groan. “And you’re gonna help out, because you promised your poor old wife with bad knees that you’d get it done. And because you love her.”

“Yes. And because I love her,” he said dryly.

You heard him sigh as you loosened your embrace around his shoulders. “The flowers aggravate my allergies and dirt gets stained into my clothes,” He paused. “Get me the shears from the mudroom, please?” A happy noise escaped you then before you buried your head into his hair. “Thank you, Egon.” Geez, did he always have this much hair? You could feel the white locks tickling your own scalp. “Ouf. Next item on the to-do list is a haircut.”

 Egon had been out there for some time when you emerged with a glass of lemonade. Watching your husband do physical labor under the sun was a fairly indulgent source of entertainment- but there’s just something about a man tending to a garden on his hands and knees that made your day a bit brighter.

“Since you’re working so hard,” you offered him the cup, a painted little thing that Callie had made in school, while you sip from your glassware. 

He didn’t seem to mind, shamelessly taking a drink. “Thank you.” He sat back on his haunches then, observing your mini yield. “You’ve got a lot this summer.”

“I know,” you marveled, taking a quick headcount of all your sprouts, shoots, and stalks. “It’s a pensioner’s dream.” 

If your grandson were here, and not up north- he’d undoubtedly be making fun of you both for your stereotypically geriatric source of entertainment. It had taken both you and Egon, the genius, ridiculously long to notice the acres upon acres of farmland at your disposal. Of course, this was after a sizable amount of stressing over what it took to adequately feed a growing child. So, you grew what you could for dinner, garden plot now confined to the side of your house as caring for it became hard.

You took refuge on a worn chair in the shade, legs crossed while your husband bent back down to work. You couldn’t help the pleased sound you made to yourself at the sight of him, pants hitching up to the midsection of his thighs and a bit closer to his skin than other bottoms you’d  seen him don outside. He’d gotten a little fuller over time, but you’d be a liar if you dared to say you minded. 

“Those shorts were a good decision, then?” you mused, low eyes still on his lower half. You nearly missed the look of offense he had as he looked over his shoulder. “Glad you’re bringing them back.”

“I have nothing else. We should put laundry on the list.” Egon stated. 

You rested the glass on your own thigh, condensation providing a little relief from the warmth permeating your spot in the shadows. “You have at least two pairs of sweatpants left. I checked,” you scoffed. You’d known him for so many years that you had no problem decoding his unvarnished nature, even if it was slightly annoyed. You knew he really wasn’t too upset at your ogling, or letting the chore slip your mind. And- he did wordlessly arch a bit further into the bush, a satisfied smile growing on your face.

After all his drudgery was done, you promised you’d find a way to repay him after a second shower. His hulking figure tracking soil around your hallways was enough for you to usher him into the bathroom and stay at the door until you heard the water run. 

He wasn’t very long, and you met back in your now-steamed-washroom to tackle his little salon treatment. “How’d this happen?” you murmured rhetorically, examining Egon from all angles while he dwarfed a stool. He always had refused to use the toilet for anything but its intended purpose, chastising you and your daughter whenever you dared to. In the rare times Callie looked to test his patience- Terrible Twos, she knew that a lesser loved doll or picture book could stand a swim in the porcelain, if it meant getting back at Daddy.

“I thought you liked my hair long?” Egon asked, covered by the fluffy towel you dried his damp hair with.

You brushed it back into its usual place. After a long time of being styled- probably since his final graduation, his hair seemed to compromise, curls finally growing in the way he had manipulated them to. “I do, but that was then,” you worked. “College-Egon was a different guy.”

He sulked a bit. “Elon’s wife lets him wear his hair long.” His uncharacteristic petulance was endearing to you, as you grabbed a pair of hairdressing scissors. These had saved Callie on many different occasions, most notably when you had come home to find her and her father locked inside the destroyed bathroom, trying every remedy in every cupboard and cabinet to remove something viscous and sticky that ended up on her from Egon’s lab. 

“Elon’s wife let him keep a family of foxes. She only put them out when they scuffed her china cabinet.” you laughed lightly, not yet removing anything from his head.

“I won’t take away too much. Just enough to not scratch me.”

He conceded. “You know best.”

“I know.”

You carefully clipped just shy of half an inch from the white that took over what once was brown. You had to admire its refusal to thin out, thick but light pieces littering the tile beneath you. Before he knew you, an old and apparently unkind barber down the street cut his hair. When the price of that looked too high for his parents, his father took up the job, and he wasn’t much of a step up. Once Egon was out on his own, people seldom touched his head, not even after his degrees were finished and he gave it a drastic cut. It always felt nice, being on the giving end of taking care of such a distinctive part of him. One he really never let anyone influence or alter, when given the choice.

A gentle snoring rumbling from him and the slight slump of his head drew you out of your focus when you took a step back to review your work. “You really are old,” you grinned, rousing him awake. You caught your reflections in the mirror. “Good?”

Egon gave you a nod of approval, sitting patiently as you brushed some of the stray white off his shoulders. “Good.”

You examined him once more, still not fully satisfied. Something was off. He still looked great- he always looked great. But you were skipping a step. Egon was nothing if not tolerant, waiting for you to finish your evaluation.

“I know,” you snapped. You didn’t give him much of a further explanation, dipping into the drawers of the sinkside cabinet and emerging with a razor. “Your beard.”

The very tall man nearly scooched off the stool. “I thought you liked it? You’ve never said anything before.”

You glanced down at the shaver in your hand. Shiny and electric- one of the first things you had ordered online, when that was a new thing. “Okay, maybe not these.” you placed them on the counter. “Come on, grandpa. Just a trim.”

You were lucky Egon trusted your judgment. So, you took the scissors and carved him back out, catching short strands with the equally as white towel.

“There you are,” you twinkled, proud of your cosmetology skills. You placed a loving kiss on his cheek, his own smile pulling at the muscle. In your little moment, he convinced you to let him paint your nails in thanks. Your husband. Egon was always handsome, before and after your pampering. But you reveled in the intimacy of routine maintenance with the one you loved.

“Darn it,” you closed the washer-dryer. Halfway through its cycle and it decided to start fussing again. “Egon?” you called, hoping he’d mess around with it again and finish drying your wet clothes.

And mess around he did. He turned knobs, moved pipes, plugged and unplugged things with increasing frustration. This didn’t show much but his stubbornness, but he really was a smart man. With a PhD. But this was one of his few intellectual weaknesses- “smart” appliances. It was one of the more newer things in the old house, an upgrade the handyman (Egon insisted he could fix the old one alone, nearly electrocuting himself before you put your foot down about it) who came from really far out of town to help you out had suggested. But, there was always something going on with it, whether that was your fault or otherwise. There was always a new fix, but not now.

Egon must’ve sensed your worry over the clothes still inside. “We can put these on the line to dry,” he reassured you, using some of his strength to push it forward and inspect whatever went on at its back.

“It’s gonna rain,” you troubled, peering outside at the graying sky. He was in his own, mechanical world, not hearing you as he assessed the faulty thing. 

“Egon?” You wrapped your arms around his middle. 

You could tell his ponderings didn’t stop at your touch. “Yes?”

“I know you can fix the car. And your proton pack. And my hair dryer.” He let out a noise of acknowledgment, which might have had a hint of pride.

“But maybe,” you cringed, “we should just cut our losses and take all this to the laundromat?”

He shot down your idea- because of course that was the wildest suggestion ever presented to him. “Why go all the way out there over something I can fix in an evening?” Egon reasoned.

“You know good and well it’ll take longer than an evening.” You had already started to sort soaked clothes into linen bags. “I’ll be lucky if I catch you leaving this room before the end of the week.”

“Then, by the end of the week you’ll have a working laundry room again.”

You placed one of your sodden delicates in his hands. “Everything’ll mold if we can’t get it to dry. And I won’t let you test any of it. We’re going.”

Egon grumbled, but followed suit, carrying the large bag of laundry to the car for you while you grabbed your mini bag of quarters. It was his silent compliance as he waited for you to buckle up that made you stroke his arm apologetically.

“I appreciate that you’re always trying to help. Remember what you did to Callie’s Furby?”

He nodded fondly. “The first to be able to talk back. She was terrified.”

“Well, she would fish it out the closet when she was mad. I never had to buy her a diary ever again.” you shrugged.

“Do you still like the jets I put in the bathtub?” he turned to you.

“Of course! You just never notice I have them on because you’re in there with me.”

The drive into town always took some time, bumpy dirt roads turning into proper asphalt after a while. Summerville was still a small town, so the laundromat was never as bustling as it could be. But your assumptions were proven wrong, as a dozen or so cars lined the curb. Either everyone’s washer or dryer started acting up, or the water company had a mass shut off.

Egon moved rigidly through the throng of people in the little space. These were the people, and some of their now-grown-children, who stared at him like he was an alien after moving his tiny family to a run down house all the way from Manhattan. You could somewhat understand their intrigue- the most exciting thing to happen around this place seemed to be community matters. But some of their rumors were outright laughable: you were on the run from the police (ironic if you considered how gossipy the town was), Callie was a monster he made in his lab (she played into that one when you went shopping), you were Soviet spies sent for espionage (fairly dangerous, considering the country was coming down from the Cold War and Egon was very visibly the child of two European immigrants). 

But, as years passed and no nukes were dropped and no infectious diseases spread from your daughter in school, Summerville learned you were here to stay. And they started to enjoy your presence, the few times you’d gone into town to run errands and with everything you did at work. You’d even gotten close to a family or two, evident in how a teenage girl sitting on one of the stand alone machines smiled at you.

“Hi, Mr and Mrs. Spengler,” Lucky waved. Her and Trevor had become close friends, at least the few summers he and his sister had spent while visiting. You had thought it wouldn’t stick- on account of the distance and the time it’s been since their last trip down here, but they managed to stay in contact. Very close contact, you’d been told.

“Hi, Lucky,” you returned, “how’s your mom?”

“She’s okay. She sent me here- ‘cause our washer won’t start.” 

“We’re in the same boat, then. Tell her: once ours works again, I’ll send Egon to check yours out, alright?”

Her grin grew, possibly at the sight of your husband's expression. He was used to you volunteering his skills in repair, though. It proved useful, in a town without any real mechanical service. Here, one just prayed they would never break down or lose power. But it was one of the ways you managed to clean up your reputation in time- Egon serving as an electrician, tow truck, or handyman whenever he wasn’t holed up in his makeshift lab. “Will do,” she nodded.

With that, her dad called her, and she was off. Not before complimenting your nails, though. You made quick work of loading your wet clothes, going through the motions. Halfway through, Egon stopped to pull something out of one of his wrinkled pockets.

It was one of your earrings, delicate and near tiny. “You fell asleep with it on.” he handed it to you.

Eventually, your laundry was done. And you didn’t even run through all your quarters. This called for a Coke from the vending machine- only a can, you both needed to watch your sugar.  The drive back was noticeably more jovial, you had clean and dry laundry, Egon had a new project to consume his time. He seemed to have multiple things on his mind, as he opened the passenger door for you.

“They’re calling today,” he said, almost anxiously. Callie had been calling you periodically ever since she went off to Ohio, of all places, for college. She had stopped after you came back from a visit once she had Trevor, and it wasn’t until after his father left that 1. You learned she had a whole other child not long before their split, and 2. He was an awful husband. After that, you made her promise to always check in with you, especially in the long stretches of time when driving up to Chicago just wasn’t an option. Egon’s been on top of her calls ever since, silently eager to see his daughter and his growing grandchildren. 

At some point, you found him in the living room, mulling around with the iPad you were given some time in the early 2010’s in order to actually see the people getting in contact with you. “You got it?” you asked, squeezing into your typical spot next to him.

He nodded, and soon your daughter was on the little screen. “Hey Mom, hey Dad.”

“Hi, Cal!” Egon had only waved, always a tad shy over the phone for the first few minutes. “How’s everything? How’s work?”

She seemed preoccupied with something offscreen. “Raining hard, here. Ceiling started to leak.”

You frowned. It was never fun to hear that your loved ones were struggling, even if they were small grievances like these. “Does your landlord know? It’ll only get worse as it gets warmer.”

“He won’t answer my calls,” she put her hands up, as if she was ridding herself of the problem, “we have buckets, it’s fine.”

“You know what we’re gonna tell you.”

“Do I?”

“Spend the summer here,” you urged, hearing her groan slightly over the phone. “It can’t hurt.”

“I can’t ask that of you guys. Again.” 

You gestured around the large, under-occupied house. “You lived here. You know how much space we have.”

Callie was silent, deep in thought as you continued. “We miss you. The other day I started wondering if Phoebe still needed Pampers.”

She sat back wherever she was sitting. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It feels like it! When you’re as old as we are, a day feels like a year.”

“Today has been quite a year,” Egon affirms at your side.

You sat forward on the little couch. “Even Dad agrees. He’s too shy to say, but he always wants to ask you for pictures. But he’s scared you’ll find it annoying.” Egon didn’t seem to be embarrassed, wanting to see the rest of his family as much as you did.

Callie spoke up then, eyebrows high. “I’ll send you pictures, Dad. Mom, I’ll…I’ll think about it, ok?” You’d take that, for now. Soon, Trevor appeared, waving at you both. 

You left Egon to have his time with the teenager. From the other room, you got snippets about a car show, some new friends he’d been making, a cut he got from trying to shave his legs- which was a little interesting. You can remember the first time he had held Trevor. The newborn was just happy to be alive, so awake for only being a few hours old. He took interest in everything Egon had to say, eyeing the shiny buttons of his shirt, the reflective frames of his glasses. In the private of the hospital room Callie was fast asleep in, he revealed to you that he was excited to watch a little boy in his family grow up the opposite in which he did: being allowed to play, get dirty, make mistakes.

It wasn’t until Trevor wondered aloud where you were that you peeked your head around the corner. After switching out with Egon, you settled into his warm spot on the sofa, tea in hand.

“Hi, grandma!” 

“Hi, Trevor. I see the leak was in your room.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. We have buckets.”

You smiled at that, chatting about more things- the show you were watching together, a recipe he was demanding you try, drama in school, before you remembered something. “We saw Lucky today. When was the last time you talked?” you gently probed.

Trevor brightened, if not reddened. “Last night. School ends later for us here so,” he swallowed. “But we’ve been able to talk every night.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Everynight’s an improvement.”

He waved you off. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression grew far away. “Is it that big of a deal?”

“She’s been asking when you’ll be back. Maybe you won’t miss her birthday this year.”

Trevor sat up straighter, so fast he knocked his knees against the underside of his desk. He didn’t seem to notice, while you winced on the other end of the phone. You asked if he was alright, but he was too deep in his head to notice. “Oh man, really? I got her a gift. Or a couple of gifts. I was gonna send it in the mail.”

You smiled knowingly. “More reasons to come here. Actions speak louder than words.” Trevor looked doubtful, brow creased a bit.

“What if she doesn’t like it? Like: ‘ohhh thank you Trevor, but that’s super weird. I’m getting a car but I can put the stuffed bear in the backseat’.” He must’ve gotten his anxiety from Egon- he sounded exactly like him in the days leading up to you being asked out. Or so Ray tells you.

“No chance. Every girl would like a gift from her boyfriend.” you shook your head.

Trevor looked at least a bit hopeful. “But, we’re not dating-”

“Mom said to let me on.”

You let Egon have a minute with Phoebe. They always had a special connection- there was no need for anyone to say anything because it was so clear. Trevor gave them their space, and you did too, and it was all okay because he’d been your little guy since birth, literally attached to your leg whenever he had the chance to hang out with you. And Phoebe holed up with her grandfather in his makeshift lab, learning and talking about anything they each had to offer. They really were cut from the same cloth, it was only natural. You can remember her delivery, too. The entire day was hard- feverish three year old, busy hospital, unhelpful and soon to be ex husband. Callie had to pretty much bargain for medical attention in the sterile room as her contractions got worse, let alone to get an epidural. Such an angry start in the world. But when she came, she was so peaceful, not even crying when she was brought out into the cold air. Precious is what you regarded it as, weird was the word buzzed around between NICU nurses. 

For the second time, in the dark of a hospital room while Trevor slept in his shirt, Egon barely whispered that, “she’s already different.” You knew exactly what he meant- and it was nowhere near bad. She was like him.

Phoebe’s room was messy as ever, but it was an organized mess. “Hi, grandma,” she greeted.

“Hi, Phebes,” you saw something round and white in her hands, “what’s that?”

She lifted it to the camera, fairly nonchalantly. “Our ac. He switched it off so I’m trying to jailbreak it.” Ah.

“When can we come back?” she added, clearly having thought about visiting a lot more than usual.

“Any time. You just have to convince your mom. Chicago’s getting boring?” 

Her eyebrows twitched once, the way Egon always does. “In the summer. And, if something happens to our house while we’re gone, the landlord’s responsible. Not us.” she explained.

That’s your granddaughter. “Smart girl.” You paused, noticing something different about her but not being able to place it. “Did you…get new frames?”

Phoebe paused in turn, pushing them up. “Are they bad?” she asked, brows knitted slightly. “I didn’t want to change them, but Mom made me.”

You smiled, “They look great. But, uh, what’s the difference?”

“These hinges are silver. The old hinges were nickel.”

That was definitely your granddaughter. Eccentric, in her own, special way.

Soon, Callie needed her phone back. As you all said your goodbyes, something popped into your mind before you reminded Phoebe that you saw Podcast and he wants her to call him back so they can play their game.

Phoebe scowled over her brother’s shoulder. “I’m banned. Tell him we have to find something else.”

Every time your family called, Egon happened to remember that the iPad had a game or two on it, and he was occupied until it was time to chorale him into bed. You waited patiently as he put it to charge, ready to be forgotten about for a while, and nuzzled into his chest when he returned to you. His sleeping clothes were always worn, but they always filled you with the familiar scent of him which you were much too happy never washed out. 

“Did you have fun?” you asked into the fabric of his shirt. Sure, it was a long and hard battle to condition him out of a gown and sleeping cap in the early days of your relationship, but you’d take what he give you.

He hummed in response. “Level 2801 on Candy Crush today.”

“One higher than Winston.” you gazed in the darkness at a familiar spot by the door, cracked ajar. Callie would wait for you both, as soon as she could toddle out of her bed and needed someone with her when she used the bathroom, or to console her after a bad dream. As she got older, it’s where she brought you both coffee on special mornings, and bounced on her heels waiting for approval to take the car. Callie’s spot. Perfectly between both of your pillows, if you drew a straight line, run a little ragged by bare feet, sneakers, and slippers. “What else?”

“Peter took something from my farm, so I put him and his dogs underground.”

You shut your eyes, though still enjoying your sleepy conversation. “That’s not very good conflict resolution.” He was quiet, and you assumed he had dozed off, you in his arms, until there was a tugging at your earlobe.

“What?”

“Earrings.”

“Thank you, Egon.” Your old man. This was a much smaller life than Times Square, Central Park, Ghostbusters. But it was your small life, with your larger-than-life husband, and you really wouldn’t have it any other way.

[belles-non-wallpapering-content]

Black Cat E.S x reader

(This was sort of the general thing I kinda had in mind)

Overture- A cat runs into the firehouse

CWs- Smoking, moderate swearing, readers clothing choices described as impractical.

A/N- This is essentially day 16, I'll catch up over the course of the next couple days. But it was midterms week, and there was a festival going on outside my work so I had to pull a 50 hour week-- So I'm going to cut myself a break on this one

When you went to grab the mail this morning, you found a little visitor outside. A small black cat that promptly ran into the firehouse, right into the guys’ offices and locker room. 

“No! Come back!” The guys were out on a call up until about 10 minutes ago, but now that they were back, you had to catch this cat. You followed it through the lobby, running as fast as your –admittedly impractical– clothing choices would allow. The door to the room unfortunately had a doggy door to accommodate the dalmatians who used to inhabit the old firehouse, so you couldn’t corner it. 

Without thinking you burst through the door after it, right as they were stripping from their heavy coveralls, leaving them in some plain white long sleeve shirts and the pants to their suits, promptly tying the sleeves around their waists to keep themselves covered without putting the heavy fabrics back on. 

“Shit! Sorry guys.” You tried your best to avert your eyes, even though they were still fully clothed. You paid special attention not to look at Egon, in any attempt to keep your face from showing the full extent of your embarrassment. But then the cat darted out from under a desk and you were off like a bullet trying to catch it again.

“Woah! Do you have a cat?” Ray looked elated at that prospect, and you felt a little bad you had to disappoint him. 

“No, it just ran in here.”

“Do you think we can keep it?” He looked to Egon and Winston like a child who just had a puppy follow them home from school.

“No. black cats are bad luck.” Winston immediately spoke around the cigarette in his mouth. 

“It’s unlikely that any bad luck would result from having a cat around. But I don’t think it’s particularly safe to have it near the lab.” 

“You believe in the Loch Ness monster, but not that a black cat is bad luck?” Egon just tossed a shrug in response. No explanation, as though it was an obvious truth. 

When the cat finally stopped, burrowing under one of Egon’s work desks, possibly due to the heat coming off of the containment unit– Peter walked over to pick it up. 

“Oh Egon, I think this is–Oh Yes! This is your first college girlfriend, she needs a kiss from a scientist to turn back.” Peter started walking towards Egon, slightly tilting to bring the cat up to his face. Egon was not amused. 

“You and Ray are also scientists, Venkman.” In response, Peter once again held the cat up to his ear, as if it could talk to him. 

“Oh what’s that? Yes, it needs to be a scientist with a large fungus collection. Sorry, those are the rules.” Peter continues inching the cat towards Egon. 

“Uh-huh. Give me that.” He gently picked the cat from Peter’s arms.

“Alright, let’s go to the shelter. Say goodbye Ray” He tilted so that Ray could scratch the cat’s small forehead. You were a bit taken aback, he was putting off not only the rest he earned after the call, but his lab work too.

“Oh, I know you guys just got back from a call, I can go by myself if you want.”You'd been trying to avoid a lot of one on one time with Egon, you liked him, and that wasn’t exactly the sort of information you wanted anyone to find out. 

“It’s a 10 block walk to the shelter, and you can’t bring pets on the subway. I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh, ok. Thank you Egon.” 

“Of course.” He stood closer to you, even offering his arm as much as he could while holding the small animal. You took it as you started moving back towards the door, but of course the other guys couldn't let you get away without making fun of you a little.

“Awww there goes the happy couple. Mazel Tov” Peter feigned congratulations towards you, even clapping. You had to see what Egon’s reaction to that would be. He rolled his eyes, but his face heated up. He was enjoying it a little bit, you thought to yourself. 

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: none

↳ notes: forgot how good this movie series was. going to be thinking about it quite a bit these few coming days. especially egon! favorite character by far, with winston in next place

↳ song: main title theme (ghostbusters)—elmer bernstein

masterlist | commisions | carrd

• When a flyer for a job downtown mysteriously appeared in your mailbox slot, your first thought was to throw it away

• It looked scrappy. Par on course with the rest of the junk mail companies normally delt out to catch your eye

• Still. Three days later you were standing outside a mildly reevaluated looking firehouse with the paper clutched loosely in your hand, and your best clothes on

• As you’d walked towards the doors, a man came up from behind you, uttering an apology as he nearly bumped into you

• “Hey,” He had paused, allowing you to catch a glance of his tan suit and kinky black hair. “You here for an interview, too?” He asked, walking through the large off-green door as you held it open for him

• “Sure am.”

• “Well, may the best one win. Or get the job, I suppose.” He chuckled with a lopsided grin

• "I dont think they’ll mind hiring the both of us." You eventually responded, looking up at the way the ceiling sagged with old age

• Following your line of sight, the man beside you nodded deeply, and the both of you made your way up to a reception desk with a very annoyed looking lady behind it

• That was the day both you, and who you later learned to be Winston, got the job as the newest pair of Ghostbusters

• “Meet back here tomorrow at noon.” The snappy lady with glasses had said monotonly as she thrust a set of papers at you. You were still looking in the direction that two yelping men in jumpsuits had just gone holding a machine, that it took you a second to notice

• “With the way this job is looking? No way I’m missing tomorrow.”

• Meeting your employers slash coworkers for the first time— technically second if you counted the way two of them crashed your interview mid hiring —was certainly an experience

• Only one had been prepared for both you and Winston’s first days with a handshake and slightly unbuttoned lab coat

• He had introduced himself as doctor Egon Spengler, and shook your hand with a certain rigidness to it. Still, you caught him looking at the both of you with curiosity, so you tossed him an easy upward twitch of you lips. He seemed to relax a little after that

• The other two, however, had proved to be more difficult upon meeting

• Ray Stanz and Peter Venkman were certainly a pair, with the latter sure to be the cause of later headaches, but seemed friendly anyways—if the way they slapped you on the back said anything

• “Welcome to the nerd squad.” Peter has smiled teasingly at you, immediately wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you close as if he was about to tell you a secret. “Stick with me, and you’ll be kicking it with the cool kids!”

• “Is he always like this?” You asked while pushing him away

• “Regrettably.” Egon responded in a flat tone as he moved back to statistics on a chart. “Try being roommates with him in college for six years.”

• “No thanks. I think I’d rather get possessed by one of those ghosts you guys hunt.”

• “Hey, still here!”

• You fell right into place with them pretty quickly after that. Something about getting slimed by a poltergeist in Central Park really brings a group of people together. Especially if they happen to get a really good meal of Thai right after

• In the days weeks and months following your hiring, you get to learn a lot about the little team you’d been squished into

• Winston was probably the first one you befriended. Maybe because the both of you had showed up around the same time, but you found him one of the easiest to just sit down and talk to after a mission without being interrupted every two sentences. The other guys were great, but he seemed to appreciate a little peace and quiet more than what you got in the headquarters

• “Seriously— do we have to call it the headquarters?” You interrupted Peter in the middle of his rant. Sipping on a cup of coffee, you took a moment before speaking more. It really was too early for this. “I mean, come on. It makes us sound like bizzaro superhero’s. More than we already do, anyway.”

• “Personally I wouldn’t mind playing a little Bruce Wayne every now and then.” Peter grinned back suggestively. From beside you, Ego let out his equivalent of an annoyed sigh as he tinkered with stray machinery. Apparently someone else felt it was too early for Peters antics, too

• “Gag me with a spoon.” You deadpanned while swirling your mug around moodily

• “Fine fine. We can call it home base. Happy, sunshine?”

• You grumbled at his sickeningly sweet tone before delving back into your coffee, missing the way Ray and Winston shared slight smiles at the exchange

• “Now that you four are done, mind helping me with our actual jobs?”

• “Oops. Yeah. Sorry Egon.”

• “Sigh.”