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sommerregenjuniluft · 4 months

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@jegulus-microfic january 10 - lake - 1460words - bit of nsfw! in the end

t4t jegulus, mild foodporn, lotsa sweat, nude bathing, outside sex? nature sex?? (this one's for @stagpdf, @pupmotif & @veryinnovative)

The sun overhead is blazing, making Regulus’ body ooze with sweat despite his position in the shade of a tall tree. He licks his top lip, tasting salt. Sets the foot that was crossed over his opposite knee back down, feeling a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his calf there too.

His curls are wet in the back of his neck where his head is resting on a spare towel James had folded over their sneakers for him.

They’re still in the lake, going off of the occasional splash of water, rippling the surface whenever James makes a less smooth motion with their restless body.

It doesn’t take long however until Regulus hears the telltale sounds of someone resurfacing and trudging out the shallow side of the lake to rejoin him.

Regulus lets his eyes stay closed, lets the measly breeze drift over him that does little to serve as a real relief from the unrelenting heat as he continues to rake his fingers through the grass and wait for James to pad their way uphill.

They’ve spread out a colorful blanket before setting down their towels on top, as well as their bags filled with all sorts of delectable snacks for a day lazing out by the repreaving cold wet.

Some of which is being generously rained upon Regulus as of right now too.

Drop drop, on his knee and stomach and collarbones. Regulus can practically feel James holding back their laugh as they no doubt stand soaking wet over Regulus’ nude, splayed form.

He’s had about enough when a drop lands directly on the tip of his nose threatening to be breathed in when he scrunches it reflexively.

“You’re dripping,” Regulus says, tone flat, eyes still closed.

There’s a noise like James is still desperately trying to stay undetected.

Another drop, on his chest this time and Regulus rolls his eyes as he blindly swipes a hand out to the side for James’ legs, “I can literally hear you.”

There’s only a hint of leg hair Regulus’ fingertips manage to catch before James plops down on the other side of him with a giggle.

Regulus does open his eyes now, blinking them open slowly. Giving himself time to take in his partner.

A plump bottom lip tucked between straight teeth in the manner of a cheeky smile. Lashes long and impossibly darker than the usual black by the wet glistening of the lake water. Hair in usual disarray, sopping wet onto their forehead and standing up comically in the back where James must’ve driven a hand along it. Doe eyes gleaming chestnut in the brightness of summer and warmly where they’re looking back at Regulus.

There’s no particular thought in Regulus’ head as he raises a pale hand to caress a soft thumb over the small mole on the bridge of James’ crooked nose.

James tips their head back a little to place a soft kiss on the heel of Regulus’ palm.

Regulus hums content and James’ smile turns toothy in response.

They take a playful nip at Regulus’ digit, slow enough for Regulus to pull back. He doesn’t.

“Feed me,” they mumble around his thumb.

“You feed me,” Regulus counters, pulling his rosy lips into a pout he knows James is weak for.

They see right through him too, narrowing their eyes at him and giving a nib to the round of his shoulder on their way to lean over for the bag with snacks.

James’ skin is nearly dried already but still pleasantly cool from the dozen minutes they’d spent in the water.

Regulus groans in delight as James’ fleshy body presses against his, immediately followed by a sound of protest when James lifts back down on their elbow, setting the bag between their middles.

“Hush,” James says with a grin and Regulus huffs.

Still, they set their chilly, curled knuckles in the crook of Regulus’ neck, cooling his heated skin pleasantly as they dig around in the backpack with the other hand.

They procure a tupper and clip it open to reveal the cheese fruit sticks Regulus had prepared earlier.

Regulus moans, body giving a shudder and he opens his mouth expectantly.

James shakes their head, hair already drying and wild curls starting to form, before they pick one and hold it up to Regulus’ mouth.

It’s grape, gouda, kiwi, honey melon and Regulus feels salvia pool under his tongue before his mouth even closes around the toothpick.

He hums in approval and watches James pick out one with strawberry, emmental, blackberry and blueberry.

They make a bit of a show of it. Holding their beefy arm up in the air, elbow a rounded peak, the fat supply around the muscle Regulus knows is underneath.

The pose reminds Regulus a bit of the many white marble statues you see in museums. That being the only similarity given the bronze skin and the amount of fat on James’ bulky body.

James’ physique is a little insane to Regulus, even after all those months being witness to their progress in all its stark nude glory.

Their shoulders are wider than before. What little fat remained from their chest now chiseled into voluptuous pecs, nipples dark as always, though no scars as opposed to Regulus. There’s still a slight dip to their waist that makes Regulus’ head spin. The muscles at their center have grown, as has the pouch over their belly. Smooth, supple skin that makes for the sexiest pillow and space to suck lovebites, severed by a dark happy trail that’s grown since James started on their low dosage of T.

Regulus lets his eyes wander to where James, too, had foregone their swimming trunks in favor of jumping into the abandoned stretch of lake naked. The blurry line of tan skin turning darker where the hem of it should usually be resting, the dark hair curling towards their center and then switching direction, coiling down their legs in a generous dusting.

The hand against Regulus’ neck moves, fingers sliding back and thumb settling over the hinge of his jaw, guiding his head back up.

Regulus doesn’t know when James had unearthed another snack. The red net of oranges peeking out the zipper of James’ bag next to where they’re currently peeling one of them.

James slowly breaks off a piece but before they can reach Regulus’ parted lips they pull back with a small knit in their brows. Regulus is confused for all but the two seconds it takes for James to bite in the spine of it and suck, before spitting out the seeds onto the grass.

There’s a trickle of juice on the corner of their mouth and Regulus’ squirms as he presses his legs together. Panting a strangled breath as a thumb pulls down his lower lip before the mangled piece of orange is lowered into his mouth.

It’s so weirdly fucking sensual and James’ gaze is burning Regulus up from the inside, belly fluttering and cock throbbing, he can’t exactly help the low keen that escapes.

“’m here, love,” James mumbles, eyes fixated on Regulus’ face.

Then there’s a touch to the naked bone of his hip, fingers trailing inward over coarse hair and pale skin and Regulus’ hips jump.

“Baby,” he pleads.

“I know, I know,” James responds, dipping down for a quick kiss that’s more tongue and panting breaths than anything else.

Regulus’ hand finds a meaty chest, sliding down, down before he’s raking blunt nails through black hair, making James hiss of their own.

“Wanna suck you off,” Regulus breathes, groaning when a cool finger slips right into his slick entrance.

“Me first,” James argues, curling the digit, pumping out and slipping right back in with another—Regulus’ body making space for them without problem.

Still he shakes his head, stubborn. If he doesn’t get to taste the musky slick aphrodisiac of James in under a minute he’s going to burst.

“Fine,” James says with another lick into Regulus mouth, teeth capturing his lower lip when they pull back.

But before they settle on their back suddenly there’s a strong arm under Regulus’ knees and before he knows he’s being lifted and hoisted over James’ chest.

In another single motion they scoot down and spread Regulus’ legs over their face how they need him, big arms curling around his pale thighs.

There’s a tongue inside him not a moment later, then a suck on his swollen cock and Regulus falls forward with a whine, hand propped on James’ belly for support.

That’s when Regulus realizes the purpose of the position he is in on top of James, taking in their spread legs, slowly starting to tremble from arousal and neglect.

Regulus dives down, ready to feast.

#t4t jegulus #james 50%beef50%cake agenda #queueing this up on the 7th because i brainrotted over trans james #jegulus microfic #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #t4t #jegulus fic #james x regulus #jegulus fanfiction #lune’s tiny fic

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tuliptired · 3 days

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Good Trouble on The Lake

Pairing: kid!Ray Stantz/kid!Egon Spengler

Summary: Ray Stantz was always great at making friends! So great, he got Egon Spengler out of his shell. Enough to almost die in the woods, anyway.

Sorry this one is kinda long 😣

read it on Ao3!

It’s a fairly uneventful afternoon in the Ghostbusters’ headquarters. Winston and Peter volunteered a supermarket run (dish soap, paper towels, miscellaneous snacks) in order to escape how slow the morning was, and somehow, someway, Raymond Stantz didn’t have a thing to do.

Miraculously, Egon Spengler was also overtaken by the monotony of the day, and by the grace of some god, was actually taking a break. For the first time in Ray’s life, he sits along as his friend studies a newspaper, rather than a manual. Ray can’t blame him, as he attempts to read a classic paranormal novel, though he’s really just rereading the same sentence and thinking of nothing while laying on the couch.

“Ray,” Egon breaks the silence, tone as interested as the scientist can express, “it says here that they’re looking to close Camp Little Tupper.” Ray’s brows shoot up. He could almost laugh at hearing the abysmal name again, if it wasn’t under such sad circumstances.

“No way!” He moves to sit up, this news now much more interesting than his book. “Gosh, I can remember that place like it was yesterday. Swimming, building robots…”

“Mosquito bites, swirlies…”

“Stargazing! Math-a-tho-”

“Food poisoning. You almost killing me.”

Ray scoffs. “Not true at all! Those were just inconveniences. You turned out great, Eges.” Egon was technically right. He definitely could’ve died that day, but the memory brings an even bigger smile to Ray’s face, and by the look of Egon’s slightly elevated eyebrows, he was equally as bemused. “It was fun, huh?”

“I must concede, had I never gone, we may have never developed such a long term partnership.” Gee, Egon really knew how to misconstrue the word “friendship”.

“You’re very welcome! We’ve gotta go back before they shut the doors- we never found the Tupper Banshee.” Ray’s eyes nearly sparkle as he thinks about all the possibilities; studying such a solid entity, upgrading their tech, and revisiting old memories with an even older friend. Nothing sounds better on such a dull day, really. “Why’re they closing, anyway?” He adds curiously.

Egon’s eyes scan multiple paragraphs, multiple pages, but he can’t find an answer. “Nothing so far, but if anything I’d bet it would be the terrible environmental impact.” Ray just snorts, thinking back to everything that happened to him the second, and final, summer he spent there.

It was a warm summer sometime in the 60s, and Ray’s parents had just dropped him off out of the city and into the woods for his second year at Camp Little Tupper. Though it was a combined science and athletics camp (he found this out his first day his year prior), he always felt very excited to indulge in the hobby he was passionate about. He was a bit of a camping connoisseur, much to his Mid-Western parents’ delight, after many years of camping out with them in almost any suitable woodland area accessible by car. He fondly remembers going back to Camp Wacanda every summer, but that was with family, it was time for him to be a little independent and freely geeky.

So, he pleaded and begged his parents to enroll him , “ They do experiments! I’ll never mix stuff in the shed ever again!” , until they finally gave in to his sad eyes and relentless reminders. He loved his first year so much, though he had to share the space with some less-than-academic-types, and his parents were willing to see him off again if it meant he’d smile that long again.

As he carried all his belongings through the woods, in a group of other boys around 11 and 12 like he was at the time, he felt unbelievably giddy at the sight of the cabin he’d already spent time in. They were let in, but upon his entry he frowned to see that almost every bed was taken, top bunk as well as bottom. He suddenly felt smaller, anxiety betraying the months worth of anticipation as he carried his backpack close to his chest, looking around for a free spot.

On the top bunk of a bed in the very back, a small boy sat cross legged, unpacked and already reading to escape the loud noises of his roommates. Ray’s excitement returned, and he didn’t question it as he approached him eagerly. The unknown boy had dark, curly hair, cut only a little from falling below his large ears, and a pretty untamable fringe. His glasses were thick, and almost comically big for his face, almost like his clothes- a short sleeve button up (pocket protector included! And Ray thought he was nerdy) tucked into khaki shorts. His face was unamused, but Ray was not deterred as he looked up at the kid.

“Hi! I’m Raymond. But call me Ray.” He beams. The kid just stares down at him, then suddenly speaks, as if he forgot that introductions typically elicit responses.

“Egon Spengler.”

Ray can only chuckle, hanging off the other boy’s bunk with his forearms while his feet graze the ground. Maybe he was invading his space, but excitement will do that to you. “That’s a funny name. But it’s ok. My grandma says a unique name means a unique person.” The boy stares at him for a second more, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly if you looked impossibly close enough. “Sure,” is all he responds with.

Ray sheds his heavy bags on the bunk below him. “Is this your first time here? What made you wanna come? Not that you’re not welcome,” he unconsciously rambles as he digs into his cargo shorts for something he can’t yet find.

The other boy, Egon, seems to have eased into conversation slightly more. “My parents thought I needed more enrichment. The Royal Society doesn’t take summer students, so our Rabbi suggested,” he looks over his glasses, nose scrunching ever so slightly as he takes in the cabin around him. It was undeniably full of bodies, and boys (regardless of social standing, nerd or jock) will continue to be chimps, tossing things around and roughhousing. “This place.”

Ray laughs at that. Egon disregards his book, as he notices Ray has no intention of staying quiet for too long. He’s still digging in his shorts, though. “I bet your siblings are green knowing you get to spend the summer in such a cool place,” he laughs to himself.

Egon’s brow quirks once, quickly. “I only have a twin. He’s in Yosemite, studying ecology under a ranger.”

“Man. Guess you’re happy to be away from him.”

“I am incredibly jealous and I’d give anything to trade places.”

Ah. “Well, the black bears at Yosemite can’t have smores.”

Egon’s legs are draped over the edge of the bunk now. “No bear can have a smore. They don’t have thumbs.”

Ray’s taken to scouring through his backpack instead. Where did that thing sneak off to? “I only have a sister. But we live in a big house with our cousins! Aunts and uncles and lots of babies and a bigggggg St. Bernard.” Ray can’t help but feel a little homesick, even if his sister was happy to see him go. It was a house full of people who all loved each other, at the end of the day.

“That sounds abysmal,” was all Ray heard as he finally, finally found what he was looking for. He pulls out 2 Now and Laters like they’re the holy grail- which, to 2 11-year-olds, they are. To this day, he swears he can see a twinkle behind his new friend’s eyes. Egon slips down from the bunk, oddly industrial boots hitting the wooden floor.

The boys are called outside to start the festivities. “My dad told me to share with a new friend,” he smiles gently as Egon silently unwraps the candy. “And if we’re friends, you hafta help me take apart some smoke detectors.” Egon had no protests.

This was the start of their “partnership”. Life at camp was everything a nerdy kid could dream of, on a fairly low budget. Life and potential surrounded them, afterall. Of course, they were mandated at least one session of physical activity, much to Egon’s dismay. They were only excused when Egon threw up on the sidelines of a flag football game, and Ray joined him because “it gave them more time to finish Dune”. Though, he always snuck off to join baseball games, and Egon just filled him in on what Paul did before bed.

Once, at lunch, Ray couldn’t help but stare at his friend. In the past few weeks, it was like his hair grew this way overnight. Instead of being cut before it could touch his neck, it was round and untamable and long, his ears full on disappearing and his fringe touching his glasses. Of course, many boys grew their hair out while they were away-there was a barber readily available, but he cut way too close to the head so many just bore with the added weight. But a style of these proportions? Uncharacteristic and NOT Egon. But, to be scared of a haircut? Very Egon.

“Hey, Egon,” he starts. He picks off the lettuce and tomato from his sandwich, passing them to the boy on his side, whose nose is in a book as he adds the vegetables to his own and passes the meat and cheese to Ray in return. “Are you too scared to get your haircut?” He asks, in the middle of a bite.

Egon bookmarks the page. “Not necessarily. This is my own personal rebellion- my mother sent me away to a summer camp, I’m trying to test the extent of her anger if I come back-”

“Looking like curly Led Zeppelin?”

“...yes.”

“D’you think she’ll be mad? Like, spanking mad?”

Egon sighs slightly. “Enough to drive her to spit. I’m terrified.”

Ray touches his friend’s shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, it’s an experiment! She’ll get over it.”

Egon doesn’t say anything. He opens his book again, thinking over the new perspective.

Activities in camp were fun. But the two boys found themselves criminally bored. So they made a few adjustments to the experiments. It started small, no one knew it was them; a few cleaning products taken from the supply closets, of course they don’t know who’s baking soda volcano melted a hole into the metal table. The nails holding the swings together suddenly missing as the pair coincidentally had the material to make copper wiring.

But they got ambitious, and a little sloppy. It was dark out, while every other camper was by the lake, Egon and Ray opting to take care of the wild platypus they’d let into their living space. She resisted eating the leftover snacks and sleeping soundly in the crafty pile of blankets Ray left under his bed, him and Egon huddled in fear on Egon’s bed as their new pet ravaged the cabin. Just then, the door handle clicked open.

Ray grumbled as they were locked inside, forced to clean up the items desecrated by the animal he thought was his friend. Beside him, almost straining to hear, he heard a small sniffle.

Egon was facing away from him, fistfuls of pillow stuffing trembling ever so slightly. Ray frowned. Egon never cried, not even when their kayak drifted out from the other boys’, and they were floating away. With no food. As it rained. In mosquito breeding territory. While Egon was in day clothes because he was terrified of water and refused to swim. He made a resolve.

“Don’t cry, Eges! It’s like you’ve never been hollered at before,” he tried joking to alleviate the mood. Egon only turned to look over his shoulder, his face chagrin and his eyes just barely glossy, lips threatening to break out in sobs had he had a little less pride.

“Hey.” Ray slid into a spot on the scratched up, dusty floor next to him. “You wanna know what the ladies in my family say?” He can remember his mother repeating these words when he would cry for minutes on end over small things, like when Bambi was all alone in the forest, or his sister was out on his bike without asking. Egon didn’t say anything, but kept on peering at Ray through the gap between his frames, a sign to keep talking.

“They all say: ‘Raymond, did anyone die? Is anyone hurt? Will the sun come up tomorrow?” Egon looks at him incredulously, unamused by the teachings of Heartland mothers. Ray keeps going.

“Egon, did anyone die?”

“Egon, was anyone hurt?”

“The camp ranger when Maria Skłodowska-Curie scratched him.”

“Egon, will the sun come up tomorrow?” No tangible response.

Ray unconsciously moves a little closer, scraped and dirty knee brushing Egon’s slightly cleaner one. Egon would be damned if he didn’t notice, but what to make of it was hard. Ray was always moving, like a motor that never knew when it ran out of gas. It was different from other boys their age, he wasn’t ever trying to fulfill the societal pressure to be physical, or whatever the reason young boys felt the need to wrestle or hit or roughhouse. It was almost like he was…searching for stimuli. Egon actively avoided it, he knew what limited things he enjoyed and he stuck to those things. But being here, with Ray, challenged him. He was a constant, but a chaotic one. Egon was puzzled, and whether his face grew warm because of these discoveries, coming down from almost crying, or an unknown 3rd thing, he couldn’t deduce.

“My mom says there’s bad trouble. That’s stuff you can’t fix easy, like hurt feelings or broken windows.” Ray tries as hard to be as smart as his mom, as insightful. As open and caring. Egon sees it, and he’s never met the woman.

‘But there’s good trouble too,” Ray grins, sickening optimism breaking through again. “Scientists make good trouble. It’s stuff that works out. Like making a mess when you make the girl down the street cookies.” Egon lets out an amused puff of air through his nose.

“Or,” Ray interjects, scared of alienating his friend with the analogy for whatever reason, “growing your hair out despite your mom not wanting you to.” His smile was knowing as he dipped his head into Egon’s space. He quickly sat up a little straighter. “Because- uh, it looks nice! I wish my hair was curly like that, my sister says I’ll be bald by 20. Not that bald isn't cool! Sigmund Freud was bald…A lot of…Jewish guys…are bald…” He almost whispered, his mouth snapping shut. Raymond Stantz never whispered, maybe a stage whisper if the situation was dire. He toyed with the sand in between floorboards, head down.

Egon could only breathe out a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he stuffed a ruined pillowcase into a trash bag. “Good trouble.”

He doesn’t feel 12 right now. And he’s sure Ray doesn’t either.

So days of good trouble followed them, and in turn they spent most of their time “grounded”, locked in their bunk for entire days while their cabin mates were free. The first day was a little rough, Ray watched on as his friends excavated fake Egyptian artifacts, hands on the glass almost comically as Egon sat, reading. They both agreed their jailing was uncalled for, and that some teenagers couldn’t really “ground them”, so with Egon sputtering under Ray’s 12 year old weight, they clammored out the bathroom window and into the woods.

They were able to conduct their experiments, test any hypothesis that arises, away from everyone else. They searched for ancient ruins, tried carbon dating rocks (to no avail) and built god knows what out of any metal and scrap they could find. They were back every night, findings scrawled in a notebook and supplies haphazardly tucked under Ray’s bunk.

This wasn’t a foolproof way of operating, and they would get caught with a soldering iron or thermos of motor oil every now and then, and then days stuck in the cabin became more and more common. For whatever reason, no counselor thought to lock the windows.

Miraculously, they had streaks of good behavior. And they were allowed to sit at campfires with the other boys, though they were stared like criminals until the stories at hand caught campwide attention.

A counselor leaned in close to the fire, fingers wiggling and voice dark as he recalled the stories of spirits trapped in bathrooms, eternally tethered to the lake. The other boys refused to believe him, partly because all the ghosts he spoke of were girls, partly because “ghosts weren’t science”. Both Ray and Egon went back to their cabin early, and silently, smores in hand.

Egon sat on his bed, as always, reading a book, but not the same, thick one with worn pages Ray had gotten used to seeing but never asking about. His head appears in the corner of Egon’s vision, climbing onto his bunk. He simply moves his legs to make room, finding himself not minding how his blanket will wrinkle and smell like Ray.

“I have to tell you something.”

Egon blinks once, eyes widening. He sighs, reaching behind his pillow for a pen and notepad. “This was bound to happen eventually. When did it start?”

“A few years ago, why?”

Egon blinked again, discarding the notes. “We’re thinking of different things.”

“I’m talking about…me believing in ghosts!” He lets it spill out like a rotten secret. He can tell that such a smart guy like Egon would just laugh in his face at the thought, but he can’t hold it in anymore. Ghosts were his thing! They’ve been his thing forever- supplied by an endless trove of paranormal books at his disposal at the bookstore his mother worked at, and summers spent in the deep history of the semi-rural United States. He was 100% a believer, from the dead opossum his neighbor is convinced haunts her basement to ancient demons to aliens watching over him every night. Ghosts, and how to see them, were always running through his mind. It was why he wanted to pursue science, not just because machines were his first love, but because with every discovery he poured over he was closer to making contact.

“Do you…think they’re real?” Ray’s heart beat in his ears, his friend’s expression unreadable.

“Duh.”

Ray could hit the ceiling then and there. His nervousness dissipated as he smiled, hard, probably the hardest he had smiled since June, not when he got an old microscope to work with Egon’s help or he found a way to get steady radio signals, but now. He lept of the bed with fervor, so much so that Egon scrambled after him for fear of his knees buckling. Unscathed, he ducked under his bunk and felt around for something. He emerged with a large, worn out pillow case.

Dumping its contents onto the ground, they tons of were old paranormal journals, ghost stories, photo albums. Egon wondered if this was what Christmas felt like. Breaking out of his stupor, he found his bag tucked neatly in a hidden corner, and took out 3 books. Each had a library sticker, a testament to how little freedom he had to indulge in his interests.

“Part of the reason I came here was to test its psychokinetic energy,” He explained, “my parents would eviscerate me if they found out.”

Ray could jump for joy right then and there. For seemed like hours, probably 30 minutes, they indulged themselves in stories, theories, methods. For once, despite his easily made friends and large family, Ray felt seen on a new (and intellectual) level. For once, in light of his quiet life and authoritative family, Egon felt like fate, and being destined to meet someone, was real.

They ended up sprawled out on the floor, books open around them, plans for this machine and that computer drawn out. “Have you read about the Banshee of Tupper Lake?” He offered suspensefully. Egon didn’t speak his answer, his eyes conveying his interest as he turned his head to his friend.

Ray lifted his hands in the air, almost painting the story he’d read in “Old Tales of Old Spooks in The NorthEast”. “In 1872, peak ghost season, there was a town out here, on the very soil we’re sleeping on! It was sizable, a few hundred, but they were all mormons. I know! Mormons, all the way in New York? Anyway, it’s said they’re only here because someone, or some thing chased them out of Pennsylvania. In the summer of 72, 1872 that is, women were going mad. Running into the lake, screaming mad. The town became mostly men, and they had no choice to marry what girls were left. One night, during the world’s awkwardest wedding, one of the mad women named Mary Crocket rose out the water, rotted body and all, proclaiming that the next man to marry off a little girl was gonna turn up drowned the next day.”

Egon stared at the ceiling, as if Ray’s words were projecting the very moment above the pair. He turned back. “Fascinating. And progressive for Victorian era Mormons.”

No words were passed between them for what felt like forever.

“We gotta see her”

“Absolutely.”

That was easier said than done, as they waited weeks for the right time. They conducted smaller experiments, like testing each other every day for psychic powers, though their results were never favorable. Ray noted that he would need to find…maybe a tarot reader or a really skilled psychologist to help with this part of their study. They tried communicating with the 50 year old statue that greeted campers on their way in, but they never got a response. Ray tinkered with Egon’s fairly primitive PKE meter fashioned out an old radio, and promised that if he ever wanted to visit his house when summer ended, he’d get him the proper electronic additions for a proper reading. In the process, they were “grounded” more days out of the week than otherwise.

One morning, the day Ray proposed would have the best conditions (humidity, camp taking a hike all the way down the opposite side of the lake, insect activity), the boys sat on, watching everyone else prepare for their trek.

“You delinquents better enjoy yourselves here, and think long and hard about what you’ve done. Joey, grab your bug spray.” Ray didn’t think he was deserving of being talked down to by a 16 year old with red hair, tube socks, and braces, but there he was.

The cabin cleared out, and as soon as they disappeared on the horizon, Ray jumped up, grabbing his emergency camera (which he borrowed without telling his mom) and his bag, full of everything they’d need. He offered Egon his rain boots and coat, but he was proud to turn around and see his friend was already well equipped. Crossing along the bank of the river, Ray proposes it would be easier to find her place of death if they went through a shortcut in the trees, and as he started to disappear in the flora, Egon didn’t have much of a chance to protest.

Not only was it humid, but it was hot. Peak heat in the last few weeks of August beat down onto Egon’s head, and he was reconsidering having grown his thick hair out this much as it felt like a weight rather than an act of autonomy. Mosquitos and sharp, untamed grass grazed his ankles like barbs, and he sweat profusely under his raincoat. This was the price of science, however, what if she wanted them to follow her into the lake? He wouldn’t do it, but he wasn’t messing up a good shirt. Ray, somehow, didn’t complain once, though sweat and condensation was visible on his skin as he panted, still smiling.

Ray stopped, and Egon followed suit as he looked around. Ray didn’t say anything as he pulled out his copy of “Old Tales” for cross referencing, and Egon took the opportunity to relax. He bent over a bit, catching his breath, until he felt something brush his cheek. Unmoving, he could hear the buzz of a bee, and suddenly, the pinch and surge of venom.

“Raymond”

“Huh?”

“Reach in my bag and grab my epipen.” Egon eased himself to the ground, staying calm.

Ray’s eyes widen as big as saucers. “You got stung?” He asks, a fairly dumb question, as he drops his book.

“Grab my epipen.”

“Oh, oh geez. You’re not gonna die , right Eges?” Ray stutters, wringing his hands. Oh god, his face was turning red.

“Not if you get my epipen.”

“You're…gonna die…” Ray teared up at the thought, before full on weeping.

“RAY! Get my epipen.” Egon could feel his eyes swelling shut. It was a little harder to breathe as he panicked himself.

“And…you’ll never get to see my radium collection or my dog…” He blubbered into his hands.

“PUT THE NEEDLE IN MY LEG!”

Ray shuffled over at the worst time to be shuffling, digging into his friend's bag and pulling out things that were clearly not an epipen. “Is this it?” He sniffled, words barely intelligible as he held up a regular, ballpoint pen.

‘It’s an orange box with the words ‘Epipen’.” Ray recovered it, hands shaking.

“Take it out, pull the cap off..” Ray’s face was wet with tears and snot.

“Stab it into my leg. Fast.” Egon took in a hiss of air as he braced for a pain that would never come.

Ray’s pupils shrunk. He wailed, leaning against Egon’s slowly asphyxiating and swollen body, going on about having to hurt him and losing his best friend. It would’ve touched Egon, if he still had the ability to see and feel his tongue. He wouldn’t mind dying here, if it was next to Ray- at least there was a chance of haunting the boy until he went insane. He could visit Einstein, compare notes. Tea with Louis Pasteur ought to be interesting.

His thoughts of passing on, unlike Ray’s crying, ceased as he heard many different footsteps approaching, and commotion as his leg was punctured by the anti-venom.

Their time at camp was, to say the least, cut short. Egon spent 2 days in hospital to monitor his reaction. His parents were silent the entire visit, not commenting on his hair or the fact he was ghosthunting when he almost died. To make things worse, his father smiled when addressed by a nurse. He knew he was in for it when he was discharged. Maybe a year of cleaning the chimney? Swimming lessons? He shuddered at the thought.

All wasn’t lost, surprisingly. Ray’s parents apologized about 100 times to the Spenglers, promising that “Ray was a smart boy who makes dumb decisions” and “he gets it from his father’s side” . He felt oddly at ease at seeing Mrs. Stantz, a strong-looking, full figured woman with short blond hair, green eyes, and wrinkles around her red lipstick and warm eyes from smiling, grabbing his hand and doting on him more than his nurses. Mr. Stantz was tall, and had a short beard, hair slightly red, and looked just as strong as his wife, eyes equally as kind as voice as boisterous, as Egon always thought a dad should be. He felt safe when the man asked him “how ya holdin’ up, buddy?” Hm. Many developments to be taken away here.

To his displeasure, he got the least amount of time with Ray. He was hidden behind his mother’s back in guilt, until he worked up the courage to apologize, taking to crying again as he threw himself onto Egon in a tight hug.

He blinks a few times as the boy tears stain the collar of his hospital gown. “Ray, did anyone die?” Ray weakly laughed against his friend.

They spent the rest of their time going over the piles of research they conducted, mishap not taking away their zeal to study their shared field of interest. Ray had even brought his own copy of “Tobin’s Spirit Guide”, gifting it to Egon because he knew his borrowed books would have to be relinquished soon. He even traded addresses, so they could continue to write. Soon enough, hospital staff were ushering them out, but not before the Stantz family left behind gifts of pie, bean chili, fried chicken, cinnamon rolls, and even more pie. Egon waited until his parents were gone before he ravished the containers.

Upon their return home, both boys were justly punished. Egon’s worst nightmares got even more hellish- he was put into dance classes. Ray was kicked out the camp for life as if he’d lose sleep over it past age 14 (he lost an hour or two every few months) and he took up doing every family member’s chores until his parents thought he’d learned a lesson. It got better though, especially when letters with Einstein stamps appeared in his mail. He tried to continue fulfilling his need to be outdoors by signing up for boy scouts, “there is absolutely no way anyone can get hurt here, mom” and wrote to Egon urging him to join as well, only getting a full sheet of paper with the word “No.” His loss, he lost 5 cents. Ray was kicked out in the winter for, again, stealing smoke alarms from his scout leader’s house and taking their Americium.

“I found it, Ray,” Egon tilts the paper in his friend’s direction.

“Alleged ghost sightings along the lakeshore.” The alarm goes off just then, as Janine leans over the staircase to fill them in.

“Some camp up North saw a lady crawling out the lake.”

#ray stantz #egon spengler #ray stantz/egon spengler #stantzler #ghostbusters #ghostbusters 1984 #old men yaoi #fanfic #one shot #fluff #au

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porcelainapparition · 11 months

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Tupper Lake, New York

built in 1920

#house #vintage #antique #New York

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polkadotsunshine · 22 days

Text

Seeing a total solar eclipse requires both preparation and flexibility.

First is the equipment. My family has a collection of welder's glass so we can watch the sun before totality. It's a high quality, comfortable, and durable version of eclipse glasses. We use rubber bands to fix the glass to binoculars, so we can quickly remove the filter during totality. We've also fitted a perfectly parallel straw to our telescope's reflex sight so we can align it to the sun*.

*Spotting the sun with the naked eye would cause physical harm yet welder's glass blocks out so much light you couldn't see the sight with it on. By aligning the shadow of the straw on your hand, so that the sunlight comes straight as a white circle, you can aim the telescope.

Next comes the location. Years in advance, we analyze historical weather data to determine a path along totality with the least likelihood of cloud coverage. We're not looking for a location to sit in; we want a road we can travel along to escape dense clouds. Months in advance, we change our plans from Mexico to Texas. Days in advance, we change our plans from Texas to New York. Even as we drive through the Adirondacks the day of the eclipse, we watch the radar to adjust course. Even as we set up our telescope, we watch for changes in cloud density and the direction of the wind. We settle by Tupper Lake, mentally calculating how long it would take to pack everything up and drive east.

Fetching supplies from the car, we discover someone parked less than an inch away from our passenger’s side. We shuffle through the driver's side doors, over to the other half of the car, and accept the circumstance. As my dad waits in line for a portable toilet, someone points out our neighbor’s parking job and offers astonishment then condolences. As my mom gets a blanket from the car, someone rushes up to her, exclaiming they witnessed the parking job in horror, and they complain about the Cornell bumper sticker on their car. The third time someone runs up to us, it's the driver himself. He profusely apologizes.

We get to know the guy: Jordan. My mom asks about Cornell, since that's where she and my dad met. His daughter went to Cornell. He asks where I went to college. The conversation goes from there. It turns out his wife is home sick and he went to finish the trip alone. He's visibly jealous of our telescope. We adopt him into our party. He corrects his parking job and we share our equipment with him. I teach with him the little I remember from what my dad had taught me.

The anticipation builds. For a while, it's just a relaxing day outside. The moon hasn’t even begun to cross the sun. I look at sunspots through our telescope and ask my dad how many times the size of Earth they are. I read my book and listen to the lake lap up the shore. A son plays catch with his father. A group of college friends yell over cards. I watch Canadian geese swim around a family in kayaks.

The anticipation builds. My dad shouts, "First contact!" as he checks the telescope. We lazily look through our glass and idly remark interest that such a small sliver is visible without magnification. I eat beef jerky and check my phone. We occasionally look to the sun and make small talk over how fast it's moving. I walk to a nearby McDonald's to use the bathroom; I don't want totality to be interrupted. As the sun wanes, I play with a colander to find the focal points of each pinhole camera it creates, speckling our folding table with polkadot sunshine in the shape of tiny crescents.

The anticipation builds. It starts getting dark, like twilight. Automated lights flick on along the lake. The geese come to shore. My mom identifies the nightsong of birds in the park. Totality is in 10 minutes. The lighting shifts from twilight to unnatural; a dimness creeps from every direction, somehow illuminating the now-muted colors of the world. Our brains struggle to make sense of it. It's cold. My grandparents' dog hides between my brother’s legs. He comforts her.

It's fast. My dad points across the lake. It's the shadow of the moon, screaming towards us at over 1000 mph. The clouds dissipate inside its cold beam of darkness. He points out Venus, visible to the naked eye. The crowd clamors. The last light of the sun forms a brilliant white diamond atop a ring, surrounding the pitch black moon in the sky. I've never seen contrast so strong in nature. I shout because Jordan shouts and Jordan shouts because I shout.

Each moment is heavy. Totality will begin soon. Totality will end soon. It will be years before I get the mere possibility of seeing anything like this ever again. I tell myself to make each second count. I won't waste time taking pictures. I won't waste any time at all. I look up.

There is a hole in the sky. The stark white corona tinges aquamarine, fringed by red Baily's beads bleeding through the mountains on the moon. My emotions overpower prepared thought. Yellow orange sunsets surround every horizon. Anywhere I look is a beautiful moment that can't last. Everything feels wonderfully wrong. Red plasma arcs at a magnitude incomprehensible; three solar flare prominences push their way to my attention. I see the eclipse. I cry.

And then it was over. I had counted down to this day for 7 years. It marked the end of an era; bookending the as-of-now most important years of my life. It landed on a day I made up layered sentimental feelings for. The eclipse was beautiful because I forced myself to savor every memory, yet despite all my plans, for those 3 minutes and 31 seconds, it became something else. I allowed myself to fall in love with whatever came my way - and I found more than I had ever expected.

Seeing a total solar eclipse requires both preparation and flexibility. The sight is gorgeous of course, but for me, experiencing a total solar eclipse is a communal ritual. It is my dad showing me how to align his telescope. It is the tips my aunts and uncles exchanged when deciding where to go. It is the picnic I had with my grandmother. It is the unlikely friend we made. The anticipation built from our collective preparation allowed me to follow my central directive: I lived in the moment, no matter where that took me.

After all, isn’t everything amazing?

#maya writes #sorry i think this one is subpar but i don't feel like editing it and it exists #so here #eclipse2024

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