#Psychic Business Consultant

[weirderscience]

synergistic selection from my bookshelf

[equalseleventhirds]

just saw mp100 trivia that reigen would leave spirits n such to mob if he died

and now i need fic in which reigen elaborately fakes his death for Reasons (bad ones probably) and leaves like, 16-year-old mob in charge of this whole shitty exorcism business while he drags serizawa into his hiding from creditors or internet trolls or whoever

(mob is probably aware from the start that reigen's alive, in spite of reigen definitely not telling him, but he can't just go hunt him down bcos 'shishou has his reasons' and also 'who would run the business if i left to find him' so he just Deals. intersperse chapters of mob attempting to run a business and getting overwhelmed and calling his friends to help with chapters of reigen roadtrip fake death shenanigans. by the end of it reigen's started up some other totally shady business under an assumed name but like, right next door to spirits and such.)

[averymorareadings]

Hello! I'm a medium but also do tarot, palmistry, and tea leaf readings! As well as working with spirits, hauntings/unhauntings and things of that nature, and consultations upon request. I'm currently accepting new clients and if you'd like to make an appointment you can message me here, or email me at averymorareadings@gmail.com

I also have a sliding scale, especially for persons grieving or in need, as well as free reading Wednesdays!

My ask is always open, appointment or not. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask, message or email me at any time!

I'll also be using my Tumblr to post about my personal daily tarot pulls and probably talk a bit about my experiences with spirits and other entities.

[ladamedusoif]

Rockford, P.I.

Or: the one where Tim Rockford is a ghost hunter

Inspired by the incredible PPCU AU moodboards by @almostfoxglove!

Pairing: Paranormal Investigator!Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Content notes/warnings: 18+ MDNI; F!Reader; no physical description of Reader; Tim Rockford AU; Reader is Tim’s occasional partner in the business; established working relationship and friendship; friends to lovers; spooky shenanigans; implied smut; fluff; ghosts; references to death; references to alcohol use; references to drug use; strong language; cliches and most likely a lot of stuff that’s not correct about paranormal investigations.

Author's note: I loved @almostfoxglove's PPCU AU moodboards so much and I've been thinking about this story for a while, so when better to finish and post it than Halloween? I know I haven't written in a long time - since the summer, I think - and at the weekend certain discourse made me want to just give up completely and delete every word I'd ever posted. But this was nearly done, and I feel like at least some people might like to see it. So here you are. Happy Halloween, Oíche Shamhna shona daoibh.

And thank you to @mescalpascal for beta-ing this and not letting me get away with just giving up - with writing, fandom, everything.

To find more of my work and get alerts when I post new writing (which will hopefully be more frequently!), follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications.

Ghost divider by @wethairjoel

“Rockford, PI - Tim speaking. How can I be of assistance?”

Tim spins in his battered desk chair, phone tucked against his shoulder and box of leftover takeout still in hand as he listens to the person on the other end of the line, nodding and “uh huh”-ing every so often.

He stops spinning. He puts down the box of cold lo mein. He grabs a pen, and frantically begins taking notes. He asks the caller to send as much information as they can via email.

And then he calls you.

Other little girls at school wanted to be princesses or singers or models or movie stars. You? You wanted to be a Ghostbuster. Forget clean-cut TV stars or the latest cookie-cutter boyband member, your first love was Dr Egon Spengler.

Fast forward a few decades, and your dream had become reality - kind of. Your doctoral thesis on the interplay between reported paranormal activity and its representation in popular culture had produced a few well-received articles and earned you a positive reputation in the admittedly rather specialised world of paranormal and psychical research. It had not, unfortunately, led to a glittering academic career.

Instead, you made a living with a part-time teaching gig at a university combined with a little freelance consultancy work for movies and TV shows, almost all of which ditched your nuanced advice and produced yet another cliched depiction of “ghost hunters” screaming on camera.

And then there was Tim. You’d met a long time back, after a talk you’d given in the city about change and continuity in the concept of the “haunted house”. He was sitting in the front, diligently taking notes and nodding along as you spoke, eyes warm and encouraging - and he immediately made a beeline to ask you for coffee as soon as the Q&A wrapped up. 

Before you parted that evening, he handed you his card.

”Rockford, PI. You’re a private investigator?”

Tim shook his head. “Paranormal investigator. Helps to have most people think it’s the other kind of PI, though.” He called you from time to time, asking for your help on specific cases, sometimes enlisting you as a partner for the duration of an investigation. You always welcomed the extra income, but in truth you helped him out for the sheer love of it - for the chance to feel like a real Ghostbuster, even if Tim worked in business attire instead of boiler suits, and to spend time with one of the few people in the world you felt really got you.

You peer out at the English countryside from the window of the car Tim hired at Heathrow, straining to see something of the allegedly “green and pleasant” land through the miserable grey haze and sheets of rain. The navigation on your phone announces the final turn for your destination. Tim, still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, approaches cautiously and takes the left turn onto the long driveway.

“Whoa.” His voice is awestruck as the car arrives at the enormous country house, now a luxury boutique hotel catering to the rich and famous in search of an exclusive retreat. “We’re a long way from poltergeists in Poughkeepsie.”

You shrug as Tim drives into the small, discreet parking lot to one side of the building. “I’ve done some work on a couple of Gilded Age mansions. This isn’t going to be all that different, right?”

“True,” he muses, climbing out of the car and setting to work unpacking your luggage: a suitcase each, plus several hard-sided cases of vital equipment for conducting the investigation, labelled ‘Scientific Instruments’. “And they did say they think it’s only one manifestation.”

You chuckle as you help him wheel the cases from the car towards the hotel entrance, where a man in elegant livery is already rushing to greet you with a brass luggage trolley. “One manifestation? Please. We got this, Rockford.”

That evening, unpacked, freshened up, and after a dinner meeting with the hotel owner, you and Tim decamp to the library - now a comfortably-appointed lounge with its own bar - to compare notes. The two of you are the only residents, the hotel having temporarily suspended operations in order to deal with the spectral guest.

He hands you a glass of whiskey and settles beside you on the Chesterfield sofa, hair still damp from his earlier shower and his customary attire replaced by a long-sleeved Henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks more boyish, the grey patches in his beard notwithstanding, and you find yourself smiling softly at him.

“So: first impressions?”

You take a sip of your drink and reach for your notebook. “First impressions: they must be pretty freaked out to temporarily close down a hotel over one spirit, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s unusually troublesome - they mentioned strange things appearing on bedroom walls, guests waking to the sound of a voice shouting for help, weird stuff turning up on TV channels... And they do pride themselves on the whole ‘idyllic rural retreat’ brand, which a ghost doesn’t exactly fit with.” He sips his whiskey and thinks. “Did you find out any more about the death here a couple of years ago?”

”I did - it was weirdly under-reported, given that a celebrity was involved, but I guess people had much bigger things to worry about during the pandemic.” You flip to a different page. “Nothing I found out seemed to contradict the owner’s version of events, though I’m sure they’d be careful to control the narrative if there was anything to hide.”

Tim sucks his cheek, deep in thought, and nods. “I guess we can’t proceed until we see how this thing is manifesting for ourselves. You have everything you need for the surveillance in your room overnight?”

You nod. “And we’ve got the kit set up in the other parts of the hotel the owner mentioned. I think we’re good to go, Timothy.”

He grins, eyes sparkling, and clinks your glass.

Jetlag doesn’t stop you waking as soon as the first rays of sunlight begin to peek around the heavy drapes that adorn the windows of your large bedroom. You’re checking the recordings and readings taken in the room overnight, looking for any indication of paranormal activity, when your phone buzzes with a message from Tim.

Nothing in my room overnight. Anything in yours? 

Not that I can see. You want to check the other equipment before breakfast?

Sure thing. Race you to the Full English.

“Oh, it’s on, Rockford,” you murmur to yourself, reaching for leggings and an old hoodie. You slip on a pair of Crocs, already bracing yourself for Tim’s inevitable comments about your choice of footwear, grab your keycard, and slip out of the room.

It’s quiet in your absence, save for the gentle sound of birds singing outside, the wind occasionally rattling your windows - and the increasingly steady beeping now being emitted from a little device Tim had given you, designed to measure sudden shifts in psychical energy. 

None of the other devices set up elsewhere in the hotel had registered anything out of the ordinary. Tim, typically, is philosophical.

“We just have to wait, do some more research in the meantime, speak to the staff. How’s that breakfast?” He sips his coffee, mug looking comically small in his large hand, and gives you a mischievous look.

“The bacon’s delicious, the mushrooms are great, the eggs are perfect… but I don’t think Cumberland sausages are for me.” You poke at the thick, half-eaten link sausage on the plate. “Not least because ‘Cumberland sausage’ sounds like a fuckin’ euphemism if ever I heard one.”

Tim laughs, the warm sound resonating in the empty dining room. He tops up his coffee and reaches for another slice of toast, and you realise that he seems…different.

“Rockford?” He looks up at you, toast crumbs in his moustache. “What’s going on with you? You aren’t normally this, uh, jolly on a job.”

He swallows his toast and drinks his coffee thoughtfully. “It’s a fascinating case, and I guess I’m just really happy that we’re working together again. Even if you’re wearing those.”

Tim gestures with mock scorn towards your brightly-coloured Crocs, before giving you a sly wink. 

“Are you absolutely sure you want to comment on my sartorial choices, Rockford? Or do you want me to talk about your rotating selection of striped ties from Sears?”

After breakfast, Tim decides to take advantage of the on-site pool and you return to your room for a quick shower before beginning the first round of interviews with hotel staff. The beeping noise is audible before you’ve even reached the door.

You steel yourself and gently enter the room, slowly moving in the direction of the little device on its tripod, various alert lights flashing in sync with the rhythm of its insistent beeps. You transcribe the codes on its screen into your notebook and take a quick video, ready to show Tim as soon as possible. Cross-legged on the floor, you close your eyes for a moment, steadying your breathing.

“I can’t believe they let in someone else wearing Crocs. So much for their fuckin’ dress code.”

Your eyes snap wide open at the sound of the male voice behind you, on the other side of the room. American. West coast, you think. A little…affected? 

In other words: that’s probably not a member of staff.

You get to your feet and turn, slowly, in the direction of the voice.

There, on the other side of the room, sprawled on the sofa, is a man you think must be in his early 40s. His hair is wild, wavy, dark; his eyes obscured by a pair of vintage Ray-Bans. He’s wearing a brown teddy coat, which has slipped open to reveal a shirtless torso and a flash of tummy. A pair of loose grey shorts, wooly socks, and fucking Crocs complete his outfit. 

Definitely not staff.

Though your heart is pounding out of your chest, you find the strength to speak. “Are you a spirit?”

The man slips his glasses down his nose and gives you a withering look. “What the fuck else do you think I am? And while we’re here - why is that…thing making so much noise?”

“It’s to read changes in psychical activity,” you explain. “So it’s probably picking you up.”

The man thinks about this for a couple of moments, as if chewing it over. With a jolt, you realise two things: firstly, that in all your years of working with the paranormal, you’ve never actually seen a ghost, at least not in this form; and secondly, that you recognise this figure.

“So you do know who I am,” he drawls, pushing his glasses back up his nose and lying back on the couch. Shit, he’s more powerful than you suspected - he can pick up on what you’re thinking.

“It’s…it’s you. The dead guest.”

He exhales dramatically and flops his arm over the side of the sofa. “I have a name.”

You rack your brains, afraid to look away to grab your notebook in case he disappears.

“You’re…you’re Dieter Bravo.”

Tim Rockford is on his twentieth lap of the pool when a slow, steady buzzing noise catches his ear, coming from the direction of the tote bag he’d left poolside with towels, a t-shirt, and shorts. He hauls himself out of the water and roughly dries off his face, hair, and hands before rummaging in the bag. “Fuck!”

He’s half-wet and breathless when you open the door to your room, his fist still raised as if ready to continue the frantic hammering that had signalled his arrival. 

“Jesus! You okay?”

He’s turning and twirling around the room, glasses on and fogged up from the residual humidity of his body, holding up one of his own psychical activity detectors. “You…fuck,” Tim hisses as he tries to catch his breath. “You saw it? Where is it?”

“So I’m an it now?”, Dieter drawls, now hovering - literally - in the area of the large bay window. 

“He’s there,” you gesture, calmly, as if being in a room with the spectral manifestation of a dead Hollywood actor was an everyday occurrence. “By the window.”

Tim stares directly at Dieter, but doesn’t register anything. Dieter roars with laughter.

“Oh, babe! Looks like you’re special.”

“I’m special?”

Tim swivels at the sound of your voice, confusion written all over his face. Dieter sidles up to the other man, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder, and you’re struck by a kind of resemblance. Tim shivers.

“He can’t see or hear me. Most people can’t, which makes haunting the fuck out of this place hilarious,” the actor explains. He takes a seat on a vanity table near the window and looks a little wistful. “Annika was the last person who could see and hear me,” he sighs. “Kinda nice to be…” - he wiggles his hands in the air - “visible again.”

“He…he says I’m special because I can see and hear him, and you can’t. Most people can’t. Is this…normal? Am I normal?”

Tim crosses the room and puts a hand on your shoulder, gently caressing it in a gesture of reassurance. “I mean, none of what we do is normal. But yes, this is not unusual.”

Dieter immediately launches into a Tom Jones impersonation, gyrating in exaggerated fashion towards Tim, and you roll your eyes involuntarily. Tim looks hurt.

“Oh! Oh, Tim, no, I was rolling my eyes at him. Not you. Shit, this is going to be confusing, isn’t it?”

The crinkles that form around Tim’s eyes when he smiles make a welcome appearance, and his dark eyes twinkle behind his glasses. “I’m sure we can work out a system for keeping communication clear. Usually, when a manifestation is only visible to one or two people, it means they have some kind of need, or something unfulfilled. And, I guess, they think the witness can give it to them.”

You glance over at Dieter, who is still gyrating. He lowers his sunglasses and grins at you lasciviously.

Over the next couple of days, you and Tim interview hotel staff and examine some of the areas affected by the haunting, to establish a pattern for the manifestation’s - for Dieter’s - behaviour. 

“The random murals appearing overnight aren’t that disturbing, I suppose,” you muse, noting down the details of the artwork Dieter had left in one guest bedroom.

“Depends on what you consider disturbing, though.” Tim rubs a finger against the paint, examining the powdery residue. “I wouldn’t like to wake up to an extra-large rendering of Hieronymus Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ on my hotel room wall.”

You giggle and nod in agreement. “Well, fair. Though it’s weirdly good, for a ghost.” 

Your psychical activity detectors start to beep in unison and you turn to each other before you spy Dieter, lounging on top of a wardrobe. He’s clad differently, today, this time sporting a green robe, a baggy purple t-shirt, and striped lounge pants. 

And the Crocs.

“I am good. Honestly, if they’d got my heart going again I think I’d have quit Hollywood, y’know? Jacked it all in, got clean, got into art properly. Make sculptures, paint, run a gallery or some shit.”

“He’s talking to me,” you explain to Tim, before turning back to Dieter. “So you’re hanging around here because you didn’t get to make the art you dreamed of?”

“Ugh. I don’t have to explain myself to you people.”

And he’s gone.

In the evenings, the hotel insists on serving you and Tim dinner as if you were ordinary guests, not paranormal investigators tasked with eradicating the ghost of an Oscar-winning Hollywood enfant terrible from the property. The lone waiter serves your five-course meal with the kind of exaggerated formality you had only ever seen in films or TV shows about royalty, respectfully pointing out the various cutlery and accoutrements needed for each course in a low, somewhat fawning voice.

“And voilà, Mr Rockford, your seabass.” He lifts the dome from Tim’s plate and does a little bow. 

Tim is chewing the inside of his cheek and turning pink as the waiter leans closer to his ear.

“A reminder, sir, should you require it, that the fishknife is that delicate little marvel on the right. Bon appétit.”

Tim says nothing as the waiter makes his way across the vast, empty dining room, watching for the door to the kitchens to close properly before he lets out a belly laugh so huge it almost rocks the table you’re seated at. You raise an eyebrow and pour him a fresh glass of water.

“Are you quite well, Tim?”

He’s taken off his glasses and is rubbing tears from his eyes, unable to control his laughter. “Why did he say that about the fishknife? And the fucking dome? I shouldn’t laugh but…”

“You mean you didn’t need to be reminded that the fishknife is a delicate little marvel?” 

Your attempt to replicate the waiter’s tone sets the two of you off this time, and you’re still laughing about it by the time you retreat to the lounge with a gin and tonic each. 

This was the longest you’d ever spent in Tim’s company, you realised one night, sitting with your feet tucked under you on the large leather sofa. There was a lot that you didn’t know about each other, but being stuck in a haunted hotel is nothing if not an ideal opportunity for getting to know someone better. 

You are listening to Tim animatedly telling you about one of his strangest cases. His face lights up when he talks about his work, big hands gesturing for emphasis, eyes bright and focused on you. He listens to you with the same commitment and interest, keenly asking questions and taking in your every word.

When you lean in for a goodnight hug before parting ways, he seems surprised - but pleased, somehow, as he returns your embrace.

Your TV is on when you return to your room. The tell-tale beeping from the psychical activity monitor gives him away immediately.

“Dieter.”

He’s lying on your bed, propped up on one arm, green robe wrapped around him. “Heyyyyyyy. Hope you don’t mind. Wanted some company and I’ve haunted the fuck out of everyone else around here.”

You shake your head and pour yourself a glass of water. “I don’t mind. But if I let you hang out with me you have to answer my questions.”

He groans and flops back onto the bed, though his body makes no indentation in the bedclothes. “FINE. But you have to answer mine.”

“Fair.” You settle beside him on the bed, trying not to overthink the fact that you were literally hanging out with a dead man. “What the fuck are you watching?”

He runs his fingers through his hair in irritation and points at the 90s sitcom he’s watching on some random-ass cable channel. “Allegedly this is a British remake of Who’s The Boss but like, it’s fucking shit. No Danza, no party.”

You pause for a moment. “Speaking of party…can you do drugs, if you’re a ghost? All the evidence would suggest you can’t, but I’ve never actually heard from someone with first-hand experience.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

Dieter grimaces. “I literally threw a couple of tabs of acid through my stupid fuckin’ ghost body, didn’t I. Just…whoosh.” He gestures with his hand. “I feel so real, y’know? All corporeal. But then you try to get high and bam. No can do. I can’t eat or drink, either.”

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

He stares at you. “Why do you get to ask two questions in a row? My turn.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your water, noticing Dieter staring longingly at the glass.

“Fine.”

He cackles and claps his hands together. They make no sound.

“Are you and Magnum P.I. fucking? You’re fucking, right?”

“Um, no?” You take another sip of water and swallow hard. “No, we are not fucking. We’re colleagues.”

Dieter mimics you, note-perfect, and cackles again. “Bullshit. He’s down so fuckin’ bad for you.”

“Tim is not ‘down bad’ for me, as you put it.”

He sits up, moving into a kind of lotus position. “He is.”

“He’s not.”

“He is, and I know he is because I can literally sense this shit. And I can definitely sense that you’ve got a crush on ol’ Columbo down the hall. Which is fair, I guess. He’s pretty hot.”

You can feel the heat rising to your face, but maintain what you hope is a neutral expression. 

“Oh, Scully is trying so hard not to let her crush on Mulder show.” He smiles a smug, satisfied grin.

“Is he Magnum, Columbo, or Mulder, Dieter?”

“All three, baby.” He hovers about a foot above the bed, pointing at you accusingly. “And you should put him out of his misery. Want me to go check on him for you, see if he’s thinking about you right now?” Dieter wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to get a ghost trap and put you in it.”

“Like in Ghostbusters?!” Dieter seems unreasonably excited. 

“Do you want to be sealed up in a little trap, or would you prefer to continue having free rein?”

He sighs and descends back to the bed. “Ugh. Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m not wrong.”

Dieter fucking Bravo. He was haunting your brain, as well as this hotel.

His insistence that Tim had a thing for you - and vice versa - now coloured every interaction, every conversation between you and your colleague as you tried to discern any evidence that Dieter was right, or that disproved his theory. To your horror, you began to unconsciously hope that he wasn’t just winding you up.

He quickly got in the habit of appearing in your room just before bedtime: staying for a little chat, dodging any of your questions that veered too close to the essential truth of why he hadn’t completely passed over to the great beyond, and asking repeatedly if you and Tim had “got around to fucking” yet. 

“It would be kinda hard for us to get around to fucking with a fucking ghost in my room, don’t you think?”

He laughs his wheezy rasp of a laugh and crosses his hands over his tummy. “Listen, the more the merrier, babe.”

A few moments pass before you break the silence. “Why are you so obsessed with us, with me and Tim, with us getting together?”

He pouts and stares into the middle distance. “I guess…hmm. I want people to get what they want, love-wise.” Dieter discerns your incredulous glance. “What? I mean it! I’m a big fan of romance and happy endings.”

“You can’t blame me for being sceptical, Dieter.”

Tension crackles in the air. When he speaks again, he’s very quiet. 

“Just because I didn’t get a happy ending in life doesn’t mean I can’t believe in them.”

Dieter’s big, dark eyes - or the spectral impression of his big, dark eyes, now trapped in some in-between place, neither here nor there - look at you with absolute sincerity. 

“Is that why you’re still here?”

He turns away. 

“I don’t know why I can see you, Dieter, or what you need me for, but there’s got to be a reason for it. And I can’t help you until you talk to me.”

He huddles deeper into his green robe, and you exhale. 

“Fine. You’re not wrong. You’re right, in fact.”

He doesn’t move, but you can almost feel his ghostly ears pricking up.

“I’m right?”

You close your eyes and bite your lip. “Fuck it. You’re right, I… I think I do have a crush on him.”

This time, you swear you can hear Dieter smile.

“On who?”

“You know who.”

“Say it.” He chuckles to himself.

“Oh, fuck.” You bury your head in your hands. “Why do I need to say it, when you can sense what I’m thinking?”

Dieter rolls over and props himself up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Because it’s very fucking satisfying. For me.”

“Fuck you, Dieter Bravo. Fine. I - I have a crush on Tim. Happy?”

He nods, and points in the direction of Tim’s room, down the hall. “Mmm. And now you need to tell Timmy so that he can tell you he has a crush on you and then you can go off and have lots of weirdo paranormal-obsessed babies. If that’s a thing you want, of course.”

“Okay.”

Dieter’s eyes widen. “Okay? So, you’re just gonna tell him?”

“I’ll tell him… but only if you let me help you.”

“No deal. Fuck you two, keep on being idiots.”

“I thought you loved happy endings, romance, all that?”

“Nope.” 

You shift on the mattress to face Dieter, and speak more gently this time. “Do you want to be stuck here forever, Dieter?”

He hesitates. “Nope.”

“So, should we make a deal?”

He talks and talks all night, floating around the room, resting on the vanity, on the armchair, on the bed, and at one point drifting in and out of the bathroom - even with the door closed.

And you listen. You listen like Tim listens to you: engaged, curious, open, kind, even, trying to get to the root of what’s keeping this man trapped in between worlds in a luxury hotel in the English countryside.

Unfinished business is a common explanation for why ghosts hang around, you’ve realised. A desire for vengeance, too. Sometimes spirits just want to stay around their families and friends. Once, a long time ago, a client of Tim’s described the work as being like a kind of doula, for ghosts. 

“You help them get out of the in-between,” the lady had said, after Tim had solved the ongoing hauntings in her family’s ranch house. “They just need someone to hold their hand, I guess. Well, maybe not literally.”

Watching and listening as Dieter talks about his life, his death, his successes, his failures, you become ever more keenly aware of how right she was, and more focused on getting him to where he needs to be. To peace.

He descends gently to the ground in front of the TV set. “I can’t deny that the whole Beetlejuice shtick has been fun, most of the time,” he says, sadly. “But you’re right, I don’t wanna be stuck here for the rest of my life. I mean, the rest of my death. I mean -”

“The rest of your afterlife.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

“Dieter… do you think you might just be afraid?”

“Afraid?” His eyes are wide and frightened, giving you his answer without a word.

“Afraid to let go. Afraid to move to the next stage, whatever that is.”

“But that’s just it.” Dieter stares at his Crocs. “You said it. ‘Whatever that is.’ I don’t know what’s there.”

“No one does, though. And most spirits don’t end up haunting entire hotels, they just…pass through.”

He nods. “I guess I always had to stand out, huh?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” you agree. 

He takes a couple of moments to compose himself. “I… I saw whatever the fuck comes next when my heart stopped. Bright light, all that shit. Fuckin’ near-death experience, except I was actually dead.”

“But you didn’t pass through?”

“I feel like my entire self just went ‘fuck this, I’m not done’. But I couldn’t come back, y’know?” He tugs at an errant curl. “I guess…fuck. I didn’t want to be forgotten. Wanted to know I could live on, maybe.”

“You don’t have to stay in the in-between to live on, Dieter. The work speaks for itself.”

He groans. “Some of it does. Never got to rebuild properly, though. Whole lotta shlock in there and one fuckin’ Oscar.”

You bring yourself to the ground beside the spectre. “That’s one Oscar more than most of us will ever have. And plenty of people who died before their time still live on in their work.”

“If you mention the 27 Club to me I will actually haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

“Noted.” You smile at him, cheered by the sight of a little grin on Dieter’s lips. “But you know it’s true.”

“I just never got the happy ending.”

He looks so sorrowful in that moment that you wish, more than anything, that you could hug him - make him flesh and blood, just for an instant again, so he could know the comfort of a warm embrace.

“Maybe the happy ending is off there in the hereafter.”

Dieter arches an eyebrow. “Do you actually believe that?”

You grin and chuckle. “Honestly? Fuck knows what’s after all this. I think I’d rather not know. But even if it’s just a bright light and bam, that’s it - you’ll live forever, Dieter Bravo.”

Tim is bed-headed and bleary-eyed when he opens his door to you at 6.30am, but he smiles widely when his vision focuses and he recognises your face. 

“Have a seat, have a seat,” he gestures to the bed, before blushing a little. “Or I can move my clothes off the armchair, if you’d prefer.”

You perch on the edge of the mattress and shake your head. “It’s perfect here, thank you. I just wanted to tell you that I think Dieter’s…”

Funny how, in spite of doing this job and researching these phenomena for so many years, some cases just get to you. A sob catches in your throat as you try to find the words.

“I think the haunting problem is solved, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes widen in amazement and he sits beside you on the edge of the bed. “Your doula skills, right?”

You nod, tears still threatening to fall at any moment. His strong arms wrap around you and hold you close, keeping you safe as you cry against his broad chest.

“Please do feel free to stay for the next couple of days, of course.” The hotel manager is effusive and grateful as you wrap up the debriefing session later that morning, standing up to shake your and Tim’s hands in turn. “The rooms are booked, we won’t be reopening to other guests until we can redecorate the affected bedrooms. It’s on us, an extra little thank you for dealing with our, uh, friend.”

After lunch, the two of you walk through the property’s walled gardens and admire the various topiaries and water features. All the while, your promise to Dieter lingers at the forefront of your mind.

You said you would tell Tim how you felt, if Dieter let you help him. And he did. And now…

Fuck. And you wouldn’t put it past Dieter Bravo to somehow find his way back from the hereafter, just to haunt you out of spite.

You look over at Tim, who’s taking a photo of the hotel buildings from the gardens, and feel a surge of affection, mingled with anxiety. What if Dieter had got you right, but Tim wrong?

He catches your eye and grins at you. “Hey, come in for a photo?”

You pose beside an ornamental fountain, Tim concentrating as he sets up the shot. He beckons to you. 

“How about a selfie, maybe?”

His arm snakes around your shoulders as he angles the phone towards the two of you and captures the moment: he, suit on but tie loosened, eyes twinkling; you, smiling broadly into the lens.

He brings you a gin and tonic, settling in beside you on the Chesterfield sofa and clinking his glass of whiskey to yours. In the last few days the ritual has become familiar and comforting; and with a jolt you worry that this might be the last time you enjoy it together.

Tim sips his drink in contented silence, watching the flames of the large, open fire. 

“You’re quiet. Is everything okay?”

His dark eyes meet yours as you turn to face him. “I’m…”

Dieter Bravo is going to haunt you if you don’t do this.

What if this is your happy ending?

A large swig of G&T, to fortify your resolve.

“Um, I’ve really enjoyed this whole case, working with…being with you.”

Tim smiles softly. “Me too. It was nice to get the chance to get to know each other better.”

Another fortifying sip. 

“I was wondering…uh. Shit. Maybe, when we get back, would you -”

Your voice dries up in your throat. The next words are barely more than a whisper.

“Would you maybe like to get a drink or dinner sometime? With me?”

For an instant, you can see that Tim is on the verge of brushing it off, of asking why you're being so strange about this, of saying that you regularly meet for coffee if you’re both free, talking about that diner you sometimes go to.

And then the realisation sinks in, and his face softens into a huge smile.

“I would love to take you for dinner. And drinks. Whenever you want, wherever you want.”

He puts his glass down and moves closer to you. Your fingers reach for the end of his tie as your bodies shift ever closer, until he’s holding your face in his hands and his mouth is on yours, kissing you with warm intent.

You’re about to pull him down to the couch, his hands already snaking up under your blouse, when a stern cough makes the two of you jump.

The hotel’s only waiter casts a disapproving glance in your direction and shakes his head as he processes through the lounge to the main bar. 

Your hand reaches for Tim’s and you lead him towards the hallway and the main staircase leading to the bedrooms.

The morning is grey and dreary, rain already pelting against the windowpanes as the dawn light struggles to break through the dark clouds. You press a kiss to Tim’s bare chest as you slip out of bed to use the bathroom, padding swiftly across the deep-pile carpet so as not to wake him. 

The green robe hanging from the hook on the tiled wall of your bathroom is unmistakable, but even so you have to pause for a moment to be sure it’s real. You run your fingers over the textured weave and fabric, noting how (surprisingly) good it smells - faint whiff of weed notwithstanding.

Tim stirs as you close the bathroom door and walk back to the bed, blinking awake and greeting you with a delighted smile.

“Good morning. Nice robe.”

“A movie star gave it to me,” you explain, shedding the soft green garment and pulling Tim’s naked body to yours before he can ask any further questions.

(Sorry, Dieter. Love you.)

[enbeeanon]

Masterlist of herbs and plants!

This is a list that I have in my Book of Shadows, typed up so that you can use it, too!

Do not consume those with an asterisk (*) next to them. Some are edible in certain forms, but consult a qualified herbalist before you use them

Absinthiumn*

Healing, maintained good health, fighting off disease

Acorns*

Good luck, fertility, spiritual growth, prosperity

Acacia*

Prosperity, money, success, love, psychic powers

African Violet*

Protection, healing, spiritual growth

Amber*

Happiness, love, friendship, comfort, reassurance

Agrimony

Protection, removing negative energy and bad vibes, helping to remove hexes

Aletris root*

Feminine magick, protection, prosperity

Almond

Prosperity, wisdom, success

Aloe

Spiritual growth, luck, success, protection, love, barrier against unwelcome things

Angelica root

Protection, exorcism, removes negative energy, boosts feminine energy

Anise/Aniseed

Spiritual growth, dreams, sleep, protection

Apples

Love, luck, longevity

Arrow root

Purification, cleansing, healing

Ash*

Divination, luck, prosperity, protection

Aspen*

House and item protection, healing, psychic growth

Avocado

Youth, beauty, love, lust, healing

Azalea*

Happiness, uplifting, full of life

Bamboo*

Wish magick, luck, protection

Banana

Fertility, passion, success

Basil

Home and business protection and blessings, warding off negative energy, purification, cleansing, divination, exorcism, prosperity, love

Bay leaves

Warning: if burned, ensure the area has ventilation!

Protection, psychic power, divination, success, money, wish magick

Beech*

Wish magick, happiness, divination, spiritual growth

Belladonna*

Astral projection, psychic powers, boosts spell's power, healing, helps to forget past loves, protection

Bergamot*

Success, psychic powers, fertility, mental clarity, sleep, protection, prosperity

Birch*

Protection, purification, cleansing, removing negative energy and hexes

Blackberry

Protection, healing, prosperity

Black pepper

Banish negativity, warding off bad energy, protection

Blueberry

House protection, home blessing, legal matters, luck, prosperity, protection

Brazil nut

Protection, prosperity, love

Brimstone powder*

Used to remove hexes

Burdock root

Protection, purification, healing, cleansing, self acceptance

Buckthorn bark*

Exorcism, wards off negative energy, removing hexes, aids legal matters

Cabbage

Fertility, luck, prosperity

Calendula (Marigold)

Psychic powers, spiritual growth, happiness, protection

Camellia*

Love, protection, healing, prosperity

Chamomile

Sleep, calms nerves, prosperity, luck, purification

Caraway seeds

Helps children stay safe from illness and general harm, protection, clarity of mind, passion, healing

Cardamom

Courage, love, passion

Carnation*

Protection, inner strength, healing, creativity

Carrot

Lust, fertility

Cashew

Prosperity

Catnip

Courage, beauty, love, used in magick surrounding cats

Cayenne

Aids separation (such as divorce), emotional heartache, a traditional offering in Wicca (I'm not wiccan but that may be helpful for any of you who are)

Cedar*

Protection, purification, removes negative energy and hexes, prosperity

Celery

Mental clarity, psychic powers, aids sleep, lust, passion

Centaury

Psychic powers, protection

Cherry bark*

Love, romance, passion, divination, clarity of which path to take

Chervil

Helps to contact spirits, used to help people find deities

Chestnut

Love and peace

Chrysanthemum*

Healing and protection

Chives

Protection, used in dieting spells

Cinnamon

Promotes dreaming, business success, healing, psychic powers, love, purification, protection, spiritual growth, adds power to any spell

Cloves

Adds power to spells, speed up spells effects and manifestation

Clover*

Mental clarity, protection, love

Coltsfoot

Prosperity, peace, calms nerves, love, psychic powers, dreams

Coriander

Love, healing, passion

Cucumber

Fertility and healing

Cumin seeds

House protection, home blessings, general protection, exorcism, wards off negative energy

Daffodil*

Luck, love, fertility

Daisy*

Innocence, spells for children

Dandelion

Contacting spirits, dreams, healing, purification, clairvoyance

Deadly Nightshade*

Astral projection, psychic powers, adds a boost of power to spells, healing, protection, helps to forget past loves

Dill

Protection against hexes and curses, mental clarity, luck, love, wisdom, enhances magickal knowledge

Dock leaf*

Prosperity, success in business, fertility, healing

Dragon's blood*

Increases power and boosts spells, banishments, exorcism, strong protection, love, energy, purification

Echinanea

Inner strength, physical strength, healing, prosperity

Elderflowers/Elderberries

Exorcism, protection, house protection/blessings, healing, love

Eucalyptus*

Healing, purification, cleansing, protection

Evening primrose

Healing, purification, creativity, protection

Eyebright

Psychic powers, spiritual growth, mental clarity

Fennel

Protection, purification, healing, passion, courage, strength

Feverfew

Protection against accidents, clumsiness and illness, helps with colds and fevers

Frankincense*

Protection, purification, healing, cleansing

Fumitory

Protection, purification, cleansing, consecrating tools

Galangal root*

Protection, prosperity, psychic powers, lust, passion, legal matters

Garlic

Protection, healing, exorcism, inner strength, family bonding, home and business blessings

Geranium*

Healing, protection, love, meditation

Ginger

Protection, prosperity, healing, luck, love

Heartease*

Aids healing from heartache, love, friendship

Hibiscus

Dreams, divination, love, lust

Holly*

Protection, love dreams, good marriage

Honeysuckle*

Prosperity, luck, peace, inspiration

Horseradish

Purification, protection, exorcism

Hyssop*

Protection, purification, cleansing, consecration, positive blessings

Jasmine

Love, dreams, spiritual growth

Juniper berries

Protection, exorcism, healing, calming nerves, love

Ladies Mantle*

Aids sleep, love, purification, beauty, inner calm, fertility, luck, protection, happiness

Lavender

Purification, healing, cleansing, home blessings, protection, calming, sleep, love

Lemon

Uplifting, mental clarity, healing, psychic powers, friendship, contacting spirits

Lemon balm

Healing, psychic powers, spiritual growth, divination, love, success

Lemongrass

Mental clarity, psychic powers, love, lust

Lemon Mint

Healing, love

Lemon Verbena

Purification, protection, cleansing, love, passion, adds a boost to other herb mixtures

Lettuce

Divination, sleep, protection

Lilac*

Past life regression, protection, love, luck, exorcism

Lily*

Removing love spells/enchantments, protection

Lily of the Valley*

Healing, uplifting, happiness, inner calm

Lime

Protection, healing, love

Liquorice root

Love, romance, fidelity

Liquorice stick

Love

Magnolia

Good marriage, love, passion

Mandrake*

Protection, exorcism, home and business blessings, divination, luck, prosperity

Maple

Luck, prosperity, love

Marjoram

Inner balance, psychic powers, spiritual growth, happiness, love, prosperity, protection

Marshmallow root

Love, protection, removing negative energy

Meadowsweet

Happiness, love, divination, inner calm, peace

Mint

Prosperity, psychic powers, spiritual growth, travelling, exorcisms, healing, protection

Mistletoe*

Youth, beauty, love, healing, prosperity, protection, fertility

Mugwort

Warning: can cause drowsiness and vivid dreams. Do not consume if pregnant.

Dreams, astral projection, psychic powers, healing, inner strength, visions, protection

Myrrh*

Protection, purification, cleansing, exorcism, spiritual growth, helping relieve sorrow after tragedy, healing

Neroli*

Inner calm, sleep, peace, meditation, inner confidence

Nettles

Protection, healing, removing negative energy, exorcism

Nutmeg

Prosperity, divination, love, luck, mental clarity, protection, uplifting, healing

Onion

Protection, purification, healing

Orange

Peace, calm, love, luck, lust

Orchid*

Calming, dissolving anger, beauty, love, peace

Oregano

Happiness, protection, prosperity, healing, love

Parsley

Psychic powers, spiritual growth, luck, uplifting, healing

Passionflower

Home blessings, friendships, sleep, inner peace, emotional balance, love, family bonds

Peony*

Natural lucky charm, healing, prosperity, protection, exorcism, removes hexes

Patchouli*

Used to break a spell, exorcisms, removes hexes, mental clarity, passion, prosperity, contacting spirits, divination

Pennyroyal*

Purification, protection, home blessings, inner calm, aids calm in arguements, helps prevent travel sickness

Peppermint

Psychic powers, calming, healing, aids rest, mental clarity, dreams, love, purification

Periwinkle*

Good marriage, mental clarity, purification, protection, love

Pine*

Protection, purification, cleansing, prosperity, inner strength, grounding, healing, fertility, success, home and business blessings

Pineapple

Prosperity, luck

Pink rosebuds/petals

Friendships, love, romance, self acceptance

Plum

Healing, love, peace, inner calm

Pomegranate

Divination, wish magick, protection, prosperity

Poppy/Poppy seeds

Happiness, love, lust, luck, sleep, prosperity, fertility

Potato

Healing, luck, prosperity

Primrose*

Love, luck

Pumpkin/ pumpkin seeds

Healing, divination, honours the moon

Raspberry leaf

Protection, sleep, dreams, healing

Red rosebuds/ petals

Passion, love, romance, psychic powers, healing, protection, divination

Red sandalwood*

Trance work, divination, meditation, consecration, purification

Rosehips

Love, luck, healing, invoking positive spirits

Rosemary

Purification, healing, sleep, mental clarity, psychic powers, spiritual growth

Rowan/ Rowan berries*

Protection, home and business blessings, success, psychic powers, healing

Rue*

Exorcism, protection, luck, removes hexes, love, mental clarity, healing, home and business blessings

Saffron

Psychic powers, healing, love, lust

Sage

Purification, cleansing, mental clarity, psychic power, spiritual growth, home/general protection, wisdom, knowledge

Sandalwood*

Cleansing, purification, protection, removes negative energy, protects against psychic attacks

Sea salt

Purification, cleansing, casting circles

Slippery elm*

Protection, stops gossip and rumours

Spearmint

Protection, protection during sleep, clarity of mind, healing, love

St. John's wort*

Protection, healing, love, happiness, divination

Tea tree*

Healing, peace, harmony, mental clarity

Thyme

Psychic power, spiritual growth, love, stopping nightmares, divination, courage, purification, restful sleep, healing, inner calm, balance

Valerian root

Sleep, purification, cleansing, protection, dreams, love

Vervain

Inner calm, harmony, peace, protection, purification, divination, consecration, prosperity, love, creativity

Walnut

Healing, mental clarity, wish magick, fertility

Willow*

Divination, protection, love, healing, relieve sorrow

White willow bark*

Protection, love, healing, divination, luck, inspiration, psychic power

Witch hazel*

Protection, healing, charm

Yarrow

Exorcism, protection, love, removing hexes, dispels fear, promotes calm, inner strength, psychic powers, courage

Yew*

Removes negative energy/hexes, protection

Ylang Ylang*

Inner calm, brings peace to situations, love, happiness, tranquility

This took me two hours to write up, but hey! Hope this helps!

[forthegothicheroine]

You self-identify as a henchman. The scandal will be kept out of the papers out of respect for your father. You are a simple fortune-teller but your business cards say “Psychic Consultant.” The secretary has a hard face but kissable lips. Very kissable lips.

[whosname]

[Id. Psychic flyers 1. PROFESSOR NATORI KNOWS EVERYTHING I have the solution to all your problems, I guarantee it. With amazing power to bring back your love one in hours, no matter the age, gender time or distance. Hidden treasures, protection. Curses, unknown diseases. I’ll give the name and show you the face of your hidden enemy. Fortune telling, palm reading, tarot. I’ll give you luck! I has a drawing of Lunchbag Natori and exorcist Natori smiling back to back with stars around their hands. 2. Brother Matoba. You'd have to see it to believe it, amazing and effective results. Stop suffering in silence. I have the solution to all your problems today. Consults and advises on all matters of life such as love, marriage and business. I bring back your love one, no matter the distance. With the secrets to love, your home will never be broken by cheating or lack of love. Win in love, sex, business and work. Find the evil you’ve been done. I find your lucky number. On the border the words "If I don't tell you why you came and what are your problems your consultation is free. It has a drawing of Matoba smiling in a circle, around it reads "Brother Matoba and the power of your mind" End Id.]

What happens when the exorcism business (/acting in Natori's case) is slow? they have to promote themselves with flyers? A joke with only me as an audience. Blame the weird English on the original format.

[noirapocalypto]

✧ ─── ᴄᴏᴠᴇɴ ⋆┊ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟᴇꜱ

✧ ─── ᴏᴄ ⋆┊ʙᴇᴄᴋᴇᴛᴛ ‘ʙᴇᴄᴋ’ ʜᴀʟᴇ

Age: 35 Generation: 3rd Gender: Cis Male Species: Witch Magic Type: Spirit Work • Death • Chaos Sexuality: Bisexual Astrological Sign: Capricorn Sun • Taurus Moon • Scorpio Rising Element: Spirit Languages Spoken: English • Arcani • American Sign Language Occupation: Private Investigator • Psychic Medium

───

✦ Beck is the second eldest of the coven's generation, right after his cousin Silas. Despite his quiet nature, Beckett often acts as the voice of reason among his cousins and when it comes to coven related issues. He’s patient, a good listener, and tries to see both sides of a situation.

✦ He is a psychic medium, a gift he was born with. Beck didn’t understand his ability at first, and was often frightened by the macabre & morbid looking ghosts that would appear to him. Suggested to him that he should try and communicate with them rather than fear them—as they seem to be seeking him out for a reason—Beck eventually learned to accept and use his gift to help spirits finish their business and move on. Though, sometimes they still scare him.

✦ Like the rest of his family, Beckett practices shadow magic, and excels in spirit work & necromancy. He often incorporates bones, blood and graveyard dirt into his rituals. He also uses spirit boards—whether a ouija board or his own variant to boost his connection to a spirit.

✦ While Beckett inherited his reserved nature from both of his parents, he also prefers to non-verbal communication because of a stutter he’s had since he was young. He has a better handle on it now as an adult, but sometimes struggles when he’s overwhelmed or with certain troublesome words. Beck will speak freely when around people he’s comfortable with—while switching to short and blunt answers and ASL when around others he’s unfamiliar with.

✦ Beck is a bit of a repressed individual, constantly keeping himself restrained and keeping his emotions in check. Sometimes he’s so full of fear because there’s a ghost sitting in front of him that no one else can see. Other times, he’s feeling their spiritual oppression over him until he can figure out what they need to move on. He keeps it all contained inside—trying not to alarm those around him who are oblivious to his ability. He’s often susceptible to physical ailments or spiritual burn outs because of this.

✦ Influenced by his coven’s acceptance and encouragement of hedonism, Beck’s vice of choice is sex. He craves physical touch and uses sexual pleasure as both a distraction and indulgence.

✦ Most of his relationships don’t work out, usually ending per his partner’s request. It’s not that he’s a bad partner, he just comes with a lot of baggage that literally haunts the space around him. It’s not uncommon for his live-in partner to see a shadow figure down the hall or have their belongings moved seemingly on their own. Sometimes it’s too much for them. Since, he always lets a potential love interest know of what he brings with him once things start getting serious, but he never blames anyone for leaving if it ends up being more than they can handle. His gift frustrates him sometimes, though—something he tries to downplay a bit.

✦ Aside from engaging in physical pleasures, Beck’s other hobby is painting. Most of his subjects are depictions of the deceased that appear to him—from ghostly pale individuals to distorted, corpse like apparitions. His art style is dark and gloomy, preferring watercolors as his preferred media. His other hobbies include hiking, motocross, taking walks with his dog, visiting museums, drawing/sketching, and reading out on his balcony on a nice day.

✦ Beck has a successful career, proving himself to be a skilled private investigator. His cases range from missing persons to murder investigations—in which he uses his psychic gift to help find leads and follow trails. He also consults others on spiritual matters and hauntings.

✦ Like the rest of his cousins, Beck has chosen a corvid to represent him—a carrion crow.

───

[garretgentleman-art]

WHY NOT?! Okay, we going to wait until you're drunk enough to admit that Phoenix fits perfectly into your category of kittens. By the way, once Diego almost called him Kitten in game. There are affectionate nicknames that parents call their children, and there are names for flirting. This trio is in the first category, but Trite is in the second. Maya and Simon are in the category of older children, so Diego does not feel like a parent with them and uses their names (but sometimes Cookie/Сupcake and Birdy). I'm not an English speaker (obviously), so I really hope I'm not mistaken with the connotations. More options for Trucy: Sweetheart, Miracle, Sparkle, Dove... Headcanons:

- Diego worked for Wright & Co. as a legal consultant during his house arrest. Then Miles gave him back the position of prosecutor and he left, but he still go in there from time to time (mainly to chat with Phoenix and check if the kids is okey). - Phoenix has a magatama, Apollo and Trucy are psychics, and Athena is an empath. Diego is the only lawyer without advantages (he is more likely with debuffs). I think Pearl gave him a magatama, but he doesn't use it because he has standarts. Well, he can use it if he goes to interview killers... - Phoenix is a bad mentor and not a very reliable boss. He constantly leaves Athena and Apollo to study on their own. One day Mr. Armando came into the office. He felt sorry for the children, so he took them with him to the prosecutor's office. He not only gave them a tour, but also told them a lot of useful information and gave them a list of legal literature. Frankly, Apollo and Athena love and respect Mr. Armando more than they love their boss. - Diego won a more cases than Phoenix. He gladly tells young people stories from his practice and gives advice. Diego: Trite? How long have you been standing here? Are you interested too?? Phoenix: Uh, of course not, I'm the boss, I already know everything. Diego: Grossberg always said that attorney can only become a good lawyer after five years of practice. How many do you have? Four? You are still a beginner. Phoenix: Oh come on, I'm not the only one who missed a bunch of years here! Diego: ... Athena: (heard an emotion of depression) Boss how could you!!! Apollo: ??? Diego: Huh, right... Sorry kids, maybe my experience is too outdated in these 12 years. Apollo: 12 years? Mr. Armando, were they taken away your badge too? Diego: Badge? Yes, you can say so ... I was as naive as Phoenix, but the evidence that poisoned my life was slipped to me by a less kind girl. Phoenix: Can we.. haha.. Just have a coffee? - At the first meeting with Diego Apollo was very nervous. Trucy and Maya frightened him with the fact that Mr. Armando was in prison and was very strict with newcomers, but the fact that it was dark in the office and his spooky mask glowed influenced him the most. Diego sat at the table in silence and stroked the white cat like some kind of mafia. And then he completely broke the atmosphere by calling Apollo Bunny and offering him coffee. - Apollo is the only one who doesn't like Diego's habit of using nicknames. But deep down, he is glad that Diego is nice and patronizing with him, because he would not want him to be indifferent and scary. - Athena gets along very well with Diego and when she feels that he is sad, she always tries to cheer him up. My brother's brother is my brother, right? She wants to have a family dinner with Simon and Mr. Armando, but one of them is always busy at the prosecutor's office. Or do they do it on purpose? - Trucy treats Diego like family. Phoenix often brought her to the Fey manor, where Diego looked after her and Pearl. For a time, Trucy even considered him to be Pearl's father. She was not confused that Pearl was patronizing Diego (Pearl knows only one authority, the mystic Maya), because she does the same with her dad!

[wavesmp3]

i know, you know - masterlist

Looking for answers that no one seems to have the answers to? Caught up in a crime, way in over your head, searching for someone to help you make sense of it all? Look no further-- Psych is here! Local psychic, Lee Hyunjae, and his partner Kim Younghoon, are certified in their line of business and experts in all things unknown. They are the official psychic consultants in Mount Pier and have helped solve over 150 cases with Mount Pier Detective's Office. Visit them at their office on the boardwalk or call them anytime at 111-222-3333 to inquire about their services. No matter the issue, Psych, can help.

pairing: hyunjae (the boyz) x reader, other tbz characters and possible ocs (less likely) sprinkled throughout genre: comedy, fluff, mutual pining, maybe some thriller/crime moments or chapters warnings: an attempt at comedic writing again (specific warnings will written for each chapter/installation, but i imagine there won't be anything too crazy just anything you might find in a typical crime show!) notes: inspired by the show psych ! which i watched a lot of in middle school for some reason i cannot explain and periodically rewatch cause it is seriously such a funny show and because shawn and gus are comfort characters for me at this point. this will be written sort of like an anthology. as in the parts won't rely on the previous parts very heavily, but i do plan on writing this somewhat chronologically with a plot that flows as such. on that note, i don't have a set number of parts that i plan on writing. i have a couple stories i would like to tell in this universe but other than that, who knows! also i will not be making a taglist for this! apologies if anyone was hoping for one

more under the cut !

character intros!

1. that i’m not telling the truth

2. they just don't have any proof

3. embrace the deception

4. learn how to bend

5. your worst inhibitions tend to

6. psych you out in the end

last updated on 5/10/2024 !

[l0velynalani]

CAN YOU DO A REIGEN X READER WHERE READER IS A FANGIRL OF REIGEN'S WORK? IVE BEEN READING UR WORK FOR A LONG TIME AND I LOVE EVERYTHING U WRITE !!!

"UNEXPECTED FEELINGS!?"

You’ve always admired Reigen Arataka, the "self-proclaimed" psychic, from afar. His confidence, charm, and ability to deal with any supernatural situation never failed to leave you starstruck. It didn’t matter if people said he was a fraud (He is...)But to you, he was brilliant.

Today, you had the rare chance to finally meet him. You nervously held your phone, checking and rechecking the location of Spirits and Such Consultation Office. After a deep breath, you gathered the courage to push open the door.

A chime sounded as you entered, and there he was — Reigen Arataka himself, sitting casually behind his desk, flipping through paperwork like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Oh, a new client?” Reigen’s voice was smooth and charismatic. His eyes locked onto yours, and your heart nearly stopped. He gave you a welcoming smile, the kind that would make anyone feel at ease.

“Uh, yeah,” you stammered, trying to keep your cool. “I’ve…heard a lot about you, Reigen Arataka.”

Reigen stood up, approaching with that signature confident stride. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised! People come from all over to seek my services,” he said with a wink. “What kind of spirit problem are we dealing with?”

You blinked, suddenly realizing you hadn’t prepared any fake ghost story to tell. “Oh, um… I don’t actually have a ghost problem. I’m here because I, uh, admire your work.”

Reigen paused, eyebrows raised. “Admire my work, huh? You mean, like a fan?”

Your cheeks heated up, and you nodded. “Yeah… I’ve been following your cases for a while. I think you’re incredible.”

For a second, he looked caught off guard, then quickly regained his composure. “Well, well, I guess my fame has finally caught up to me,” he joked. “But I appreciate the admiration. It’s not every day I get to meet a fan.”

You smiled sheepishly, feeling both excited and embarrassed. “Yeah, you’re really amazing. The way you handle spirits and help people—it’s just inspiring.”

Reigen chuckled. “Inspiring, huh? I’ve heard a lot of things, but that’s a new one. You’ve got good taste, Y/N.”

He leaned casually against the desk, closer than you expected, and you could feel your heartbeat quicken. The office felt smaller all of a sudden, and you realized you were standing just a little too close to him. Before you could back away, Reigen's expression shifted, softening as his playful tone faded.

“You know,” he said quietly, “most people don’t see this side of me. They see the psychic, the con man, maybe even a hero—but not many take the time to appreciate the person behind it all.”

You blinked. Was he being serious right now? “I see you,” you said, almost in a whisper. “I think you're a lot more than just the show you put on.”

For once, Reigen seemed genuinely caught off guard. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside that little office disappeared. It was just the two of you, standing close, with unspoken words hanging between you.

Then, in a move that surprised you both, Reigen reached out and gently took your hand. “Y/N… I’m not usually the one who says this kind of thing, but… maybe I’ve been too busy putting on a show to notice what’s right in front of me.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening. “Are you… saying what I think you’re saying?”

Reigen gave a soft laugh, his usual bravado fading into something more sincere. “I guess I am. What do you say, Y/N? Maybe we could figure this whole thing out together.”

Your heart leaped in your chest as you smiled back at him. “I’d like that.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

I know this feels rushed i just saw this request and I felt bad cause this was long overdue....

P.S: I wrote this on the toliet

[prickly-pears]

Psych!AU Stormlight Archive where Shallan uses her photographic memory to get access to working at the police department so she can keep the attention off her family's back alley dealings. She pretends to be a psychic detective and gets hired as a consultant by the Chief, Jasnah. She ropes her roommate and bestie, Kaladin, into joining her on cases as her muscle, even though he's very busy with his day job teaching Martial Arts and First Aid at a community center.

[scribefindegil]

HI I LOVED the new chapter- can you talk about Serizawa a little bit? Is it that his anxiety is fending off the effects of the broccoli since he wanted to take Tsubomi’s request immediately or is it that Reigen’s behavior is reminding him of Suzuki and he doesn’t like that? He’s very interesting to me in this situation

(Also the way Reigen’s anger and panic is what finally tipped him over to Remembering because the brainwash is overcome by strong emotions- just So Good)

I'm so glad you liked the chapter!!

Serizawa's super interesting here because he's VERY susceptible to what Dimple calls "the passion of the masses;" I sometimes see speculation that he would have resisted the power of the broccoli because his psychic powers are so strong, but I think this is a bad read. Serizawa cares a lot about fitting into society, and he often doesn't feel like he has enough lived experience to trust his own judgment. Divine Tree takes place only a month or so after World Domination, so he's very much still adjusting to living on his own, and while he's starting to make his own decisions, he has a tendency to look to authority--Mob, Reigen, the business books his mom gave him--to provide structure and guidance. So when suddenly everyone in the city is exerting huge social pressure to care about the Divine Tree and the Psycho Helmet Religion, he's going to be swept along in that. His anxiety, rather than protecting him, just makes him more susceptible.

So why doesn't he speak up in defense of the Psycho Helmet Religion earlier in the chapter? Because of Reigen. I wanted to follow through with the way that Reigen's brainwashing manifests in canon; instead of becoming an outright devotee of the broccoli, the mind control just makes him complacent. He stops seeing the Divine Tree and its cultists as the threat that they are, and instead sees them as just a bunch of people having harmless fun. Nothing to worry about. And this is terrifying to me in its own way and makes him incapable of taking Tsubomi seriously when she shows up, but it also means that one of Serizawa's main authority figures has been advocating for complacency instead of devotion. That's why I included this bit:

Reigen grins. Gotcha. “But I don’t even like the Psycho Helmet Religion!” he says. “I’ve been complaining about how little business we’ve been getting now that everyone’s off having fun with the broccoli, haven’t I Serizawa?”

So basically before Tsubomi's visit, Serizawa's been sort of happily floating in a state where he just accepts what's going on in Seasoning City and doesn't really think about it. Both the societal pressure of everyone else in the city and the authorial pressure of Reigen are telling him that this is nothing to concern himself with. He's been made to forget Mob along with everyone else, and while he's probably aware on some level that something's missing, it's easy not to think about it. Not to worry about it. Not to worry about anything.

And then this girl shows up.

And Serizawa defers to Reigen during consultations. He's still learning. Reigen is so much more knowledgeable than him, so much more experienced.

But they're supposed to be helping people. He took this job because he wants to help people. He's not going to simply defer to authority if that authority is cruel; that's exactly what he was trying to get away from. And so when Reigen gets mean and sharp and dismissive, that, more than anything that Tsubomi is saying, is what gets Serizawa to push back. And once he refuses to blindly listen to Reigen, he also starts to break away from the influence of the Divine Tree.

The climax of this chapter is very deliberately evocative of both Separation Arc and World Domination. Reigen acts in a way that reminds Serizawa of Suzuki, and he refuses to accept that, and it makes him remember the first person who told him that he could have relationships that weren't just built on deference and fear. And Serizawa's refusal to back down reminds Reigen of Mob, and that makes him realize what he's doing, and instead of continuing down the path of control and denial he stops and decide that he isn't going to repeat his old mistakes.

[lucidmagic]

SecretCat!Larissa Weems x f!Groundskeeper!Reader (Part 1)

So I’ve been in the Larissa Weems hole and I haven’t even watched the damn show. And then I though about this post:

Larissa is a shapeshifter it’s a perfect fit!

Hence this small story (I have another planned that’ll be on AO3, whenever I’ll get to it)

Hope you enjoy!

Summary: As the post suggests, Larissa is going around teasing suitors as a cat, and the Reader (you) are the groundskeeper of Nevermore Academy with the biggest crush on her, but doesn’t pursue because you respect her wishes to not be shackled to someone. Oh how wrong you are......

Larissa Weems x f!Reader (Harold they’re lesbians.....)

Words: 3.1k

Trigger Warnings: Unwanted attention from men, storms, mentions of blood, brief animal in distress, useless lesbians being useless, dumbass gays, fluff.

Larissa Weems was 30 when her father, the richest, most influential man in the town of Jericho and part of one of the most powerful shapeshifter families, gave her an ultimatum: Marry someone agreeable and continue the family lineage/business, or he’ll find a suitable husband for her—without her consultation, of course. Obviously, Larissa didn’t take to this well, as she’d rather chew off her own left leg than let a man interfere with her aspirations and goals.

So, being the clever woman she was, she struck up a deal with her father. And being the business man he was, her father agreed.

And so, the most wanted and sought after heiress in the town of Jericho announced that she’ll marry (and subsequently bequeath part of the inheritance of her family’s money and resources to) the one person who can open her family’s manor door with the key around her cat’s neck. The Cat in which many of the town has nicknamed Ghost due to the Maine Coon’s pure white hair. Fitting, you suppose, also considering the animal’s elusive and spectral nature.

And so, many a man (and some women and those beyond and between) have tried—and swiftly failed—to capture, lure, and befriend the Cat.

Ghost was simply too quick, too clever, and far too smart to be caught by snares, treats, and nets. Some have even tried to use sleeping darts. But to no avail, the Cat still wanders the town, gathering bruised egos like dead mice.

Nary a week goes by without a prospective suitor falling to their ass from scaling a tree to get close to Ghost. Or a group of men cooing and offering treats to the animal perched two stories high, looking down with pure feline disgust and disinterest.

The town was littered with new and old snares, traps, and cat delicacies. All of which have been avoided by Ghost, much to the hunters’ chagrin.

All the while, Larissa Weems goes about her career without the interference of matrimony or her father’s whims.

Since the announcement of the Cat Chase, Larissa Weems had since been on an upward trajectory of her career: she became a darling professor at Nevermore Academy at 31 and within five years became Headmistress of the institution—the youngest ever.

Currently, at 38, it seemed she was enjoying her career and spinsterhood—much to the dismay of her father and those courters.

And you enjoyed her as your employer. Being the Academy’s groundskeeper and handywoman after all.

You managed the gardens, the ground’s upkeep, maintenance, health, borders, and general security. Your duties also accompanied that of the estate’s foreman, fixing shingles of the old building’s roofs, plumbing, and other necessities if they needed a quick repair.

You were integral to the preservation and efficiency of the Academy. Principal Weems—or Larissa, she insisted after several months of your service, but you don’t address her as such, out of respect for her position and also the cute, little pout she gifted you when you refuse.

You were good at your job as it’s in your blood—generations of your family served the Academy in some capacity—and in your soul—being a Psychic and all that.

Psychometry is one of your specialties, with the ability to sense an object or person’s history and present, which comes in handy with the multitude of plants and flowers on the property and old buildings. Does this rose need more or less water? What’s wrong with this particular lock? With a single touch you can know.

Coupled with that, either a specialized manifestation or what your father called a ‘drop of Dryad blood’ from a distant ancestor, you can also manipulate plants and trees to a certain extent. Nothing quite like Poison Ivy with her world conquering powers, but you can certainly restrain a person if needed—which had come in need several times with a drunk werewolf or vampire student in the past.  

Your trees were green longer and your flowers were fuller and brighter. Principal Weems continuously tells you the gardens and grounds have never looked so vibrant and fragrant, even when she attended the Academy. You always waved away her compliments to distract from the rising heat on your cheeks.

So, in theory, you could have used your powers to tag-a-long with the others in the attempts to capture Ghost. It would be easy, you think. All the Cat needed to do was step on a vine and that’ll be it.

But no. Despite Principal Weems’ statuesque beauty (and you mean beauty in the sense of an artist’s muse or a god’s weakness, one for the legends and epics, not one for your unworthy, often muddy hands), her quick wittedness (sometimes you two talk an hour or two after she’s supposed to be home and you always leave a little breathless from the opportunity and from laughing), and her intelligence (you honestly think she could overtake the world if she puts her mind to it, just the same way she overtook yours), you respect her decision to stay single and not bound to someone else.

She wanted freedom, freedom her father was willing to sell away to the highest bidder. And you weren’t going to deprive her of that.

Sure, you sometimes catch Ghost sulking and sneaking around the fields and gardens, leaping from branch to branch, flowerbed to flowerbed, whenever you’re working. But you don’t make a show of it. Ghost is Larissa’s cat, of course he’d be at the Academy. She’s coming home to her owner.

Sometimes, you catch her in the tree above your head, looking down with crystal blue, oddly familiar, eyes like a gargoyle or a sentry. On occasion you wave up at the animal with a smile and then go about your work. Ghost must be resting from evading those eager suitors, you think.

Speaking of suitors, they do annoy you—not out of jealousy, of course not, well, maybe. They were going after what they wanted without shame and some part of you is jealous they are so open about it. But, no, jealousy isn’t what irritates you about them.

It’s their reasoning for their ‘courting’ (if you can even call it that). They wanted what she offered—money, influence, resources, and of course bragging rights. You overheard several men state as such at Jericho’s bars, enough that you spoil the barley in their beer with a clench of your fist. They wanted what Larissa comes with—just shallow and gold-digging desires. She always came second. She was an afterthought in their pursuance.

It made you sick and wrathful just thinking about it. Larissa Weems is much more than a trophy. She’s . . . well, she’s her.

She’s cold-natured, meaning anything below 70 degrees, she needs either a thick sweater or a crackling fire. Of the latter, you amply supply with firewood you chopped that morning and restock regularly.

(You try to forget the tall and unyielding figure at the faculty hall, watching on the balcony in grey or white. You doubt you looked particularly decent sweating and swinging an axe.)

She loved fresh tea, none of that packaged kind, but fresh straight from nature. Of which you also gifted her when you can, as you added her favorites in the gardens and made sure the potency is just right with your powers.

(There’s a crinkle of her brow when you drop off a bag of leaves, one that notches up with her carmine lips. If you have the urge to smooth it out with your thumb, you’re just concerned if the stress is showing on her face after hours of paperwork.)

She toured the gardens, sometimes, on her lunch breaks or when she has time in her busy schedule. Larissa will always stop and smell each flower if she can, and always double back to ones she liked just a bit more that day, just one more whiff before she leaves for her office.

(Of course, the next day, you sneak in, with the help of her assistant, to put those she deemed lovely in a vase next to her desk. Making sure to use your powers to make them live and bloom much longer than normal. Maybe, you hope, it’ll give her some reprieve for a moment, between meetings and calls.)

So, yes. The would-be suitors want her, but they don’t know her. And Ghost is just in the crosshairs of their caprices.

And they’re just fucking annoying. Especially, when their traps and snares make their way into your grounds. You always dismantle them when you can, much to their anger and displeasure.

(If you take particular pleasure in it, then no one has to know, but you and whatever god above.)

Of course, one of these times, it was pouring rain, drenching the land—and you—in a deluge. You could barely see five feet in front of you before the grey wall of water overtook your vision. But thankfully, you knew the lands of the Academy like the back of your hand and it was through muscle memory and your abilities that you navigated through the storm.

You had found more snares—made of Kevlar string and securely bolted to trees—in the back of the school during one of your rounds. You didn’t have the tools to properly deal with them. So, you headed back to your tool-shed—only for the bottom to fall out before you could get back.

Now, soaked and a little more than pissed at their audacity, you practically swam your way back. The torrent and winds made it difficult to see, let alone hear. And it wasn’t until you were up on the second to last one that you noticed that it triggered.

And something was struggling, right side up and writhing, clawing and biting at the line. Something whined and shrieked even through the thunder and rain.

No, not something.

Ghost.

Ghost was caught. Her pearl white fur was soaked and drenched, enough that you could just barely see the pink flesh beneath her coat.

Oh no. You must save her. Poor thing.

You rounded on the Cat, strung up on its front left paw. Her mewls were pained and agonizing. Your heart ached.

“It’s okay, I got you.” You said, softly, but the storm deafened it. You approached without thought. And with a single gloved touch of your hand, the Cat panicked more and leapt in a frantic escape attempt. Her paw twisted and another screech rang through the rain.

“Hey, stop! Stop!” You begged but she continued, trying her best to get away from you. Her fur covered her blue eyes and she was in survival mode. You needed to do this quickly before she hurts herself more.

You scoop up the large lump of writhing fur, trying to position her fangs and claws away from you. But the Kevlar string proved difficult with your shears, and it takes you longer than you would like. Three, Four, Five snips. . .

On the Eighth, you manage to cut it—and Ghost managed to wriggle free just enough.

Sharp pain slashed across your forehead, right above and through your brow, and you dropped the Cat as you reeled back, clutching your head.

“Fuck!” Through the cold rain, warmth blossomed in your palm. Faintly, iron entered the air.

Ghost plopped to the soggy ground and sprinted away to a near gate, then she pounced on it—one paw held to her chest. She landed deftly and turned toward you, eyes now free of her hair. Her bright eyes cut through the rain like a beaconing lighthouse. A tiny, razor-sharp lighthouse.

You steadied yourself against the tree and stared back, hand still staunching your wound. With your other hand, you shooed Ghost away and raised your voice so you can be heard over the thunder. “Go on! Get out of here. Go! Go back to Larissa. I’m not going to capture you.”

Ache thrummed across your forehead, but you still stood near the tree, eyeing the animal. After a moment, the white blob in the distance disappeared into the storm. Seconds passed before you sighed and then hissed as the sting increased with pressure.

Well, might as well get the other one while out here. . .

The next day, after intensively cleaning the three gashes across your brow, you visited the Academy nurse. She remarked, off-handedly, “Well, I’m certainly popular this morning.”

You don’t follow up with a comment, only asking her to look at it before you decide to go to hospital. She does and used more disinfectant and sealed the gashes with some Steri-strips and patched it with gauze and tape. With the orders to clean it twice a day, you leave, head throbbing from the poking and prodding.

You go about your day, dodging questions from other faculty and students about your new accessory.

“I fought a bear.”

“It’s a new French trend—you ought to try.”

“You should see the other guy.”

Eventually, your duties lead you to Larissa Weems’ office, arms full of freshly chopped wood. The storm season always brings in the cold and you knew she would appreciate it throughout the rest of the day.

You knocked your signature knock, and after a moment you heard the delightful ring of her voice, “Come in.”

Like a siren’s song, you obeyed. She greeted you with her red-painted smile, one that makes your heart thump just a little bit harder and your breath grow shallow. Larissa’s smile washed over you as you walked further in and placed the wood in its usual rest at the edge of the fireplace. The hearth is ablaze but dwindling. You dutifully added two more logs in and worked it with the poker.

It ignites after a second, and you couldn’t help but linger, soaking in the warmth and the other woman’s presence. Pathetic, you know, yet you enjoy these moments more than you should.

You turned to her, revealing your full figure, and when her cyanite gaze latched on to your patched forehead, the pretty, private grin on her face fell. Que the furrow between her eyebrows and the pursing of her mouth.

“Darling,” she began, voice saturated with concern. The nickname is not an uncommon gift from her to you. Even after all this time, it set something burning in your chest and frayed your will to not drop on your knees in that moment. (You bet she’ll look divine from that angle regardless). “What happened to your head?”

Larissa pushed back from her desk and rose from her chair, revealing her stature in its entirety, swathed in a light cream blazer and skirt combo. If it wasn’t for the slash of crimson lipstick on her mouth, you could have mistaken her for a marble figure, carved by Michelangelo himself. Vaguely you think of the myth about Pygmalion and Galatea.

The shadows of the fire danced across her figure and it took you a moment to find your tongue, “Oh, uh,” You gulped. “I ran into a tree branch yesterday afternoon. During the storm.”

You don’t want her to worry about Ghost—and by extension, her freedom.

She stared down at you, blue eyes almost black, and you resisted the urge to fidget. Then, something on her arm caught your sight and you zeroed in on the brace wrapped around her left wrist.

“You could ask you something similar,” you said. Your gloved hand reaches out to brush it, just light enough. If only it touched true to her skin. But your abilities can be unpredictable even after all these years, and you’d rather not glimpse something she wouldn’t want discovered. Hence the constant use of gloves.

“What happened? Who do I need to beat up?”

She gave a low chuckle from her chest. “No need to defend my honor. A simple sprain.” When you were about to protest, she continued, “. . . I tried to get somewhere, but I ended up biting off more than I could chew.”

She sounded hesitant, but you didn’t want to push. She needn’t disclose anything, especially to someone like you.

“If you want, I can whip up a salve from the gardens. Something that could numb it or even speed up the healing process.”

That gentle grin was back and your heart beats traitorously in your chest. “That would be lovely, dear. Thank you.”

You gifted her your goofiest of smiles. “Of course, Principal Weems. Is there anything else?”

There it was. That pout. Adorable.

However, her lips smooth over as another lesser-known visage crosses her features—playfulness she rarely displays to just anyone, lest her stalwart reputation be stained. Your breath stilled.

God, you’re hopeless.

Swiftly, much in the opposition of her height, she bent just enough to skim her lips over the gauze on your brow, and with a ping of pressure, she placed a kiss right above the wound.

Something deep within you latched around your heart and squeezed. A delicious shiver raced across your spine, spreading as if someone lit a wick and the line ignited all the way through your body.

Oh, that’s new.

Larissa leaned back just so, taking in your dumbfound face before she turned back to her desk. Far too proud of herself, you think. “If you want, we can have a nightcap together tonight. It’s been a while since we sat down over a glass.”

She’s right, you vaguely think. Between the beginning of the semester and some donor kerfuffle earlier this month, you two hardly had the chance to hangout. Not that it was a common occurrence to begin with, but it usually happened every month or two. It started about a year into your employment, and you had a feeling she did so to extend a branch of friendship.

Yes, friendship. That’s what you must remember. Nothing more. Despite what your heart wants, your mind knows best. Larissa Weems was a lonely figure, whether due to her job or her family, she needed someone in her corner.

“I would love to. Text me when you’re done for the day, and I’ll head over.”

She answered with a soft smile, one that crinkled her eyes.

You left her office, earning a strange look from Larissa’s assistant and some of the faculty in the hall.

The rest of the rounds go by in a blur of muscle memory and anticipation. You do give her the salve, dropping it off with her assistant, who still gave you a peculiar glance.

Hours later, after you did your deeds for the day and interacted with dozens of teachers and students, you went to your lodge to wash up before that evening. You don’t want to trek in mud or appear ungrateful after all. White and dirt don’t go together.

And that’s when you finally noticed, brandished on your brow the entire day, the damning deep red, lipstick outline.

So should I continue with part 2? Let me know!

Anyways back into my cave...

[thesmpisonfire]

Could you tell me more about Bagi in your AU?

Bagi is the nimbasa gym leader!! When they were all kids, Bagi and Cellbit would race to see who'd finish the gym circuit first but right at the start Bagi fell behind bc she fell in love with the intricacies a gym would have (Cellbit ended up meeting Quackity in the way and he got a new rival from there), so she decided that she'd be a gym leader someday (Cellbit wanted the same but more as a third option if his detective business wouldn't work and neither would his research dream job)

Bagi got really close to also becoming a Champion but decided not to and just won against the league before dropping it and signing up to work at the Nimbass Gym, at the time an electric type. When she got the position as the leader, she managed to get permission and changed it for a Psychic type, making it so the trainers would have to solve riddles and puzzles to get to her

She also works as a consultant for the museum and likes to study about the mess that Team Plasma caused when they were around, she met Pac and Mike while she was still a low lever worker at the gym and they had just moved in to be a low lever worker at Gear Station. The three clicked very fast and became really close friends, sharing an ap for a while before Bagi moved out when she got promoted

After Pac went missing, she, Mike and Cellbit worked day and night to find a way to locate him while Tubbo and Quackity went around asking people if they had seen Pac. The three ended up trying to use an old incantation up in Dragonspiral Tower, but it only caused the already thin time and space membrane to become thinner and so down went Cellbit as well

Bagi now has put someone else as a substitute in her leader position while Mike did the same to his subway boss position, both completely overtaken by the need to get their family back