It was just an ordinary day when the World Without Pineapples 'verse was created.
My friend Pauleen and I were just hanging out on tumblr, when she sent me a meme request for crackships in the crossover of two of our favorite shows, Psych and Merlin. And it was such a strange pairing that I sort of spat out Shawn/Morgana and didn't think any more about it – until she agreed that it would actually be a really amazing ship. And of course, that turned into several late nights of plotting, spinning ideas, and incorporating new characters, which emerged into a lot of manips, graphics, photofics, gifs, and, of course, fanfiction, involving our new favorite couples – Shawn/Morgana (Mawn), Gwen/Gus (Gwus), and Juliet/Gwaine (Twaine).
Basically, whenever I get the time, I write a drabble for the WWP 'verse, and instead of just posting them on tumblr, as I have been, I thought I'd post them here as well! But, of course, if you're on tumblr, you can also find the photofics, graphics, etc. that have been made for this 'verse by us and some of our awesome friends under the "a world without pineapples" tag. They really are worth checking out.
01. First Meetings (Shawn/Morgana)
It was the sleepy gloss over her eyes that first tipped him off.
It was a servant girl, young and frail, with a dazed expression over her features that never wavered, even as she carefully held a basket in her hands and trotted towards the hills. The crumbs on her sleeve told him it was food in the basket, some staples like bread and meats and salt, and as she tripped over a crack in the stones and maintained her blank stare he decided to follow her.
It was an hour's walk in the forests – apparently not a particularly significant journey in this time period, he thought, gauging the girl's ease – and he had wondered more than once why he hadn't thought to wake Gus to follow with him, when a dark cabin arose from behind a hill. He hid behind a tree as the girl knocked carefully on the door, still staring mindlessly ahead.
A woman – a young woman – with dark hair curled and matted with disregard opened the door, smiling at the girl and prying the basket from her fingers. His mind darted back to what Merlin and Gwen had told him earlier – sorceress, dark, bent on Camelot's destruction, princess, don't like to discuss it – and he immediately identified her as Morgana.
He had started to turn around and rush back to the castle to tell Gus of his discovery when the leaves rustled under his feet and the girl's head shot up. Well, crap. I guess my stealth skills may need some work when I'm in a forest. Really, who put the forest out here?
Morgana lifted one hand to freeze him in place, using the other to snap her fingers before the girl, wiping her memory and sending her back to the castle, with clear telepathic instructions to bring her more food in a week. Shawn was anchored to his spot behind the tree, back tense, while Morgana stalked towards him. When she reached him, she stood before him haughtily, self-possessed and with a dark glint in her eye; he dragged his eyes over her face, raising his eyebrow at the scorn wrapped around her delicate features.
"Who are you?" Her voice was gruff but melodic, and he tried not to smile.
"Oh, you know. Just a passerby. On a hike, you know. I'm sure the rest of my friends are around here somewhere – we had a campfire last night and some of them got pretty off-their-swords if you know what I mean. I can just wander off back to them –"
"I didn't ask what you were doing out here," she snapped. "Who are you?"
"Oh hey, you're Morgana, aren't you? I heard about you. I'm a big fan, I'd ask for your autograph if I could move my arms –"
"Tell me."
Her voice was sharp with its command, and he sighed, intimidated enough by her brusqueness and his immobility to be honest. "I'm Shawn Spencer. I'm a psychic."
"No you're not."
His jaw dropped in surprise. "Yes, I can assure you that I am. Back home, I am a famous psychic detective for the pol – for the guard. I have amazing supernatural powers, and I –"
"Shawn Spencer, I've had visions since I was a little girl," she interrupted, a trace of bemused laughter in her voice. "You may be perceptive, but you are not psychic."
His eyes widened, and all struggle he once had posed against her invisible bindings stopped. His secret had never been discovered so quickly and so directly before, and a small piece of admiration for her began to burn.
"Tell me who you are." The laughter had left her voice, but the sharpness had vanished with it. Now she merely sounded tired, frustrated, exhausted, and his curiosity spiked.
"I told you, I'm Shawn." She shot him an annoyed look until he continued, "Look, I just got to Camelot the other day by some freak accident. I don't even belong here. I don't care about your little 'war with Camelot' or whatever you have going on – I'm sure it's nice and all – but all I really want to do is get back to my best friend, who is at the castle, and get out of here."
"Oh, you can't leave." She almost seemed amused by the panic which now took over his face. "Of course you can't leave. You've seen me here. You know where I am, and you could lead Arthur straight back to me."
He swallowed visibly. "So you're going to kill me. Okay. Would you mind using magic to do it? No one's ever attempted to murder me with magic before, I'll bet Gus would be really impressed."
She studied him for a moment, pensive, as though scrolling through lethal spells.
"Or –" He started, noting the interest sparking in her eyes. "Or I could help you."
"Help me? How could you possibly help me?" she responded haughtily.
"You just said it – I'm perceptive," he rushed, "and you can already tell I am. Based on the footprints in the mud it looks like that girl is the only one who has come to see you recently, and you haven't been outside much. And when you have been outside, it's been to collect either berries or, I'm guessing, firewood. And you prefer the berries on that bush over there." He nodded his head towards a large green bush about 50 feet to her right. "I can tell things. I know things like this about the castle. I could help you. Or something."
She watched him for a moment, leaning back, mind turning over his proposition. Her lips finally shifted into a frown. "Fine. You could be of use, and my magic's weakened at the moment. I'll let you stay here until you're no longer useful. And, trust me, if you try to run off, you will regret it."
She waved a pale, delicate hand in front of her, and Shawn felt the immobility release him.
"Thank you," he breathed, slumping over with relief. "You won't regret it."
"Oh, I think I will," she said softly, looking away for a moment, speaking to herself. She turned back to him with the same imperative gaze. "We need firewood. Go fetch some and place it in front of the cabin. I need to rest."
She turned to stalk back towards the cabin, and Shawn looked around him furtively. He had just barely broken into a run away from the house when he heard a small explosion nearby, and a sheet of mud fell over him like rain.
"Weakened, I said. Not gone." He could hear the smirk in her voice. "And try to make sure it's dry."
As she walked back inside, he considered trying to run away again; yet, considering her magic when it was weak and she was merely trying to illustrate a point was apparently strong enough to imitate a small grenade, he didn't think it was worth the risk. Plus – he barely admitted to himself – there was something intriguing about the woman, something hiding behind the scorn in her eyes.
He wiped the mud away from his eyes and trotted in the direction she had pointed, lifting a dry branch into his arms.