so Gus and I took a plastic bag, the food processor and Mom's acid cream jars to mix a potion strong enough to save mankind from the deadly menace. At least we thought so, until the solid blob started making unholy, screeching noises, the bag with its contents growing, swelling over the Flames of Hell which we had summoned over our stove. It threw us for a loop of sheer, alchemic terror. We simply could not believe we had failed! What had we done wrong? Had we been too careless, too callow? Too blue-eyed about powers our young minds were not yet able to grasp? Had we just unleashed an even bigger threat upon humanity?

And how should we battle the evil forces without the pentacle of Estee Lauder?

As soon as we realized our shocking mistake we got a candle and tried to seal the first deadly wounds in the plastic fabric of our banning hex. Up to this day I do not know what happened then. We must have done something wrong with the magic seal we dropped on the bulging bizarreness, because as soon as the wax hit the thin fabric, the only thing separating us from the evil forces of hissing, gurgling demons, the barrier was torn apart like a teenage magazine in a puberty tantrum because they just posted yet another photo love story where your idol gets to make out with some unknown, ugly nobody.

The Charged Energy of Chaos and Destruction exploded, all over the


Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 252

Shawn bounced on his heels, the desk rattling slightly as he was leaning against it. Mrs. Mellory watched him expectantly, her polished nails holding on to a handbag smaller than Shawn's wallet. He looked at it in fascination. What was in there? What fit in there?

His eyes traveled upwards until he met her nervous gaze. She was always nervous. There was a reddish mark on her neck where she tended to scratch the skin.

Shawn smiled, she smiled back, averted his eyes. Where the hell was Gus? Shawn had everything planned, the trick dice, the marked straws, the stone-paper-scissors strategy. Gus was supposed to talk to her. And now he wasn't here.

( ... )

Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 446

"I'm telling you, that man was a genius!"

"And you are an idiot, Shawn. You cannot reduce Freud like that! That man has made important contributions to the world of-"

"Gus, all he talked about was sex. And given this definition his Freudian slips are nothing but a primeval version of your mom-jokes!"

Frustration. It fills the room and thickens the air like smog. "Freudian slips are not connected to your-mom-jokes! And not everything that happened before 1990 is primeval, Shawn!"

A smile. "I think I can call it primeval if it happened a millennium ago. And don't you know that common pun? A Freudian slip is like saying one thing, but meaning your mother. It's common knowledge, you just have to analyze it right!"

"That is no proof. You read that on Wikipedia! I'm not arguing with you over things you learned from Wikipedia! Media competence makes it important to use Wikipedia as a springboard, not an instance of utter sex! Truth!"

A beat. "What?"

"Truth!"

"You just said sex."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! You said sex!" A grin, big and knowing and oh-so-smug. "I can sense Freud would have a field day now..."

There is grumbling and turning away. "Your mom."


Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 205

"No, I am telling you, Gus, he was trying to put you on. No giant mutant cockroach by the name of Kyle has ever lived in this building. At least none that ever introduced himself properly to me." Shawn shakes his head and rattles on the door, frowing when the key is firmly stuck in the lock. "That actually sounds familiar. Was that door broken back then as well?"

With some effort he pushes it open and steps inside, taking a quick look around. The flat is empty, nobody's been living here for years. The wallpaper hangs from the walls, bright squares color the spots where furniture is no longer and with a surprised sigh Shawn realizes that it actually stings. Alright, so he has never been truly attached to this place but he's been living here for quite some time and this place has been home for him just like the rest of the whole wide world. Finding it so bare and empty leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he gets rid of that with a handful of Skittles. They've got work to do after all.

He steps forward, determined, he wants to figure out once and for all how this all happened, how they ended up married ten years ago and what combination of drinks they must have had that he still doesn't know. Hopefully retracing their steps would do enough to trigger his memory.

"Looks bigger now that the big purple wardrobe is gone, don't you think?"

Almost all of the clocks in the movie Pulp Fiction are stuck on the time 4:20.


"There! There it is again!" When Gus reached out to slap him Shawn ducked his head without tearing his gaze off the TV, the remote in his hand pointing at the paused scene. "What do you think, what does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything, Shawn! Press play!"

( ... )

Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 517

Why won't you kill me for taking the last frozen yogurt from the fridge?


Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 14