It is, like, 2 in the fucking morning and I have to get up in four hours and the server is taking such a pounding that I can't leave comments for the life of me but I DO NOT CARE, I DO NOT CARE, I DO NOT CARE, I AM SO HAPPY

BOTH OF MY FICS ARE FOR MY CRACKED OUT 'MAKE SCOOBY DOO DARK' REQUEST, THE ONE I WAS SURE I WOULD NEVER GET, AND I AM BEYOND DELIGHTED.

The Mystery of Life
aslkf;dlkdkg. Shaggy is a stoner. Daphne and Fred live in creepy uber-perfect suburbia. Velma has a ladyfriend and is moving past her high school days as a geek. I LOVE THIS. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. I can't quote from it because I was an idiot and closed the tab and now the server is taking such a beating that I can't get it open again, but the part where they were reading what they had written in each others' yearbooks. The awkwardness, the beautifully self-referential jokes (Fred's ascot! all the 'groovy' references and dated slang!!!).

Haunting Things (Real and Fake)
This beautiful human being read my letter, saw that I had referenced adoring Scooby Doo on Zombie Island (made-for-TV 1990s movie), and wrote me fic for it. Fic where Velma has a totally unrequited love for Daphne, and it is like I said in chat: I didn't know I needed unrequited Velma/Daphne in my life until I read it and now I am like HOLY SHIT HOW DID I NEVER SHIP THIS BEFORE?! And the author uses Zombie Island and creepy mccreeperson catlady Lena and it references the "ghost is here and it's always a fake" song that I love and it lets the kids grow up while retaining their personalities and it is written beautifully, and Velma's troubles ping me on such a ridiculously personal level (I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE TEARED UP) and in conclusion, I have decided that both of my authors have somehow crawled inside my brain without my noticing and picked out the things that would make me wiggle with glee the most. One of many favorite quotes from this one:

Even when everyone else is sloppy and relaxed, Daphne looks elegant. How she manages that out in the middle of the woods when they’ve been camping together for days, Velma will never know. How she manages that when she’s just woken up, Velma wishes she knew.

Velma herself has tossed and turned for hours. She can feel the mess of her hair and knows her clothes are wrinkled and dirty and displaced. She grabs her glasses and shoves them on, then sits up.

I NEED TO SLEEP NOW. BUT I AM SO EXCITED. I WISH I COULD LEAVE COMMENTS.

It had taken three attempts to get Bar to open the door to where he wanted to go. Three times he looked out on a truly scummy bar filled with sweaty, running men and the sounds of choppers bearing down in the distance; Hell on the edge of a jungle.

Not where he wants to be right now.

On the fourth attempt - it's warm. Not hot, but pleasantly mild and the view is of a comfortably lived-in sitting room, with child's toys in a corner and overstuffed sofas and armchairs dotted around. The first thing his eyes rest upon is a glass still half full of Scotch; the second a stone block on the table, a sculpture with a woman's face looking out of one side. He pauses for a moment (so long since all that), then wanders in and puts his bag down, goes to the French windows to look over the garden that ends in beach and then, nothing but sea. Three thousand miles of sea standing between him and home.

But it's alright. It's nice to see the place again. He'd had mixed feelings the night before, wondering if it would be unpleasantly strange to have Fiona here. But it's not. He wants her to see it. For some reason, letting her see the places he lives is like letting her see himself. It's not even about showing off, this time. The house is not small but still modest by his standards. And it was a real home, for a while. Maybe he wants her to know that he can live normally, sometimes.

'Want a tour or do you want to head straight off? I just need to make a couple of calls before we go.'