Work Text:
When he’s three years old, Shaggy’s mother holds his wrist to the oven as he cries and writhes and screams. There are four hearts there, only the third one filled in, and Shaggy watches as his skin morphs and falls apart, melting over the ink. It’s not the first time she burns him, and it’s not the last, and the skin stitches itself back together in a collection of ugly, raised scars. But Shaggy can’t remember just quite what it looks like, so he draws what he can remember on a little green sticky note and he folds it up real small, keeping it in his pocket everywhere he goes.
When he’s four, some people in suits come and take him away. He watches his mother be torn away with her hands behind her back, and she looks hateful and angry, and he doesn’t really understand. But he goes and he stays with an Indian couple who smile at him and read to him and buy him soft dresses when he asks, a couple who loves him like all the people in the books love their children, so Shaggy doesn’t ask after her. Soon, the only reminder of her is the terrible tangle of scars on his wrist, wretched and ugly and the kind of thing that people look at instead of his face when they meet him.
The Indian woman, Rashid, adopts him with her husband, Aarav, when he’s seven. They treat him with love, and respect, and care, and soon Shaggy calls them his mother and father and it’s almost like it was always true, like his real mother was never even there at all, and Shaggy buys a locket and puts the green sticky note inside it and he pretends that he’s normal, that he’s a normal kid with two normal parents and a normal soulmark.
But eventually all of us have to stop playing pretend and face the real world, and this is not the story of a normal kid.
When Shaggy is fifteen, he figures out that he likes boys. And girls. Also girls. Girls are awesome. There’s this girl named Daphne Blake, and she sits in front of him in biology, and he thinks that maybe she’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
He tells her this, one day when he finds her having lunch by herself on the football field. She smiles at him.
“Do you like Star Trek?” she asks, and smiles a gap-toothed smile. Shaggy sits down next to her, in a slumpy green dress next to her purple designer slim-fit, and he nods. Daphne beams, lifting up her sleeve to show him an arm full of doodles of Spock’s hand.
“Me too,” she whispers, like it’s a secret. Shaggy stares at the four hearts on her arm, the first one filled in, and he reaches up and takes his locket off, taking out the sticky note and showing it to her, along with the scar on his arm.
Daphne only glances at the drawing for a second before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.
“Friends?” she asks. Shaggy’s never had a friend before.
He nods. Daphne grins and shoves all of her green M&M’s towards him, and Shaggy falls in love like the sun through the clouds towards the earth.
When he’s seventeen, Shaggy checks a book out of the library about rainbows. He takes screenshots of the pages detailing asexual, pansexual, and trans/nonbinary with he/they scribbled over it in green, and Daphne sends back three hundred hearts. When he’s sitting in her tree house that weekend, she shows him the pages about bisexual and genderfluid and writes she/he on her own arm, and Shaggy hugs her.
They go on shopping sprees together, after that. They buy dresses and shorts and skirts and cute shoes and weird cheap accessories. That summer they drive down to P-Town, just the two of them, Daphne kisses him while sucking on a strawberry lollipop and tells him she thinks they’re gonna make it.
“You’re you, though,” he says, thinking of all the teen movies they love to watch and how the cheerleaders like her always end up with the jocks, which he is not. He’s an artsy nerd who’s bony and rail-thin with social anxiety and selective mutism. Daphne squeezes his hand, holding up a shirt to herself that reads, I Love My Autistic Boyfriend.
“Yeah. And you’re you,” she answers, handing him a matching shirt that reads I Love My ADHD Girlfriend. “We fit.”
Shaggy tastes clouds on her tongue and he thinks he loves her. On the way home, they get in a car accident and he winds up in a coma for six months.
Shaggy wakes up and can’t feel his legs. He tells his parents this through tears, and they run and get some doctors, and the doctors run some tests. Shaggy works himself into a panic attack when they tell him he’ll probably need a wheelchair and then passes out again.
When he wakes up, Daphne’s sitting by his bedside, holding his hand with a green apple lollipop in her mouth.
“They said you can’t walk,” she says. “Is that true?”
Shaggy tears up again just thinking about it.
“I’m scared, Daffy,” he tells her, and Daphne squeezes his hand and hops up to peck his forehead.
“Don’t be,” she says, and pats his hair. “I’ll still be here.”
Daphne goes off to college and Shaggy does too, both of them in New York. Shaggy doesn’t understand why she’s still with him, this complete fuck-up of a person, but every time she comes to visit she rolls him outside and treats him like her boyfriend, even though they get weird looks by everyone who passes by. One day some asshole makes a comment about their apparent mismatch, and Shaggy stares at his lap while Daphne punches the guy in the nose and gets arrested.
When he picks her up, one of the police officers, Diego, smiles at him.
“You’ve got a good girl there,” he says, winking as he hands Shaggy Daphne’s bag of personals. “She your soulmate?”
Shaggy nods, playing with his sleeve subconsciously. Diego leads him down the hallway, hands off of the wheelchair, to the holding cell, where Daphne sits in the corner, talking animatedly to a junkie in a fur coat.
“Gogo!” the junkie says happily, flouncing over to the bars, and Diego smiles and kisses the man through the bars as Daphne wanders out the open door. Diego’s sleeve rides up to reveal a little umbrella, the handle of which reads 1/7, and Shaggy pulls up his own to look at the burn marks covering his wrist, helplessly sad again.
Daphne kisses him, tearing his attention back to her.
“Wanna move in with me?” she says, settling in his lap as they roll out the door. Shaggy stops at the bottom of the ramp and cups her face in his hands, kissing her.
“Yeah,” he says. “Food first though.”
The diner gets held up as they’re paying. Shaggy quivers in the corner, trapped in his chair with Daphne wrapped around him, and he wonders over and over and over if some people are just destined for tragedy.
Twenty-one and Shaggy doesn’t leave the apartment for anything. Daphne calls a therapist and gets him diagnosed as agoraphobic. She becomes a fashion designer and decorates his wheelchair in glitter and rhinestones. She tells him she loves him and lies beside him in bed, cold to the touch.
Twenty-two and Shaggy buys Daphne a ring online. She wears it everywhere, and hands him his own when he gives her hers, and they’re engaged. Shaggy’s parents die in a car accident a lot like the one that left him paralyzed and he cries himself to sleep in Daphne’s arms when he can’t force himself out of the apartment to make it to their funeral.
Twenty-three and Shaggy starts a Youtube channel to talk about life. He cooks and he paints and he answers strangers’ questions, and he hopes Daphne’s watching wherever she is, her ring still on his finger.
When he’s twenty-seven, there’s a knock on Shaggy’s door. He leaves his camera on and rolls over to open it, blinking up at a built blonde man in a frilly pink apron holding a tray of muffins. He’s cute—Daphne would think so, anyway.
“Hi!” the man says, and when he shifts his arm Shaggy can see four hearts on his arm, the fourth one filled in. “I’m Fred. I just moved in across the hall and—”
“And this is your ‘Hello-I’m-New-Please-Be-Nice-To-Me’ tour?” Shaggy guesses, and Fred blushes. Shaggy’s heart aches for the redhead they’re apparently both destined to love.
“Actually, no,” Fred says, sounding a bit deflated. “I stress bake, and I’ve got a job interview for tomorrow, so I made like fifteen batches of a dozen blueberry muffins each and I don’t even like blueberry, so—”
“Bring them all,” Shaggy says, keeping his stimming hands in his lap instead of reaching up for a handshake. “I love blueberries.”
Fred blinks at him. You’re destined to love me, Shaggy thinks, just a little broken inside. Me and the girl who built then broke my heart. He doesn’t say any of this out loud, but Fred still stares at him for a long, long time.
“Okay,” he says finally, slowly. “I might bring you cupcakes next week, too. I have a date with the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
Shaggy shrugs.
“Cool,” he says. “Thanks,” and he shuts the door again. He learned a long time ago that people, like the world, don’t need him for company.
Transcription of Video: Book Review: Billy Merrell’s Vanilla
Uploaded by Zoinks [1.2 million subscribers]
1,337,894 views
[Shaggy holds up a book to the camera.]
This weekend I read Vanilla by Billy Merrell. Amazing book, really easy to relate to as an asexual person. It’s probably the best representation of how being ace feels that I’ve ever read.
The story follows these two boys, Vanilla and Hunter, as their relationship falls apart towards the end of high school. It’s written entirely in poetry, with different fonts for each point of view. I, um…
[Shaggy runs a hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on the book’s cover in his lap. He smiles a little to himself, his eye twitching.]
I lost my soulmate a few years ago, and this book really helped me through that. We broke up for very different reasons than the characters in the book, but it ends with a hopefulness that I really needed at the time. I definitely recommend this book for anyone who feels alone in the world.
[Cut to an animation as Shaggy’s voice narrates a summary of the story. In the corner of every scene, a redheaded girl talks on her phone and laughs.]
Velma comes over to check Shaggy’s water again when he asks. He’s lucky she puts up with him.
“All of your amenities are fine,” she tells him when she pulls herself out of his cupboard. He helps her up, wheeling over to the counter to get her one of Fred’s muffins. “Just like they are every week when I come over.”
Shaggy shrugs. He’s paranoid, he knows that, but there isn’t much to distract himself with these days.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. Velma shrugs, bending down to kiss his head as she dries off her newly-washed hands.
“You don’t have to break your dishwasher to get me to come over, you know,” she says. “I’m your friend.”
Shaggy shrugs and doesn’t look at her. It’s been a long year—a long life.
“Tell me about the pretty girl you hooked up with last week,” he says instead of answering. Velma sighs, fingering the she/they pin on her jacket that matches the he/they one on his and smiling pityingly.
“I know you don’t wanna hear about her,” she says kindly. “Why don’t we watch the History channel instead?”
Shaggy shrugs again, but he grabs her hand when she sits down on the couch. She has four little hearts too, he knows because he’s seen her washing her hands multiple times, but she never says anything about it and he leaves it alone, thinking about the second heart all filled in when it’s late at night and he can’t sleep.
“I hope you stay awhile,” he mumbles later, when she’s petting his hair. She helps him out of his chair and into bed, tucking him in. “I like you.”
Velma kisses his forehead.
“Just clog your toilet and I’ll be back,” she says, and even remembers to turn on the nightlights on her way out.
Shaggy’s therapist is a woman named Margo, and to say she’s mean would be an understatement.
“So you know all three of your soulmates but you’re fucking it up with the last two because you lost the first one?” she asks. Shaggy shrugs. Margo’s bi aro with a queerplatonic soulmate named Eliot, axes on their wrists. He withered away in grief a few years ago at the loss of his romantic soulmate, a man named Quentin who killed himself before he and Eliot could ever really figure out their marks of peaches and plums.
“Yeah, I guess that’s it,” he says, and throws his head back to look at the ceiling. “I don’t know, I just need a reason to tell them, I guess.”
Margo hums.
“Okay,” she says. “Go tell them. I’m giving that to you as your next assignment.”
Shaggy raises his eyebrow at her.
“I thought you could only make me write in my journal about shit.”
Margo shrugs.
“Fuck that. Go be happy.”
Shaggy rolls his eyes.
“You know I don’t go anywhere,” he says, and Margo sighs.
“Yeah, that’s the problem. Try stepping out into the hallway at least once before you call me next week.”
Shaggy makes it an inch out the door that night before having a panic attack. He squeezes his locket and his wrist and he remembers Daphne telling him she loves him, and he breathes.
Transcription of Video: Q & A: February Edition!!!
Uploaded by Zoinks [1.7 million subscribers]
3,278,564 views
[Shaggy twists his ring around on his finger as he scrolls on his phone.]
Okay, okay, here’s one—what is being asexual and panromantic like for you?
Obviously it’s different for everybody, but in my experience, it’s really isolating. I mean, there’s already so little asexual representation, and so much of it is inferred rather than explicitly stated. And as an asexual person who still has romantic feelings, it’s even harder to explain myself to people. It’s like they can understand someone having both or neither, but not someone having one and not the other.
However you identify, though, you are valid and loved, at least by me.
[Shaggy throws up a peace sign. He shakes his hand out as he reads the next question.]
Who are some fictional characters I headcanon as autistic? Oh, that’s a great one. Um—
Leo Valdez, from Percy Jackson, I guess. Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, Sherlock Holmes from BBC, Jack Kline from Supernatural, Severus Snape from Harry Potter… a lot of characters, actually, because I’m always looking for someone to relate to. But, unfortunately, there just aren’t that many canonically acknowledged examples that I can point to. Whatever you headcanon is amazing, though. Feel free to look for representation anywhere you like!
[There’s a knock on the door. Shaggy bites his lip, but doesn’t move.]
Um—what do you think of cancel culture? Oh, shit. God, I could go on for hours about this, but, uh—
Honestly, I struggle. In a lot of cases people deserve to be screamed at, especially repeat offenders. But I think we spend a lot of time yelling at people for innocent mistakes rather than explaining to them what they did wrong, which means they get defensive and they don’t know how to change for the better. We also tend to dismiss people’s opinions based on what groups they’re a part of, as if people can’t have opinions and questions and experiences revolving around groups they’re not a part of. We spend a lot of time looking for something to be mad at, all the while saying that it’s bigoted for someone to scream back at us. I guess I try not to be a part of that hypocrisy and double standard. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life, you know?
[There’s another knock, louder this time. Shaggy sighs and leans in to turn off the camera.]
“What?”
Fred beams at him stupidly. Shaggy takes a deep breath and wheels out three inches, squeezing the arm of his chair over and over to keep himself from hyperventilating.
“I made cupcakes!” Fred says, handing him some pink-frosted monstrosities. “These are celebration cupcakes though, not stress cupcakes. I got the job. And the girl, too!”
Shaggy smiles, just a little bit.
“Congrats,” he says. He’s about to turn and go back inside when Fred plops down criss-cross on the ground in front of him, taking a cupcake from the pan and happily babbling as he chews on it.
“She’s got red hair and her soulmark matches mine,” he says. “Four hearts with the first one filled in. I wonder who our other soulmates are!”
Shaggy swallows.
“Let them come to you,” he says, because it’s all he can risk right now. “My mother always said that love was about running at the same pace, which sometimes means stopping and waiting for your partner to catch up.”
Fred hums. He takes another cupcake and devours it in one bite. He’s holding Shaggy’s hand now, bopping his head from side to side.
“The woman who used to lead my autism support group used to say that too,” he says. “Her name was Rashid.”
Shaggy nods. He still has a picture of her and Aarav on his bedside table.
“I didn’t know that you’re autistic,” he says instead of revealing any personal details about himself, because fuck being vulnerable. “Thanks for telling me.”
Fred beams at him again. He’s like the fucking sun, like Daphne was. Shaggy has always been a little too much like Icarus, what with the wings tattooed on his back when he turned eighteen and his weakness for the world that burned him.
“Of course! We’ve gotta stick together, right?” Fred says, and Shaggy squeezes his hand and tries not to cry.
“Sure. I like chocolate chips, by the way. And the color green.”
Fred nods frantically and hops up.
“I’ll go make you some M&M cookies!” he says. Then he stops and frowns. “But some of my students might eat them. I teach at a middle school and I try to bring them snacks because our schedule is literally inhumane. Do you mind?”
No, Shaggy means to say. Instead, he says, “Come over for dinner tomorrow.” Fred blinks at him, then smiles.
“Okay,” he says. “Should I bring any food?”
Shaggy thinks over the multitude of frozen meals he has stuffed in his fridge and nods.
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”
Daphne leaves him a message at three in the morning.
“I found our other soulmates,” she says to no one, but he listens while huddled in the shower in his pajamas, desperate to be in something small and easy to see all of. “Their names are Fred and Velma. I think you’d like them.”
She pauses, for a minute. When she goes on, she’s quieter.
“I’m an asshole for leaving you,” she says, “and I’m an even bigger asshole for not calling you until now. But I still love you and I still wear your ring, and you’re still my best friend and my soulmate and my favorite person, so. I’m back in New York if you ever wanna yell at me.”
Shaggy closes the phone and his eyes, breathing in deep. Then he opens them both back up and replays the message until morning, falling asleep against the tiles. When he wakes up, Velma’s there, gently coaxing him back into his chair and telling him all about her most recent read.
Shaggy clutches tight to her hand and doesn’t ask what happened to that redhead she hooked up with, feeling Daphne’s name pounding in his heart just below his ribs.
Transcription of Video: Agoraphobia: An Explanation (by an agoraphobic person)
Uploaded by Zoinks [2.3 million subscribers]
2,345,976 views
[There’s a close-up of Shaggy’s hand locking the door.]
I didn’t wanna make this video for a long time, because I don’t like talking about… my life now, I guess, but—I was a victim of a violent crime a few years ago, and almost overnight, I became terrified to go outside. I moved in with my girlfriend at the time, to this apartment actually, and I couldn’t leave the house. Any time I tried I’d have panic attacks so bad they sent me to bed for the rest of the day.
It’s not as much like that now. I’m still terrified to leave, to put myself in situations that are unfamiliar and that I have no control over, but I’ve been trying to sit in the hallway for a couple of minutes every day. Just let the world interact with me a little bit, you know?
The problem is that my fears seem stupid to the rest of the world, so I usually use the wheelchair as an excuse. But I can get along just fine in the wheelchair. I did, actually, because my accident happened quite a bit before my phobia developed.
[An animation of a genderless person pops up on the screen inside a cartoon house, and they move along with Shaggy’s words.]
Living with agoraphobia is a challenge. I order everything—my groceries, my clothes, my dishes—online. This means that I eat a lot of food I don’t actually like, since my orders are often wrong, and I’ve built up a pretty good appetite and palate from having to eat so many weird things. A lot of my clothes are too baggy or too tight since I can’t try them on before they get here, and I’ve always wanted a dog but I can’t get one because I couldn’t take it on walks. Everything becomes a hassle, and I say that as someone who’s lived as disabled for almost half my life now.
[The camera cuts back to Shaggy, who sits alone on his couch. His eyes are puffy and red, and a blanket of the trans flag is wrapped around his shoulders. His burned-off mark is visible and clear.]
I miss out on so many things. I’m lonely a lot. I think about all this, but I’ve got social anxiety and nobody to go out for. I try really hard to stay hopeful, but I’m a fucking mess, and that means that life often feels like it’s better spent alone.
I mean, why open yourself up if nobody ever wants to look in?
(7:12 p.m.) 1-212-xxx-xxx
You’re dating my neighbor, Fred.
(7:15 p.m.) 1-646-xxx-xxx
I didn’t think you’d still have my number.
(7:16 p.m.) 1-212-xxx-xxx
Considering you’re one of three friends I’ve ever had, I don’t really think it’s that weird.
(7:16 p.m.) 1-646-xxx-xxx
Can I come see you?
(8:01 p.m.) Shaggy
Maybe.
What’ve you been up to?
(8:09 p.m.) Daphne
Boss girl shit.
I miss you.
(8:11 p.m.) Shaggy
I know.
(8:13 p.m.) Daphne
Don’t you Star Wars me, you asshole.
(8:25 p.m.) Shaggy
Your boyfriend’s cute.
(8:30 p.m.) Daphne
Yeah, you are.
(8:30 p.m.) Shaggy
…
(8:30 p.m.) Daphne
Too soon?
(9:46 p.m.) Shaggy
I know you hooked up with Velma.
(9:51 p.m.) Daphne
You know I’m helpless against miniskirts.
(1:18 a.m.) Shaggy
I’m still stuck at home.
(1:57 a.m.) Daphne
I’m stuck wherever you are.
“Can I ask you something?”
Shaggy shrugs, wheeling over to the sink with their dirty dishes and dumping them in. He’ll clean up later. At the table, Fred is fidgeting with the edge of the table cloth, twisting it back and forth in his hands. Shaggy rolls back over next to him, taking his hand.
“Shoot.”
“You never leave your house,” Fred blurts, adjusting their hands so that their fingers are woven together. Shaggy kind of loves him. “Every time I knock, you answer. You’re always here. Don’t you have a job, or go shopping, or… or something?”
Shaggy stares down at their hands, tangled together like stars. He misses Daphne.
“I have agoraphobia,” he says. “I want to leave but I can’t. I’m scared. I’m terrified. I’m… paralyzed, in more ways than one.”
Fred’s mouth drops open just the slightest bit.
“Oh,” he says. Shaggy lets go of his hand, waiting for him to leave.
Instead Fred kisses him.
“I wanna help,” he says, and Shaggy bursts into tears as Fred drags him into his arms and holds him there, safe.
(7:06 a.m.) Shaggy
I love your boyfriend.
(7:07 a.m.) Daphne
My boyfriend loves you.
(9:03 a.m.) Shaggy
I’ve only known him for like two weeks.
(10:56 a.m.) Daphne
So?
(10:57 a.m.) Shaggy
So it’s too soon.
(10:57 a.m.) Daphne
So you’re a coward.
(10:58 a.m.) Shaggy
Fucking don’t.
(11:02 a.m.) Daphne
You sit in the hallway every day. That’s brave as fuck.
But running from your soulmates?
That’s bullshit, Shaggy.
(11:03 a.m.) Shaggy
You don’t fucking get a say, Daffy.
(11:04 a.m.) Daphne
No, I don’t.
But don’t they?
(11:04 a.m.) Shaggy
Stop.
(11:06 a.m.) Daphne
Velma thinks you’re cute.
(11:06 a.m.) Shaggy
Bye.
(11:09 a.m.) Daphne
I love you, Shaggy.
(11:13 a.m.) Shaggy
Fuck off.
(11:11 p.m.) Shaggy
I love you, too.
“Why didn’t you tell me that we’re soulmates?” Velma asks him as she’s tightening the nuts on his sink. To be fair, it broke itself this time. Shaggy shrugs.
“Did Daphne tell you?” he asks. Velma shakes her head.
“I figured it out,” she says. “You stare at my wrist a lot. And Fred’s. I’m sure you’ll stare at Daphne’s a lot too, when you meet her.”
Shaggy hums, staring at his hands as he tugs at them.
“I met her when I was fifteen,” he says. Velma does a pretty good job of covering up her surprise, glancing at him for only a second before going back to her work on his sink.
“Why didn’t we meet you together, then? Me and Freddie?”
Shaggy shrugs, rolling away.
“Shit happens,” he says, and nothing has ever been truer.
Transcription of Video: Abuse & Adoption: My Story
Uploaded by Zoinks [4.6 million subscribers]
7,908,546 views
[An animated stick figure dressed like Shaggy dances across the screen. An angry black scribble with red eyes follows him, swallowing him over and over again even as he tries to escape. Then, out of nowhere, two brown angels come down and pull Shaggy up towards them as the monster struggles and fails to reach him.]
Yeah. That’s what adoption feels like. Like you’re being pulled from purgatory and into heaven. Like someone is finally telling you that your placement there was a mistake, that you never did anything to deserve it, and that you’re safe now.
All I ever wanted was to be safe—I snuck out to visit Santa at the mall when I was three, the year I was rescued, and I asked him to save me from my biological mother. I found out later that the Santa, Derek, was an FBI agent. His husband Spencer had suffered accidental abuse under the hands of his schizophrenic mother, and they were the ones who called CPS and landed me with the best parents in the world—my mom, Rashid, and my dad, Aarav.
[The animation cuts out, and suddenly Shaggy’s face is there, pulling back from the camera as he finishes adjusting it. He keeps his burned mark carefully onscreen, open and brutal. He swallows.]
My abuser burned off my soulmark. I was lucky enough to be able to scribble it down on a post-it note, which I keep with me to this day, before I forgot it. But this happens to a lot of kids, to crush their fantasies of someone out there loving them. They become even more dependent on their abusers.
A lot of abusers, my biological mother included, had their own soulmarks burned off in childhood. This is not to say that everyone without a soulmark is an abuser, because that’s just blatantly untrue. But plenty of people take the pain that was inflicted on them, no matter what that pain is, and they try to inflict it on others, and the vicious cycle continues.
[Shaggy looks deep into the camera, rubbing his hands together. He takes a deep breath and smiles just the slightest bit.]
Wherever you’re trapped, wherever you’re stuck right now, I promise that it will get better. As someone who’s tried to end it plenty of times, let me tell you, it’s not bullshit. Someone is out there looking for you, and they’ll find you even if you can’t afford to look. You’re gonna be okay. You are loved. You are seen. I promise you that, if nothing else.
[He pulls back from the screen and rolls back far enough so that his chair can be seen. His pride flags surround him, a book of autism sits in his lap, and he holds a pill bottle and a prescription for meds to help with social anxiety. This frail, malnourished boy is strong.]
I am Shaggy Rogers, and this is my story.
Shaggy has a hard time remembering his life before Daphne. Before Velma. Before Fred. Before any of them.
All he remembers is reading The Song of Achilles in eighth grade and feeling his heart break in his chest at the idea that even soulmates might not get a happy ending.
With Daphne came Pride & Prejudice, and the feeling of loving somebody even when they drove you fucking mad. With Velma came Dead Poets Society, and the idea that queer people could find each other and happiness even in the darkest of times, if only for a little while. With Fred came The Matrix, and the concept that the world between Shaggy’s hands might not be real at all, and therefore was his to shape however he wanted.
He wakes up one Monday morning and fills in the four hearts on his post-it notes—purple for Daphne, orange for Velma, green for himself, and blue for Fred. They’re bright under his burns, even if he can’t see them, full and alive. They pulse with his love, and Shaggy stays out in the hallway for a full hour that day, imagining a world in which all of the tragedy was taken away and he could go outside into the sun, but somehow the thought makes him sadder, because then he wouldn’t be the awesome person that he is.
(2:15 a.m.) Shaggy
You should come over.
(2:16 a.m.) Daphne
When?
(2:16 a.m.) Shaggy
Right now.
(2:18 a.m.) Daphne
You’re all the stars in my sky, you know.
That’s the one thing that never changed.
(2:19 a.m.) Shaggy
I’m a fucking mess, Daffy.
(2:21 a.m.) Daphne
We’re each other’s messes, honey.
That’s what makes it beautiful.
“I fucking missed you,” Daphne gasps, settling onto his lap like a puzzle piece. She cups his face in her hands and she kisses him like someone drowning in sand, like someone melting in the sun. Shaggy collects her golden droplets in his hands, and he sculpts her back into his life like a work of art.
“We’re gonna make it, do you think?” he asks. Daphne’s eyes sparkle in the moonlight, and Shaggy’s door is open. He wheels over there and out into the hall, able to roll all the way down to Fred’s door while still breathing.
“Who cares about what I think,” Daphne tells him, pressing their foreheads together. “Here’s what I know: I love you, and that’s all that matters.”
Shaggy smiles at her, knocks on Fred’s door, and hopes again.
Shaggy wakes up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed. He feels the walls starting to close in on him and gasps for air, but then Daphne is there, a hand on his chest and her eyes looking into his.
“It’s okay,” she says. Velma sits up beside her with bedhead and she takes Shaggy’s hands and squeezes, giving him some pressure to focus on. Shaggy breathes in and out with Daphne’s guidance, and he thinks, I love you, I love you, I love you.
“Where’s Fred?” he manages to choke out, and Daphne opens her mouth to answer probably I don’t know when Fred comes through the door with a box in his arms.
“Right here!” he says cheerily, and plunks the box down in Shaggy’s lap. Shaggy stares at him and Fred beams back. “Go on, open it!”
Terrified, Shaggy reaches inside the box and touches something soft.
Mouth gaping stupidly, he tugs out a puppy with the biggest brown eyes he’s ever seen and he falls completely, totally, and stupidly in love.
“Scooby,” he mumbles, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “Scooby Doo.”
Daphne laughs, loud and bright. Velma wrinkles her nose.
“What an odd name,” she says. Fred just grins when Shaggy looks up at him in wonder, cradling the squirming puppy to his chest.
“I was reading up on disabled stuff and they talked a lot about service dogs,” Fred tells him, coming closer and settling down on the bed beside them. “I figured, you’re scared of going outside, but he can protect you. And on the days you really can’t bear to go anywhere, he can keep you company.”
Shaggy blinks.
“I think you all should move in with me,” he blurts, and tugs Fred in by the ascot before he can answer. “Seriously. Come stay with me.”
Velma sounds bored when she answers, but Shaggy can see her smiling, Daphne wrapped in her arms and kissing her jaw.
“Sure,” she says. “Why not?”
And for once in his life, Shaggy can’t think of a single reason why not.
Transcription of Video: Life Partner(s) Tag! (w/ TrapMan, Jinkies, & Red Princess)
Uploaded by Zoinks [11.7 million subscribers]
19,237,645 views
[Shaggy is onscreen in his wheelchair. He’s grinning like the sun’s just come out.]
I’d like to introduce you all to my soulmates. Fred—
[Fred comes into view and kisses Shaggy’s cheek, settling beside him criss-cross on the floor. He takes Shaggy’s hand, kisses the back of it, and holds on.]
Velma—
[Velma appears from the right and sits on the bed behind Shaggy, kissing his head and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Shaggy smiles in her grip.]
And Daphne.
[Daphne dances in and settles on a tiny stool right beside Shaggy. She loops her arm through his and grins when he leans down to peck her on the forehead, her eyes squinting shut with happiness.]
I’ve come a long way without these three, and it’s been hell.
[A full-grown dog romps in and rests his paws and head on Shaggy’s lap. Shaggy tears up, beaming.]
But the night is over, and the sun is rising now. Your sun will rise too, one day. No matter how dark it seems.
[The camera zooms in on his arms. On his left, there are burn marks so prominent you’re bound to stare.]
We’re all gonna be okay, in the end.
[On the right, there are four tattooed hearts. The first is purple, the second is orange, the third is black, and the fourth is blue.]
I promise.
[Fred, Velma, and Daphne roll up their sleeves one by one. They all have the same, with a green third heart. Black first for Daphne, second for Velma, and fourth for Fred. Together, they are a mural of hope.]
Don’t give up.