#a bit late on this guy!!!! busy on my end but more weevils to come :]

[zephyrenn]

The wonderfully wacky Leptopius gladiator weevil takes the third slot in the 30 Days of Weevils challenge!

Besides the fact they can be found in Australia, there's not a ton of information available on this particular species. Members of the genus Leptopius are often called "wattle pigs" due to their short rostra and presence on "wattles" (Acacia plants)! This tumblr post goes more into depth about these interesting weevils :^)

Reference image found here!

[writefightandflightclub]

Horny Misanthrope (Nathan Bateman x fem!reader)

Summary: Nathan isn’t the ideal wedding “plus one”. Somehow though, all of that doesn’t matter, when he’s the perfect “plus one” to you. (Angst / argument which becomes fluff/soft Nathan.)

Author’s note: another one that has been sat 90% done in my drafts for an age as I wasn’t sure about it. Could do with a bit more development on it before posting, but, here it is anyway! I thought Nathan deserved to get out of the house for once, and why keep him cooped up any longer :P 

Warnings: 18+ for sexual themes. mentions of fingering; arguing; Nathan being insensitive / an ass (his usual self). Language. Alcohol mentions. Family drama. DEFINITE TYPOS. 

GIF: @twillight​

The only person Nathan Bateman plays well with is himself. Okay - and lately, you. But Nathan Bateman is not the kind of guy you bring to meet your parents, turns out.

Of course he isn’t. What had you even been thinking?!

He looked every bit the ideal wedding date. He looked dapper, suave, and impossibly handsome. He looked adoringly at you. At least, people might interpret his intense, sexual hunger for you as adoration, if they weren’t looking too hard at the way his eyes followed you, or the fact they followed your ass everywhere it went in that dress.

Nathan, however, had spent the whole ceremony - the nuptials of a close family friend- whispering in your ear and jeering at the “embarrassing” sentimentality of it all. He had spent the duration of the speeches trying to discreetly (and then much less discreetly) slip his (deliciously girthy, by the way) fingers in-between your legs, and he had spent the majority of the three-course dinner sitting insulting every single person on your table in one way or another. Including your parents. (Read; especially your parents.)

The worst part, is that he has spent the whole day completely oblivious to your frustrations. You know how he is, of course. He’s... different. He doesn’t see the world like everyone else does. That’s one of the things you love about him, and it’s not as if you expect him to change. It’s just... you thought he might at least make an effort. You thought he might avoid making your auntie burst into tears over her pudding, at a bare minimum.

Were you wishing for the impossible in asking Nathan to behave? Were you being cruel and expecting him to be something he’s not? He simply doesn’t play well with others. Except for when he plays with you... Usually.

Safe to say, it wasn’t going well. The last straw came, however, when the tables were finally pushed back for dancing. Your father had just pulled you aside to ask you what in the hell you saw in him, and then had proceeded to come at you with: don’t you want to find “a nice, stable man” to settle down with instead of - and you quote- “an arrogant, robot-fucking troglodyte? Don’t you think you can do better than a horny misanthrope, sweetpea”? And then, you had pulled Nathan aside, tears of frustration spilling down your face.

You were tired. Tired from having to justify your love for Nathan when all the good things about him were less visible from first impressions, and when he didn’t exactly make a good case on his own behalf.

And then, you were more than tired. You were exhausted. Exhausted because, after defending him to your parents and your family friends, he really had the cheek to come out with: “Are you going to ruin the day by crying right now, honey?”

And, oh boy, that -and the coldness in his tone when he said it- had further tears spilling down your face.

“I can’t help you if you’re going to be emotional about this,” Nathan sighs, trying to gently jostle you towards the restroom by the elbow. “My share prices will plummet if you’re papped crying like this, baby. Why don’t you go get cleaned-up?” You’ll give him the benefit of the doubt this time, and assume that was a vain attempt at humour, because, my goodness, if it wasn’t, then hell... part of you is sure you would tank Blue Book on purpose.

“Well how can I talk to you if you’re going to be a fucking robot?” you bite back. “If you’re not even going to try to understand?”

“Okay, so it’s not going well then,” he says, oblivious. “Did your dad like me, at least?”

“That’s a hard no,” you exclaim in disbelief, and all Nathan does is shrug and smile, exhaling an indignant breath. It’s not that he’s unlikable, per se. The problem is, he doesn’t care -doesn’t give a fuck- if he’s liked or not. Yes, he has a huge ego, but at the same time, he’s the furthest thing from a people-pleaser. It barely occurs to him to make an effort with people - anyone beyond you. But you do care if he’s liked. These particular people matter to you.

All you wanted from today was for your family to see how happy he makes you -weird as that fact is- and for them to start to believe that you really could have a future with him. From the start, they’d insisted that you’d never be anything more to him than a fling, and now... Well, now the whole thing is a mess. It makes it worse that maybe they are right. Maybe you don’t have a future with him, after all.

Nathan opens his mouth to speak but by this point in the day, you don’t want to hear it. You raise a palm silently as tears pool into the corner of your eyes all over again.

“No! Don’t say anything,” you say defeatedly. “You’ll just weevil your way into my head and turn everything around.”

He clamps his mouth shut, and instead he reaches his hand out towards your arm.

“Don’t touch me either. You can’t fix everything with that tongue and those fingers of yours.”

“You could let me try though?” he flirts despite how misplaced it is, ticking up his eyebrow suggestively.

You fold your arms and stamp your foot on the floor in frustration. Is he even listening to you? “Nathan!” you plead, begging him to acknowledge you.

“Okay. Okay,” he surrenders, reluctantly. “Help me out here. What did I even do wrong?”

“Everything,” you sigh, tired that he just can’t (or won’t) see it. 

He bristles at that, and lifts his glasses to massage his eyes and brow in frustration with the pads of his fingers. He lets out a hearty sigh, as though he’s tired too. As though you’re not even worth this hassle.

“If this is about your aunt, it’s not exactly my fault she’s such a passionate fan of Donny fucking Osmond. Don’t you think she might be a little overinvested, huh?! Maybe that’s why she cried into her fucking ice cream?”

Overinvested? That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s relentlessly obsessive.

“It’s not the Donny fucking Osmond comment,” you bite through your teeth. “It’s the way you spoke to her. You just...” you wave your arms around in the air, gesticulating angrily. “You’re rude to people. Dismissive. You mocked the whole ceremony, you kept trying to feel me up the whole time, you insulted my entire family. And my dad, Nathan. You made my dad hate you so much that he called you an arrogant, robot-fucking, troglodyte and a horny misanthrope.”

You growl as Nathan’s mouth tips into a lopsided smile.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! It’s not a fucking compliment!” you huff, raising your arms into the air and slapping them back down again, defeated, before bringing up a single finger to wag in his direction, spitting your words out now. “And don’t you dare say anything about him being upset that I call you Daddy, because I will fucking end you.”

Nathan supresses a full-blown smile- at least, he tries, he really does.

“Honey?” he says more softly, at least avoiding riling you any further. “You know all this about me. I’m not sentimental. I say what I think. I’m... essentially a horny misanthrope.” Oh, fuck, he’s adopting that, isn’t he? He fucking would. He says it with pride already. “But... is that so bad? Didn’t we kinda bond over our enjoyment of fucking each other and avoiding everyone else?”

Your anger dissolves into tears which brim in your eyes.

“Yes,” you admit, burying your face in your hands.

“Then what is it I’m missing?” he says, sounding as exasperated as you feel.

“I thought you wanted to be part of my life, Nathan. That’s what you said. But... if you don’t want... this? Then what are we even doing? I make an effort for you at all those shitty business galas, you know. And believe me I don’t like the sexist dudebro CEOs I have to rub shoulders with... but I make an effort because it’s important to you, and you’re important to me. I just wanted the same from you.”

“I thought you liked those galas,” he frowns, missing the point all over again. Why are you even surprised anymore, honestly?

You raise your hands in the air in frustration and pace away from him, further out of the view and earshot of the other guests. He follows. By this point you aren’t even sure if you want him to follow.

“Yeah, of course you think so. Because you’re too busy having your ego massaged and winning awards to notice. And because I make an effort. I don’t even make your rivals cry into their pudding.”

Though you admit, even as you say it, that can’t imagine Musk weeping into his dessert because of you, even if you tried. Maybe your auntie is a little overinvested.

“The fucking aunt thing again? For real? Fuck’s sake,” Nathan says, gritting his teeth. “Fine, don’t come to the galas again. Settled.”

“Fuck, Nathan? It’s not about the fucking galas! Are you being purposefully obtuse?”

“No,” he growls, clenching his jaw tightly.

“Makes a fucking change,” you say.

“I wanted to be here,” he says adamantly. “I just wanted to be with you. All this other shit doesn’t fucking matter to me,” he states, sweeping his hand through the air, gesturing around him.

“That’s exactly my point! I’m not asking you to gush over the fucking floral arrangements. We can head back to the suite later and you can bitch all you like about how schmaltzy this whole fuckin’ thing is. But the problem is, I know you can be charming when it’s something that matters to you, Nathan. I’ve seen you schmooze investors, and partners. And this matters to me,” you say, stabbing your finger against your own chest, and then releasing a pent up breath. “It matters to me. That’s all I’m trying to tell you. I guess you just have to decide if I matter enough to you, or not.”

You are greeted by silence as he sets his jaw again, tendons slipping over bone, his gaze stern and impenetrable.

Fucking great. Just about sums it up.

You simply exhale an indignant breath.

You are tired.

Tired of this.

Your body sags. All of the fire saps from your voice, and you reach into your purse, your tone muted and dull. Unfeeling. Like him. Like one of his machines. 

“Look, Nathan, if you don’t want to be here, here’s the hotel key,” you say, slipping the fob into his palm. “Go away if you like. If you don’t want me, and all my human baggage, feel free to build yourself another fucking robot.”

You throw him a cold glance and you sweep away into the bathroom to wipe your tears away, and then to repeat the cycle by crying a few more.

By the time you surface again, Nathan is gone.

Despite how much it hurts you, you smooth your features and venture back into the throng, trying your best to put a brave face on it, for the happy couple’s sake. Nathan’s an obvious miss, to all of the guests in there who wonder why you are suddenly without your eccentric, billionaire boyfriend. But, most of all, he’s an obvious miss to you. To you, he’s simply your boyfriend, and you would have liked him by your side today. Today and all the days following, if you’re honest with yourself.

Still, perhaps he did play best alone. Perhaps Nathan just wasn’t suited to being anyone’s plus one; for weddings or for life.

You plaster a smile on your face as you link back up with an old childhood friend of yours, and leave your personal dramas to one side to concentrate on the day at hand... and, you have to admit, it does go a little more smoothly without him.

***

It is an hour or so later when you catch a glimpse of Nathan re-entering the room, out of the corner of your eye. You are shocked to see him again. You had expected him to retire back to the suite for the rest of the night, and to take the edge off his sorrows with the (entire) contents of the hotel mini bar.

Your stomach clenches, and you hope desperately that he hasn’t, in fact, done exactly that; raided the hotel mini bar and subsequently come back, determined to raise a scene.

You tense-up as you watch him beeline determinedly toward your father -the last thing you needed was for your dad to add “drunk” to his list of unkind descriptors of your man- and you watch the initial scene unfold from behind your fingers; however, you’re shocked when Nathan seems to politely approach the older man, locking eyes with a wide, charming smile. He almost looks... deferential? Apologetic? Not words you’d ever think to associate with Nathan Bateman.

From what you can observe, your father looks sceptical, and appears to respond brusquely at first; but you are shocked when Nathan extends a hand towards him and they shake firmly, as if reconciling. You watch slack-jawed as Nathan whisks your father to the bar to buy him a drink -declining one of his own- and you are especially surprised when you see the two of them engaged in what looks - from a distance, at least- a lot like a pleasant conversation.

You then watch, still slack-jawed, and feigning interest in your own company’s talking points and pleasantries, as Nathan circulates around the room, appearing to gradually make peace with everyone he upset earlier. Even reaching out to others he didn’t speak with before. Chatting happily to the bride and groom.

Has he made a robot version of himself? (If so, can you keep it?)

After a while, he finally meets your eyes from across the room, and he holds the connection for a moment, his gaze travelling over you from head to toe -but not hungrily, like usual; softly somehow, in a way which makes you feel revered and almost like you are floating. Like you are the only thing he can see in the room. The way he’s looking at you practically steals the air from your lungs, and then, as quickly as it came, he unceremoniously dips away again, to continue determindely on with his act of penitence.

Suddenly you feel the loss of him all over again.

He circulates around so many people in the room, until finally he comes to you, with a warm, broad hand resting on the middle of your back. Back to your side. The one person he has yet to make peace with, and the most important.

He comes over to you, looking every bit the ideal wedding date.  He looks dapper, suave, and impossibly handsome. He looks adoringly at you. 

“Can I borrow you, for this dance?” he asks, his usually calculating, inpenetrable eyes somehow softer and deeper.

The look he’s giving you almost makes you feel as though you are meeting him for the first time and being swept off your feet all over again... which, now that you think about it, never actually happened the first time... unless a hot, urgent fuck with your face being rammed into his keyboard counted as romance? To be fair, maybe it did, in Nathan Bateman Land.

“You sure, Bateman? It’s not disco,” you say, your lips curling up into a gently teasing smile as you draw attention to the cheesy power ballad being played. “Sure you’ve got the moves?” 

He simply nods at you, and extends his hand to you, and you let him lead you away into the floor of gently swaying couples, bathed in the fragmented light of a glitterball.

He wraps an arm firmly around you and tugs you close to him, and his other hand clasps yours gently in his as he rocks you, in time to the music. It is so unlike him that you open your mouth in disbelief to question it, and yet, Nathan is the one to speak first, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if his coming words are an effort.

“I’m... sorry,” he says, and although it seems to have pained him, his apology sounds genuine.

“Why, what did you say to my dad this time?” you idly tease, even as you genuinely wonder what he has been up to.

“Hi. I’m a little weird and intense,” he relays. “I’ve lived in a concrete house underground for a couple of years. We got off on the wrong foot, buddy. Let me get you a beer. Tell me more about your daughter. Did you know how fucking much I love her?”

You feel a surge of emotion when his voice cracks during his final sentence, tears gently swelling in your eyes. Sometimes, you just don’t know if Nathan feels things... aside from in the crotch area - it’s pretty clear he feels things for you there. With his emotions, he’s generally bottled-up and withholding, and it feels really good to hear it out said loud like that.

He loves you.

“Were those your exact words?” 

His mouth quirks up and he bites down playfully on his lower lip. “I’m paraphrasing, honey.”

You nod gently in understanding. “Okay. Well, why the change of heart?” you ask him, as he circles you majestically over the floor.

His brow furrows again, and he runs the pad of his thumb delicately along your jawline. “No change. Just realised. I can replace most of the people in my life with robots. But I can’t replace you.” He thinks for a moment. “I need you to know you’re important to me. That I want this. Days like this with you.”

The intensity of him destabilises you, and so you reach for humour as a defence. You throw your eyes around the room at the flowers and the decorations and the whole cheesy spectacle. “You want all of this? I’ll remember to play you some Celine Dion when we get home then.” Your tone is obviously teasing, and you expect him to balk at the notion of any of this. Including, and especially, the notion of marriage.

But, if there’s anything Nathan can be described as -your dad’s unkind descriptors aside- it’s unpredictable. Surprising.

“Honey, we won’t get married like this, give me a fuckin’ break.”

Your heart is beating pretty fast all of a sudden. A tentative happiness is blooming within your chest. Did he just hint at what you think he did?

“How would we do it?” you venture, biting down on your lip to supress the widest smile of your life. “Robot officials?”

“Up on the glacier, maybe. The fucking... bare minimum by the way of guests -if you’re insisting on anyone at all beyond the robot officials, that is. I’ll allow 3 people tops.”

You draw a lopsided flash of teeth from him as you laugh warmly.

“Generous of you,” you say, still smiling, looping your arms around his neck, and playing fondly with the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.

“You could wear snow boots,” he continues, “and then I could do you up against a tree.” He thinks a moment more. “Would be romantic. In the moonlight, maybe.”

You really can’t help but smile now. Nathan always is a little bit contrary. A little bit different. And he may not be the ideal wedding guest, but he’s your ideal plus one.

“Nathan Bateman,” you say in disbelief, as he dips his lips closer towards yours. “You do have emotions, after all.”

Tears fill your eyes again like jewels- happy tears this time though.

“Careful, honey. I’ve told you- if you get papped crying, BlueBook tanks. Then there’ll be nothing left for you by the time of the divorce.”

You throw him a gentle faux scowl, dismissing his comment.

Happily, you let your scowl fade into a soft, cautious smile. “Nathan. You want this? Really? Us, I mean?” 

“Like I said,” he admits softly. “Can’t replace everyone with robots. Definitely can’t replace you. So, if I have to talk to a bunch of losers every now and again for you...” he nods with conviction. “I’m in.” 

You bat his chest with your palm.

“Nathan!” you scold, earning another lopsided flash of teeth from him, but there’s no true malice behind it. Unless...

Unless you can think of a way you’d like him to make it up to you.

“Ah, shit. Ok, I messed up again,” he confesses, sucking air between his teeth. “Probably shouldn’t have called your family losers. But, honey,” he purrs, and you know that familiar lust-infused tone all too well. You note that his hands have gradually been wandering further and further down your back too - holding you more tightly. “Did I fix it enough for you to let me fix the rest with my lips?”

“Yes,” you nod, your voice suddenly breathy. 

He dips his lips towards yours, tasting you as if he can’t resist you. Kissing you as if no-one is watching. But it’s not hungry, like usual. It’s not overty sexual. It’s adoring. He kisses you and you feel revered. He kisses you in a way that would make anyone looking think the two of you belong together. That each of you is the perfect plus one to the other.

You melt into his kiss, and when you pull away there is a gentle sparkle in his eyes too. Not like starlight; no. His emotions are hidden further in the depths of him. More subtle. More subdued. But still equally dazzling. Something like the wash of moonlight upon deep waters.

When you look at him, hungry, he cocks a single eyebrow at you.

There’s the Nathan you know and love. There’s that wicked glint in his eyes, returning yours.

“Holy shit. Did I fix it enough for you to let me take you outside and finger you in the orchard?” he asks, voice deep and wonderfully dirty.

“We’ll see,” you say, ticking-up an eyebrow in turn, and you’re surprised when his expression grows serious again, momentarily.

“Just so you know. It’s the flowers and the frills and the fucking pretentious shmaltz I don’t like. But, if you wanted it, I’d do it for you.”

“Really?” you say, eyes somehow still shining.

“If it’s really that fucking important to you, then yeah.” He takes a deep breath, as if his next words will take effort. “The idea of being with you forever is... terrifyingly okay, actually,” he says, and although the words were hard to say, Nathan only ever says what he’s thinking. That’s one of the things you love about him.

You love him as he is, and you wouldn’t want him to be someone he’s not.

You scrunch your nose up in dismissal, suddenly knowing exactly what you want. “Nah.”

“Nah?”

“Your way sounds perfect for me, Bateman. Mountain wedding and a bang against a tree?” you smile. “Don’t you know I’m just a horny misanthrope too?

He smiles right back at you, and it’s loving as much as it is devilish. “That’s why we’re perfect for each other, I guess.”

“Now, come on,” you giggle deviously, darkly, leading him by the hand. “Let’s ditch these losers and you can fingerbang me in the orchard” 

Nathan follows you gladly, and his eyes definitely follow your ass in that dress.

He might not be everyone’s favourite wedding guest, but right now, you could care less. He is your favourite, and that’s all that matters.

What’s more, the idea of being with him forever? With Nathan Bateman? Well, it is... terrifyingly okay, actually.

[veronicamarsconfessions]

I was hugely excited by the announcement that a fourth season of teen noir show Veronica Mars was going to be made, nearly fifteen years after the show’s initial air date (and cancellation after three seasons), and five years after the crowdfunded movie came out. As soon as the show dropped on Hulu (or Stan, if you’re in Australia like me) – a week earlier than initially slated, I rushed to watch it. And I was so distraught by the ending that it genuinely took two days for my mood to return to something even vaguely resembling ‘okay’.

For those of you who haven’t seen it *SPOILERS FROM HERE ON*,

season four has Veronica (Kristen Bell) chasing down a serial bomber who seems to be trying to destroy the Spring Break business in Neptune. It turns out that the first bomb was set by property developer ‘Big’ Dick Casablancas, trying to destroy the Spring Break business in order to buy the waterfront properties cheaply, and the subsequent bombs were set by a pizza delivery man, Penn Epner (Patton Oswalt), who fancies himself a detective and is out to find glory after he is initially ridiculed for his public accusation of an incorrect suspect. The season itself had several issues (one of them being some seriously murky motivations behind Epner’s behaviour, like, if he really was that much of a genius, why was he a pizza delivery man?, and that the people ultimately behind the crimes are more or less ‘hidden in plain sight’ all along, which is a disappointing departure from the way the initial seasons cleverly hid the villain until quite late in proceedings). However, the issue for which there is not enough therapy in the world to appease me is the season’s last-minute killing off of reformed bad-boy and Veronica’s long-time boyfriend, Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring), right after they finally got married.

Series creator and showrunner, Rob Thomas, justified this decision by saying ‘I know this seems crazy or harsh but Veronica is at her best when she’s an underdog and I don’t know that there’s much to root for if she’s now got a perfect relationship. I need to keep her fighting and I need to keep her a little bit uncomfortable in order to have a show. There’s nothing funny or interesting about perfection.’

Except that’s a deeply flawed understanding of how relationships function, and a deeply messed up thing to push on to people.

It’s fair to acknowledge that once the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ is resolved, TV shows often decline in quality, or at the very least, significantly depart from the original formula which made them into such beloved hits at their beginning. But there are two significant issues with this: First, the assumption that TV shows must remain the same in order to be good. There are some interesting observations that the job of the sitcom episode (in particular) is to return all characters to more or less their original starting points. While that is broadly true, TV shows, like life, need to evolve in order to stay interesting, and as across seasons, audiences grow alongside the characters they watch evolve and mature.

Nevertheless, it was fair for Thomas to note that the characterisation of Veronica is someone who is embittered and cynical about people’s fidelity and inherent goodness  – after all, when we first meet her at the age of sixteen, her best friend has been brutally murdered, she’s been raped, her alcoholic mother has upped and left, and her adored father and moral compass has been socially ostracised for a) doing his job and b) being not super wealthy. It’s a lot. Veronica’s very understandable trust issues are compounded by the moonlighting she does as a P.I where, to she regularly sees people cheating on one another and generally behaving in unpleasant ways. So it’s reasonable to point out that for Veronica, the notion of the ‘happily ever after’ is a deeply uncomfortable one. But to keep her in the same mindset as she was at aged 16 is to deny her the capacity to grow as a character.

It’s fair that there was a desire to avoid repeating the pattern previously established (withdrawn/bitter etc), but – and here is my ultimate point – that could have been avoided.

Some of the most complex and interesting storylines come from couples who get together and have to navigate relationships; compromising to fit together, find a way to make it work. Think about the evolution of Niles and Daphne’s relationship in Frasier (and leave aside some of the aspects to his earlier infatuation with her that seem distinctly distasteful in a post-#metoo world). While much of the humour between them in earlier seasons was because of his unrealised ardour for her, after they became a couple, the hardships they navigated through being a couple, and the deepening richness of their relationship that was both romantic and based in friendship, produced some truly hilarious moments. Similarly, one of my (and our fabulous Chief Nerd, Elise’s) favourite TV shows, Chuck, *SPOILER* has the two leads get together in season 3. The show was no lesser for that fact because as Chuck and Sarah’s relationship deepened, they explored facets of themselves that they hadn’t previously shown – it provided more material for the writers, not less.

One of my favourite articles on the ending of Veronica Mars, season four, pointed out that Logan has the most interesting character development because he works to better himself – he has come a long way from the miscreant teenager who organised ‘bum fights’, and he had the potential to become an even more interesting character. How this interacted with Veronica’s cynicism could have provided significant fodder for more story.

But, giving full credit to Rob Thomas for a moment here, the show is called Veronica Mars, not Logan Echolls. So the decision to axe Logan was made to push Veronica’s character development forward, especially given the shows position as a gender-flipped noir which so often has the embittered, cynical detective dealing with the ongoing pain of a tragically killed love.

But the problem is that I can’t actually see how this is going to do anything but ossify Veronica’s primary characteristics: bitter, a hardnosed and reckless desire to catch the bad guy at any cost. Moreover, in most of the noir detective stories, this love has died before we meet the hard-bitten detective.

Thomas said to The Hollywood Reporter, “Moving forward, we’re going to really build around [the idea that] the case is the thing and less of the soap opera of Veronica’s life.” Except Veronica Mars is all about character. Her interactions with her father, Keith (Enrico Colantoni) and the genuine bond of affection between them evokes some of the show’s most poignant interactions. Her internal struggle when the pursuit of justice comes up against questions of morality is inherent grounded in her character. One of its most interest aspects across the years is that Veronica is often wrong. She falsely accuses people (including Logan himself), she behaves badly, she takes her friends for granted, and she can be reckless to the point where she endangers herself and someone has to come in and rescue her (case in point: wandering into the base of an Irish gang that had a particular grudge against her father). So to strip away the elements to the story that allow for depiction and consideration of those complexities would be to lose much of the show’s point.

There’s also a part of me that feels the way in which Logan was killed feels personal. Logan and Veronica were never initially meant to get together, but in the first episodes, the chemistry between the characters, and Kristen Bell and Jason Dohring was so profound that it was written in. I might be putting on my tin foil hat to say this, but it feels as though Thomas resented the manner in which LoVe became such a pivotal part of the Veronica Mars ‘brand’. What really underpins that for me is that the way the series sent off other characters was considered, and gave them a certain ‘exit’. The way in which Logan was killed off feels almost like an afterthought, made more so by some of the questions that arise from the manner. How did he know that she would be in it when it actually blew up? Moreover, the convenience of him leaving a voicemail for his therapist about why he wanted to marry Veronica (why exactly would he call his therapist to tell him about his epiphany? Who has that kind of relationship with their therapist?), and this woman’s decision to keep it from Veronica for a year seems weirdly contrived. Because it was.

However, to be fair, one could claim that the season mistreated some of its other characters, too. Tina Majorino who plays Cindy ‘Mac’ Mackenzie specifically noted that she did not want to return because she did not want her character to be sidelined. Similarly, the complexity to Eli ‘Weevil’ Navaro’s character was stripped away, as was the depth of his relationship with Veronica. What’s worse is that this could have been a really interesting storyline; why he decided to walk away from the court case which would have seen him awarded with compensation for what happened to him in the movie. While we are told that his wife left him along with his child, prompting him to return to his old gang-running ways, the depth of his grief and the reputable life he lost were never really portrayed. Honestly, I would have preferred that rather than the convoluted storyline that involved Mexican cartel hitmen.

But beyond my argument as a writer as to why Logan’s death was a totally unnecessary element to bring in, it also feels like a real slap in the face to fans. I’ve previously talked about the relationship this show has with its fans. Realistically, season 4…hell, the movie, only existed because of the love and support fans showed the show.

Any narrative material exists to interact with fans. Obviously, there is a fine line that can cross into blatant pandering, and there is also a trend that offers a ‘gritty’ or ‘sad’ end (ie the tragic death of the lover), but it’s a balance.

The Veronica Mars movie was very much fan service – it was, after all, fan funded. Much of the movie’s contents and storyline were determined by what Thomas was seeing from fan comments on social media, noting “I did have an idea of things people wanted to see, characters I wanted to get an appearance in, whether it felt extraneous or not.” He added, “there’s no way in the world we would have had a fan-funded movie and I would have killed Logan,” he added.

In the same interview, he said, “I fear that leaning into the high school soap that the show started out as is a losing proposition, that it will start feeling nostalgic rather than vital. If Kristen [Bell] and I want to make more of these Veronica Mars mysteries, I think it’s going to survive best as a true mystery show with a badass PI at the center of it, and I think that works better if the PI doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

Yet for a show whose who schtick was challenging the noir detective genre, it seems the prospect that someone fundamentally gritty and damaged can also have a relationship that the struggle to be healthy was simply a bridge too far.

And at the crux of it, what really frustrates me – as a fan, and as a writer – is that for Thomas, it simply felt too hard to give Logan and Veronica an enduring relationship, and it if wasn’t too difficult, then he perceived it destroyed some fundamental part of the show by making it emotionally sappy. If that’s the dichotomy in which Thomas thinks, then Veronica Mars is no longer the show which attracted its die-hard following of fans and may as well be a different show with a similar premise.

[chikabiddy]

I made a thing, first ever posted fic.

A/N - I made a thing, first ever posted fic. I intend to continue, so I will post more if it is enjoyed. :)          

Logan was perched at the edge of his bed, controller in hand, his phone chimed.

Dick: Dude, u comin 2 the prty

Logan: Not rlly feeln the prty sprt

Dick: Booze n babes. Wth else is thr 2 feel

Logan: Come on, man. U no how it is when daddy dearest is home

Dick: Thght he was in NY

Logan: Got back early for some “bonding”

Dick: All the more reason 2 get out of the house

Logan: Good point

Dick: So?

Logan: I’ll try to make an appearance

           As much as Logan would rather not deal with all his 09er “friends”, Dick did have a point. Getting out of the house, and forget it all wasted, might be just what the night needed. He sighed and shut down his game. He was losing anyway. While grabbing a sweater to throw over his shirt Logan pondered the best way to get father approval on his night out. He doubted “sleepover with Dicky” would grant him any favors. He reached up to pull at the hairs on the back of his head. Maybe his dad would be in a good mood, otherwise he would just have to sneak out and deal with the fallout later. He was getting good at that: dealing with the fallout. He grabbed his phone and headed to his door when a ringtone he never thought he would hear sounded from his phone. He stared at the caller id for a full 5 seconds before he believed what he knew he saw: heartless bitch. Veronica Mars.

           His instinct was to ignore the call. No need to reopen doors better left welded shut. But curiosity, as they say, caused weak willed men to respond to fiery blonds.

           He flipped his phone open, pausing a moment. Not sure what to expect, then went with the trusty usual: “You’d think if hell froze over it would be on the news.”

           She didn’t say anything back, but if he wasn’t mistaken there were the telltale sounds of a scuffle happening. He raised an eyebrow; not something he would have imagined Veronica doing. But, well new Veronica, spikes and leather and combat boots Veronica, he really had no idea. He thought he heard a voice, and he was certain there was some kind of struggle happening. His heart began to quicken. He wanted to say something, anything. He was frozen. What the fuck. This has to be a joke. Logan was just about to hang up, or cuss Veronica out. He hadn’t decided, when he heard it. Definitely a voice, and most definitely not Veronica’s.

**********

Taught muscles reminded Veronica just how long she had crouched, not daring to move. It felt like hours since she last heard the tale-tell sign of boots on pavement, but with adrenaline coursing through her, slowing her mental awareness and ruining her generally keen judgment, who could tell. Thump, thump, thump – the painful sound of blood pounding blocked out her sense of hearing. Between that and the adrenaline, she was running pretty blind.

           Deep breaths. She willed her pulse slower. Thump… thump….. thump. She could almost make out the rushing of traffic. Could she chance movement? Were they lying in wait, ready for her to slip up, show herself? What she needed was an extra set of eyes. An extra set of hands. Can’t call Wallace, his mom would kill me if anything happened to him. Can’t call dad, he’d kill me for getting here. Weevil has helped me out a time or two, yeah. He’s the one to call. But as she thumbed through her contacts she stopped at “L”. Get a grip, Mars. Now way Logan even answers the call. Veronica moved to continue down the when she hears it: definitely footsteps. Her breath catches and her all her muscles tense. But she can feel them burning. If she is caught now she won’t be able to make any kind of quick escape.

           Veronica never really believed in God, but if there is any kind of higher power in the Universe she sure hopes it is listening. The pace of the footsteps quicken; getting louder, nearer. Thump, thump, thump – her blood rushes back to her ears. She squeezes her eyes firmly closed, hoping to focus on the steps. Hoping to predict who it is or whether they have spotted her. Her legs are burning. She wishes she could move, just sit back a little. But any sound, any tiny sound… and the footsteps stop. Far too close for comfort. Move away. Please, just move away.

           Firm fingers clench around her upper arm, forceful and painful. Veronica is yanked from her hiding spot. Her fingers clench around her phone as a scream forces its way up her throat. Calloused hands cover her mouth. She bits down, but the hand grips the pressure points in her jaw. Unwelcome tears stink her eyes.

           “Quite now,” he hisses in her ear. “This could be much more unpleasent.”

           Fear cut off her normal snarky remark. But she was still Veronica Mars. No way was she taking the easy way out. She slammed her elbow where she hoped his solar plexus would be, and found him to be unforgiving. A soft grunt and the hand tightened on her face, cutting off her muffled screams. She saved her breath; she’d need her energy for something else. Think, Veronica. Think! She went limp. Let him drag her a while, it would give her time to prepare an escape.

           “That’s it?” he chuckled. “That’s all the fight the great Veronica Mars has? What pussies.”

           Go ahead, get confident. I’m not even close to done. The guy grunted as he lifted her higher, to wrap his arm around her waist. His other hand slipped a little on her mouth, giving her the chance she needed. She bit down around his finger, hard. Blood pooled into her mouth, but she clung on. He yelled, his arm dropped away from her waist and his hand from mouth. She dropped to the ground, rolled away from him, and scrambled to her feet. Move, Mars. Move. Veronica stumbled forward, only to be pulled back by the same iron hand. Might be my only chance. She screamed, as loud and as hard as she could.

           “Stupid bitch!” He brought his fist down, clocking the side of her temple. The world went dark, and left Veronica lifeless.

********

           Shit, fuck, fuck… What do I even do here. What the fuck. What the FUCK. Logan’s hand tightened around his phone, listening harder, barely breathing. His brain was short circuiting. This is some kind of sick joke. What the fuck Veronica. He stayed silent, still listening, praying he was right. Praying it was a twisted joke from an ex- bestfriend. He heard the voice again:

           “That’s it?” a dark chuckle made his spine tingle. “That’s all the fight the great Veronica Mars has? What pussies.”

           Please, God be a joke. He heard a grunt, then sounds of feet dragging on the ground. Anytime now, Mars. Fuck, be a joke. He heard a yell, and shifting gravel. Veronica let out a scream which stood his hairs on end.

           “Stupid bitch!” A thud, and silence.

           Not again, not again. Veronica. God, no. Not again. The silence chilled him more than anything else.

           “Veronica?” God, please. “Veronica? Veronica!” What do I do? God, fuck. What do I do?

           Logan was a man of action, but this was far beyond school yard scuffles. This was out of his depth. But, Mars… Sheriff Mars. He needed to tell the Sheriff. He sprinted from his room and flew threw the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw his dad at the counter.

           “Logan. It’s late. What are you doing up?”

           “Uh, dad. I, uh. I just got a call from Veronica and she told me she’s in trouble. She, uh, she got stranded. Car ran out of gas. I was just going to pick her up, get her home. You know?”

           “Oh. Well I’m glad to see your looking out for your friends. Just, call when you pick her up and don’t stay out too late.”

           “Yeah, thanks dad. I’ll do that. Uhm, I’ll see you in the morning.”

           Logan practically sprinted to his truck, barely waiting for the engine to start before throwing it into reverse. He wanted to call Veronica, but what if that made it worse. Could it get any worse? He never drove so fast in his life, but he made it. Sheriff Mars would be home. He had to be home. He tried not to pound the door down as he knocked.

           “Sheriff Mars? Are you home? Please, it’s about Veronica,” he didn’t stop knocking, even when it seemed no one was home. “Sheriff?”

           A door to the right opened. “Excuse me, could you keep it down? You’ll wake the whole building.”

           “Please, I’m looking for Sheriff Mars, I think Veronica is in trouble. Do you know where he is?”

           “Well, if he isn’t home he is probably still at work. His PI business in town?”      

           “Do you know where that is?”

           “Downtown. Right across the street from that Chinese place.”

           “I know it, thanks.” Logan rushed back to the Xterra, cursing the lost time. How much time did Veronica have?

           Logan drove down the street, slower than he would like, but he couldn’t risk missing the office. He just hopped he hadn’t missed the Sheriff. Mars Investigations. There it is. He pulled over and jumped from the truck. The light was on in what he hoped was the office, so he took the stairs three at a time. At the top of the stairs was a glass pane Mars Investigations printed in big white lettering. The office door was locked, so he knocked.

           “Sheriff Mars? Are you in there? Please, I think Veronica is in trouble.” Logan called through the door. He heard heavy footsteps move through the office.

Locks clicked open, and the door cracked an inch. “Logan? What about Veronica?”

           “She called me, I think she’s in trouble.”

           The Sheriff ushered him into the office and set him down on an old, dusty couch. He crossed his arms and gave Logan his best Sheriff stare. Logan pulled his sleeves down over his hands and fidgeted with his fingers.

           “I was, uh, not important. I got a call from Veronica, but… it wasn’t normal. She never said anything. And I, um. It sounded like maybe a fight. I think, God, I think I heard her scream.”

           Logan’s legs were moving a mile a minute. He needed to get up, and he needed to now. He jumped to his feet. “Sheriff, I know something happened. Please, you have to believe me. I know she is in trouble, and, I. Shit, uhm. I can show you she called me. Please.” He met the Sheriff’s eyes for the first time since he started talking. Sheriff Mars had lowered his arms, his face gone pale. Logan didn’t know what else to say, he just held his breath, praying the Shariff believed him.

           “Logan, are you sure it was Veronica. Are you sure you heard Veronica?” His voice was off-key, strangled.

           “I, shit, I don’t know. I never heard her speak. But, god, it sounded like her.”

           “She was helping me on a case. Nothing special, some surveillance. Have you tried to call her back?”

           “I… no. I wanted to, but… what if that made it worse? I just, I didn’t…”

           “No, I understand,” Sheriff Mars pulled his phone out and dialed Veronica.

Logan heard it ring twice, then “You’ve reached Veronica…”

“Her phone is off,” the Sheriff pocketed his phone and turned to Logan. “Thank you for coming to me. I’ve got it from here. You head home,” he moved to what Logan assumed was his office and grabbed keys from a drawer.

“Sheriff, I just…” Sheriff Mars moved passed Logan toward the door. “Please, I have to know. I can’t… not again.”

The Sheriff turned to look at him. “Logan. Veronica is not Lilly.”

Logan crumpled and lowered himself to the couch. “Can I… Can I please just wait here? Until you know, until she is back?”

The Sheriffs eyes softened, and he laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “You should go home. But, I will call you. As soon as I know.”

[ayma-nidiot]

Don’t Speak Their Names - Shrimpshipping fic Chapter 7

This chapter on AO3 can be found here.

Chapter 7 - Notions of Love

Weevil found himself staying more often at Rex’s house, and being the cunning young man he was, he always had an excuse ready for Roach. “Oh, I’m training to duel,” and “oh, I’m out on a business meeting” were his two favourite excuses. Despite how poor the Raptor family was, for once in his life, Weevil felt a true family life at that household. 

Nobody recognized this softening demeanour more than Rex, who even at school found himself thinking about the bug duelist more often. Weevil had just left the mobile home on the day of the finals, and Rex resolved to follow him soon after. “Aww, he was so happy just being here…”

“But you know, he is your opponent in the regionals finals,” Tricera cut in, sitting next to her stepson on the living room couch.

“I know that, Mama.” Rex flipped the channels, and landed on National Geographic. “But I’d rather not go. I’d much rather watch him beat the shit out of someone else.”

“Ooh, sounds like someone is in love.” Tricera cooed.

This notion had never even occurred to Rex. “L-Love?! Why would I be in love with a pinworm like him?!”

“He’s all you ever talk about.” Tricera made a quick trip to the kitchen to get popcorn, then returned to the couch. “Here, you want some?”

“Gladly.” Rex dove his fist into the popcorn bowl. “And aren’t you a bit old to be teasing someone about crushes?”

“And aren’t you a bit young to be talking to your mama that way?” Even when scolding her stepson, Tricera still held a jovial tone. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you get going to finals yourself, instead of loafing on the couch?”

In truth, Rex wanted to give Weevil plenty of time to get ahead, to avoid having to walk with him side-by-side. And now, he figured that Weevil was far enough ahead for them not to meet along the way to finals. “Yeah, yeah.”

Before Rex could take a step outside, Ptera came out of the master bedroom with Rex’s deck in hand. “I think that this would be a little important for the finals. Maybe.”

“Th-Thanks, Mom.” With that, Rex put his deck in one of his vest pockets - and was certainly surprised to see Weevil waiting for him as soon as he closed the door.

“You certainly took your time getting ready.” Weevil laughed. 

“Shaddup!” Rex gritted his teeth, and despite how the both of them were supposed to be at the venue in only thirty minutes, he felt no sense of urgency. “After you. ”

Weevil raised an eyebrow, but took his cue anyway, and began walking forward. “Are you really sure you care about this match, if you’re taking your sweet time getting to the place?”

The two of them didn’t get very far before Rex stopped again, just short of the crosswalk, and placed both hands on his chest. We only left the house 15 minutes ago… So, why is my heart racing?

“Um, Earth to Rex!” Weevil got right in Rex’s face, and poked him lightly in the chest.

No, don’t get too close! Rex turned away, hoping to the gods that Weevil couldn’t feel his heartbeat. “W-Well, would you look at that? The light just turned green!”

“Don’t just stand there, then! We’re going to be late!”

To their fortune, the boys weren’t late; nevertheless, the announcer of this match sounded nonplussed. “Gentlemen, the match starts in five minutes. I was going to give you time to run to the restroom and such, but you barely have time to shuffle each other’s decks. Do that, and head immediately to your dueling platforms.”

“It’s all your fault…” Weevil impatiently held out his deck for Rex to shuffle.

“You should have just went ahead, then. Oh, and just so you know, you’re going down.” Rex sounded tough for a spell. But he couldn’t help but lightly brush his fingers against Weevil’s at the deck exchange, and let them linger for a while.

“Are you just going to stall some more, or…?”

“M-My bad!” Rex hastily shuffled Weevil’s deck, handed it back, and immediately headed for his dueling platform. 

“See you on the platforms.” With that, Weevil walked off while giving Rex a wave.

It’s apparent that he doesn’t feel the same… Rex stared at his hands as an elevator began to take him to his platform. And-

Rex slapped himself to awaken from his thoughts. Wait, what am I saying? There’s no way… There’s no way I’m in love with Weevil… Am I?

He dropped the matter when he heard the crowd behind him cheer “Go Rex!” and “squash that bug!,” among other colourful insults.

“Haha, yeah right…” Rex spoke out loud as he had the first move in the duel. “And even if we were together, I’m sure I’d lose whatever respect I have as a duelist.”

“Huh?” Weevil held out his ear, not quite making out what Rex just said. “Did I just hear you say ‘I’m going to be bug juice?’”

“I think you meant ‘time to stomp this chumpasaurus.’” Rex drew his starting hand.

As soon as that announcer’s “duel standby” reached Rex’s ears, he put all notions of love out of his mind, focusing only on defeating his opponent. For a while, he had the upper hand… Then Weevil did. Then he had the upper hand once again. The projected outcome of the duel kept going back and forth as the finalists gradually expended almost all of their Life Points - and cards.

That was when Rex drew one of his strongest cards, Two-Headed King Rex. Hah! I don’t even need to Fusion Summon Bracchio-Raidus to defeat you!

“All right, Weevil! Consider yourself dinosaur chow! ...Your move.”

“Hehe… And all I’ve got is this weak little bug.” Weevil summoned one of his weakest monsters, Basic Insect, in attack mode.

Rex revelled in the cheering that followed what he believed to be Weevil’s swan song. Then he made his next move. “King Rex, let’s take this championship! Stomp ‘em!” 

“Hehehe…” Weevil was unfazed by Rex’s attempt to intimidate him. “You’ve attacked your way into my trap! But then, how would your tiny dinosaur brain know? When an enemy attacks, my Vortex activates!”

“Oh, no! It’s a trap card!”

No shit! “Which totally traps your King Rex in its inescapable embrace!”

Son of a bitch! Rex could only watch as Weevil’s trap card rendered Two-Headed King Rex powerless. “No! My King Rex!”

“And while he’s trapped there, I’ll upgrade my Basic Insect by giving him Insect Armor With Laser Cannon! Not such a weak little bug after all, hmm?” Weevil appeared sly for a brief second before ferociously yelling, “Attack! ...And King Rex is… extinct.”

“Aaaah!” Rex’s eyebrows twitched as his Life Points reached zero, and he looked to the floor in shame. “Aww, beaten by a bug.”

As both of their dueling platforms lowered, Rex ignored the cheers for “our newest champion,” as the announcer put it. He ignored Weevil holding up his deck in triumph and basking in the limelight. He got so sick of watching Weevil enjoy all of this attention that he turned for the exit.

But what he didn’t ignore was the announcer saying, “And now, to present your victory trophy is Maximillion Pegasus, the creator of Duel Monsters himself!”

Rex stopped in his tracks as a man with silver hair and (apparently) only one functional eye appeared from a trap door in the floor. “Eh?”

“Congratulations on your victory, Mr. Underwood. I look forward to seeing you and Mr. Raptor at Duelist Kingdom.”

So, this is the man who created all those cards of my beautiful greenhouse insects… Weevil blushed. “Y-Yes… Thank you, sir.”

No… Rex’s glare hardened on Pegasus. Get your hands off of him, you disgusting piece of-

In his anger, Rex didn’t notice Weevil walking up to him, that was until the bug duelist got within two feet. “Hahaha! In your face, dino brain!”

“...” Rex nearly crushed his deck in his hand, and forced his deck into one of his vest pockets. “Shut… up…” he whispered too quietly for Weevil to hear.

“What’s the matter? Embarrassed that I showed everyone that your dumb dinos are nothing but weak little salamanders?” Weevil certainly didn’t expect for Rex to hug him out of nowhere - and in front of a bunch of cameras, no less. “R-Rex…?”

So… So, it’s true… Rex didn’t care anymore if Weevil could feel - or hear - his heart beating so fast. He didn’t care, either, what people thought of him now stroking Weevil’s hair. I’ve finally realized that I-

Rex didn’t even care what people might say of the kiss he was about to steal from Weevil. But before he could, Pegasus cut in with, “Good try out there, Mr. Raptor! You’re invited to Duelist Kingdom, and with a good room, too! I look forward to your-”

Rex now shook in anger as he felt tears about to come on. “Do you ever stop talking? Good gods, man!”

So were Rex’s last words before he turned around, running straight for home. Unfortunately for the citizens of Domino City, it had begun to rain hard. But Rex didn’t care, and allowed himself to get soaked as he slowed down when he could see his house.

He didn’t even need to open the door for Tricera to greet him and allow him inside. “Goodness, Rex, you’re soaked! Didn’t you read the forecast for-”

Tricera stopped talking when she noticed that Rex’s face wasn’t wet just because of the rain. “Sweetie, I saw the duel on the T.V. Your mom’s at work now, but I’m sure she saw it on the bar T.V.s. I know that this loss hit you hard, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Mama…” Rex finally began to talk, but didn’t stop crying. “You… You were right all along…”

“About what?” Tricera spoke as she wrapped a freshly washed-and-dried towel around her stepson.

Rex buried his face in Tricera’s chest. “I’m��� I’m in love with Weevil! I’m madly in love with him! But… hic… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell him! If I did… I can’t even begin to imagine what the world would think of him! Or what he would think of me! ”

“Oh, sweetie, sweetie…” Tricera stroked Rex’s hair, even through all the wet tangles. “Shh… You guys will be fine. You can tell him whenever you’re ready. Just know that no matter what happens - even if the whole world hates you - your mom and I will always be here. Now, you sit on the couch and get warm while I make you some hot cocoa.”

“Thank you, Mama…” Rex stopped crying as he took a seat on the living room couch, wrapping the towel even tighter. Little did he know that about three years later, he would confess to Weevil with pleading eyes, praying to Hathor that his racing heart would convey the sincerity of his love.