#post detour

[jodithann827]

Wine and Cheese 1/1

Rated Teen / Story on AO3 / @today-in-fic

Summary: For Characteristically_Exuberant.

This story is for Characteristically Exuberant as a part of the One In Five Billion Exchange. I was ecstatic to get this prompt because Detrour happens to be my favorite episode of the series. It's the first episode of the X-FIles I ever watched (back when it first aired) and I was hooked instantly. I hope I did your prompt justice!

As always, I couldn't have gotten this story done without the fabulous beta from SisterSpooky1013.

Prompt:

Detour-based ep. Either an AU where Mulder stays for Scully's impromptu wine and cheese par-tay (what could happen?) OR a post-ep scene where they address the fact that Scully brought alcohol to his bedroom and he ditched her! Perhaps they have another attempt at the wine and cheese and... whatever.

*****

“Since we won’t be making it to the conference,” she says, holding up a small tray with several different types of cheese and two mini bottles of alcohol.

“Partaaay,” he responds with a smile, turning and giving her his full attention.

“However, I must remind you this goes against the Bureau’s policy of male and female agents consorting in the same motel room while on assignment,” she continues, moving further into the room. She opens one of the bottles, unscrewing the cap quickly.

“Try any of that tailhook crap on me, Scully, I’ll kick your ass. Pop quiz…”

“Miss, would you like a drink?” Scully wakes with a jolt, looking up to see a friendly-faced flight attendant offering her several different beverage choices. Dazed, she shakes her head, allowing the hostess to move along.

Scully pauses to take in her surroundings. She wiggles a bit, feeling the rough plastic beneath her, as she’s seated in the middle seat of a Boeing 747. An older woman knitting away is to her left in the window seat, and to her right, where Mulder should be, he is nowhere to be found. She gently rubs the sleep from her eyes, exhaustion finally taking over after the harrowing events of the past few days in a secluded forest in Florida.

“He went to the bathroom about a minute before you woke up,” she hears. Looking across the row, she sees Agent Stonecypher. The agents boarded a plane a few hours ago, bound for DC.

“Thanks,” Scully acknowledges, sitting up straighter in her seat.

“You must be exhausted,” Stonecypher comments. Scully, not one for idle chit-chat, but also not having the energy to put a stop to the conversation, nods her head.“That was so brave of you,” Stonecypher continues while Scully fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Staying up all night, keeping watch over Agent Mulder. And to think, Mike and I were in the middle of creating the scavenger hunt for our team at the conference while you both were fighting for your lives.” Scully nods again, still in a fog, and unsure about using her voice. Thankfully, at the same moment, she sees her partner walking back toward their seats.

“Did I miss anything?” Mulder asks once he is settled back in his seat, blocking her view of the kind yet clueless agent.

Shaking her head she tells him, “Not really.”

“We should be landing soon,” he informs her. “I spoke with Skinner before we boarded. He gave us a directive to go straight home and not come in for a few days—especially you.” Scully rolls her eyes. Mulder continues, “What? I think all he meant was that you’re still getting back into the swing of work after your remission. I think he just wants you to take it easy.”

“Yet you’re the one with the injury,” she glances towards his shoulder. “I’m not arguing, trust me. I won’t turn down a few days off work,” she says. Mulder immediately places a hand on her forehead, which in turn makes Scully break into a grin. “Will you stop?” she playfully chastises.

“You were mumbling in your sleep,” he tells her.

“Hmm?”

“Before I left for the bathroom, you were mumbling in your sleep,” he repeats.

“Oh. I uh, I don’t remember,” she feigns disinterest, and gratefully he changes the subject.

“Do you want to go back to sleep for a bit before we land? My shoulder is yours to sleep on, even with the drool,” he teases while her hand automatically goes to the corner of her mouth.

She quickly shakes her head while turning slightly away from him, wanting to gather her thoughts.

I went to Mulder’s room with wine and cheese. I initiated an interaction with my platonic partner with the gesture of more, and he didn’t pick up on it. What was I thinking? What was my intention? What did I think would happen, or want to happen? Maybe his lack of response is the best outcome?

Since her cancer went into remission, Scully has begun looking at life through a different lens. Yes, she often challenges Mulder on their day-to-day work, sometimes complaining, rationally, about wanting to get a life, about being at a standstill. However, after her cancer, some other thoughts and feelings occupy her mind; many of those thoughts involving her partner and best friend. He has been amazing to her, more so than in the early days of their partnership. He seems to be more attentive, since the cancer. Offering to take her to doctor's appointments, making her leave the office when he knew she’d done too much, holding her hair back when she was sick from the medication, just thinking of a few. He’s always been supportive and kind, but his character during this time has been just different. As much as she hated depending on anyone, especially him, she came to rely on him in the same way she relies on air. Once she got over her own self-doubt and insecurities, once she finally let him in, she drew the only logical conclusion; he was her strength, her stay in the darkness. She knew no other man would ever take the place he inhabited in her heart. Somewhere along the way, she fell hopelessly in love with Fox Mulder.

Maybe I need to forget it happened, she thinks with a cloud of sadness washing over her. Is that even a possibility? Can I forget how much he means to me? Can I go back to thinking about pre-cancer Mulder?

Scully is so lost in her thoughts she neglects to hear the captain announce their descent. She feels Mulder’s hand brush hers. Damn him for knowing me so well , she thinks. Knowing her disdain for flying, Mulder always makes it a point to hold her hand, if possible, during take-off and landing. He’s been doing it from almost day one. Damn the feelings he evokes in her and damn her physical reaction. She never used to get goosebumps when he clasped her fingers. Her heart never used to thump in her chest, and she definitely never thought about more of him from just a simple gesture.

All this because of some stupid wine and cheese that we didn’t get to enjoy because of Mulder’s one-track mind. Teambuilding and communication seminars can suck it, she thinks to herself as the plane descends, all the while Mulder holds on tightly.

Crap .

***********

It was too much for her, he admonishes himself as he sits on his couch. It’s quiet in the apartment. No TV or radio for background noise. Mulder sits with the gentle sound of his fish tank and his inner thoughts. He thinks about the case they just wrapped. On one hand, it was amazing, albeit terrifying, but on the other, spending the day and night traipsing around the forest chasing an invisible and unknown assailant was not how he pictured spending his time the last few days. That was the last thing Scully needed after returning to work after her remission. What would have happened if they hadn’t been rescued? What if they had been attacked, worse than the fate he suffered? She’d only been back to work, field work at least, for two weeks before Skinner had suggested the conference. Something easy, Skinner told him, so she can ease back into work.

Mulder shakes his head as he leans back against his couch. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes. He’s picturing the woods, the darkness, and Scully. Sweet Scully. His Scully, who stayed awake all night in order to protect him. His Scully, who tried to start a fire to keep them warm. His Scully, who sang to him upon request and made an off-handed joke about sleeping bags. Mulder replays the scene over and over in his head.

“Mulder, you need to keep warm, your body’s still in shock,” she tells him.

“I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat is to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with someone else who’s already naked,” he retorts back.

“Well, maybe if it rains sleeping bags, you’ll get lucky,” she responds without missing a beat.

Scully doesn’t make jokes like that. That’s usually his territory, tossing innuendos out for Scully. She would typically respond by rolling her eyes, playfully punching him on the shoulder, or ignoring the innuendo altogether. She’s been different recently, since the diagnosis and the remission. She’s more playful, more open, for Scully anyway. She’s making sex jokes with him for crying out loud.

Mulder runs his hand over his face, unsure what to do with this newfound knowledge. She’s his best friend, his partner, and the only person in the world he knows without a doubt he can count on, Lone Gunmen aside. She is his equal, the yin to his yang, the person who keeps him in line, even when he wants to stray ever so slightly, or in giant leaps like he sometimes does. Just a few short weeks ago he thought he was going to lose her for good, he thought the bad guys had finally won, he thought he was saying goodbye. He hadn’t given much thought to his life as she lay in bed, dying from an illness that could have been prevented, he just knew he couldn’t go on, and without her, well…he couldn’t even go there.

It was somewhere between her words, Mulder, I have cancer , and, Mulder I’m in remission , that he realized he was completely, utterly, and wholly in love with his partner. Suddenly her voice became sweeter, her skin, at least the skin he was allowed to touch, became softer, and her lips fuller. When the hell did I start daydreaming about Scully’s lips? He shakes his head and realizes that it’s not about the fact that he started thinking about Scully’s lips, it’s about the fact that he can’t seem to stop.

“What can I do about it?” he asks aloud to the empty apartment. He turns to his fish tank to continue his one-sided conversation. “She’s in a different league than me. Hell, she’s on a different planet.” Noncommittally, his fish continue swimming. He closes his eyes and continues to think about their time in Florida.

Scully wouldn’t sing for just anybody , he thinks, then rationalizes, she was doing it to keep herself awake. He pictures Scully before he was attacked, following him on blind faith, all because he had a theory. He envisions her making that last phone call before Michelle told them to put away their phones. He sees Scully in the Asekoff house, ribbing him about the invisible man versus glowing red eyes. He recognizes Scully following him to the Asekoff house the evening before, based on yet another one of his hunches that something was amiss. He thinks about him leaving her in his hotel room. She’d been bantering with him about consorting in motel rooms, and something about wine and cheese. Cheese… wine… Scully came to his room with wine and cheese, saying something about because they were going to miss the conference. Wine. Cheese. Wine. Wine. Seduction. Cheese. Seduction.

Mulder bolts upright to a standing position in the middle of his living room, his mind suddenly clear.

“Oh, Crap,” he says to the fish.

*****

She’s slightly surprised to hear his knock, given the time of night, combined with the fact that he should be home resting his shoulder. There’s no doubt in her mind that it’s him. Three short raps on the door. She had been turning off the lights and was going to make her way to bed when she heard him. Pulling her robe tighter, she heads for the door, opens it, and without saying a word, moves back to allow him entrance.

“Everything okay, Mulder?” she asks, following him over to the couch. They sit side by side, staring straight ahead.

“What? Yeah, yeah it’s fine,” he brushes her question off. They sit in silence for a bit. It’s not strange or awkward. There’s a comfort there.

“I was contemplating the case,” he tells her, finally, turning slightly to face her.

“What about it?” she asks, curious.

Mulder hesitates, wondering how much to say, question, and reveal. “I was playing the different scenarios over in my head. The forest, the rescue. But also the events leading up to it.”

“The Asekoff’s house?” Scully offers up. Mulder nods. There’s more silence, this time with a slightly awkward haze.

“I was thinking about the other night when I was on the computer, researching different animal species,” he broaches.

“The night I brought wine and cheese to your room?” she says, matter-of-factly. Leave it to Scully to shoot straight and tell it like it is.

“Yeah, that,” is all Mulder can manage. They sit in more silence for a minute or two, each gathering thoughts.

“What was–” He starts while she simultaneously says, “I can’t belie–”. They both pause and chuckle, drifting into silence again.

“Tell me,” Mulder encourages. She blushes, looking down at her hands in her lap, taking a deep breath, and focusing on the exhale.

“I told you in the woods that when I was fighting my cancer, I was angry at the injustice and the meaninglessness of it. I guess I had to make peace with all of the things I knew I wouldn’t be able to do. Sometimes simple things like never getting to walk on the beach again, or seeing a sunrise or sunset. I had to come to terms with saying goodbye to my family; the knowledge that my mother was losing another daughter and that I’d never see my nieces and nephews grow up. I had to come to terms with leaving you.” With this statement she looks up from her hands, searching out Mulder’s eyes.

“The thought of leaving you, leaving our quest, and knowing what you would or wouldn’t do in my absence…it scared me, Mulder. But then you were there and whether it was my prayers or the chip, somehow I was given a second lease on life. I guess at that moment I vowed to seize the day.”

Mulder enthusiastically nods his head, giving Scully, and her words, his full attention. He cautiously leans into her space a bit wanting to convey so much but also terrified of interrupting her, of scaring her off. He senses that she’s about to reveal something monumental.

“I was excited to be back at work,” she continues, “even though it was only supposed to be a conference. I was ready to be on the road, ready to use my brain again. I decided to stop living in fear or what-ifs and start living my life. I guess when I brought the wine and cheese to your room I wanted to celebrate. I wanted to celebrate life, work, friendship, us…” she trails off.

“You wanted to celebrate us,” Mulder parrots, connecting the dots.

Without a split second of hesitation, and only a fraction of a thought that he might regret it later, he leans toward Scully, giving her a moment to pull away if she wants, then takes her face in his hands and kisses her fully on her lips. She stiffens, only for a moment, before relaxing into the kiss. He swipes his thumb gently over her cheek. She pulls back slightly, and though it’s the last thing Mulder wants to do, he releases her mouth.

“There’s a lot to celebrate,” he tells her, moving an errant strand of hair behind her ear. I wasn’t reading between the lines.” Red hues rise quickly up her neck and into her cheeks. He takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles, holding her hand tight.

“Apparently I wasn’t so great at trying to tell you,” she huffs.

“No, Scully, I was just too stuck in my own head to pick up on it,” he tells her, giving her hand a squeeze. “Come on, Scully, you know me. I’m singularly focused.” He wags his eyebrows, which earns him a laugh. “I ditched you and I’m sorry. Believe me, you don’t know how sorry, now that I think about it. If we’re playing the honesty card, I have to say that I was so afraid of losing you. I’ve known for a long time how much I care about you, but as you said, it really came to a head when you were fighting your cancer.”

Scully scoots closer and Mulder lifts his arm, draping it across her shoulder as she leans into his side. “Mulder?” she asks, looking up at him. She doesn’t finish the question because, as usual, he knows her so well, words truly aren’t needed.

Mulder leans his head down and captures her lips again. This time there is no hesitation. She opens her mouth to him, as though she’s also opening her soul. Their tongues mingle, slowly at first, in the same way friends meet for the first time. He holds a firm hand to the back of her head, pulling her into the kiss. She sighs, content, leaning further into his welcoming warmth. Mulder pulls back slightly to assess the situation. He observes her breathing has quickened and when she opens her eyes to him, though still blue, they are now filled with arousal.

Scully nuzzles into Mulder’s neck and whispers, “Take me to bed, Mulder,” so softly, he isn’t sure he heard her correctly. Raising his eyebrows in question, she continues, “We’ve waited long enough. We don’t know how many more tomorrows we have, so let's make tonight count.”

He stands, pulling her with him, hand tightly gripped with hers, and leads her toward her bedroom. Once inside, fretted with nerves, he stands in the doorway, a sheepish smile adorning his face.

I could not love him any more , Scully thinks to herself. Gently pulling him from the door frame, she directs him to the foot of her bed. She reaches to pull his mouth to hers but instead hears, “Scully, I haven’t done this in a really long time. I want it to be special, but I don’t know–” She cuts him off with a kiss, murmuring, “Mulder, it’s you and me. It was always going to be special.”

After that, there’s no more talking. There’s kissing and touching. Sighs (Mulder) and purrs (Scully). There’s playful laughing, a bit of moaning, and one or two shrieks. Mulder uses his fingers to play Scully like a stringed instrument, and she uses her lips to pepper him with kisses, trying to convey the love she feels in her heart.

It’s magical and wonderful, of course, neither expected anything different when imagining the possibility of their first time. Mulder, for all of his disappearing act faults, is attentive and attuned to her body, though Scully never suspected he’d be any different in bed. And Scully, with her new lease on life, is carefree and able to let go of control.

After, they snuggle in close in a cocoon of Scully’s sheets and fall asleep peacefully, each thinking about the road that led them to this moment.

****

She hears cars honking and loud chatter coming from the direction of her window. Opening one of her closed eyes, she looks at the clock, which shows it’s after ten in the morning. She hadn’t had that great night’s sleep in who knows how long. She stretches, cat-like, for a moment, before realizing her companion is not where she left him last night. Sitting up, she strains her neck to look toward the bathroom. Knowing that he wouldn’t leave her, she lays back on the pillow, taking in all that had happened the previous evening.

She seduced her partner. Or her partner seduced her. Or they seduced each other. In any case, she’s giddy it finally happened. It had been magical and wonderful, and everything Scully ever thought of when picturing her and Mulder’s eventual physical relationship. Sweet and slow and powerful, two forces of nature coming together, daring to be reckoned with. And she can’t wait to do it again.

When she hears the front door open and then promptly shut, she knows Mulder went out this morning, though for what, she could only guess. She sinks further down into the bed, readying herself for his return.

“Scully,” he calls through the half-closed door. When he pushes it open, she takes in the sight. Mulder is standing on the threshold of her sanctuary, and in his hand sits a tray of wine and cheese. She grins ear to ear as he enters and shuts the door behind him.

[rubyfunkey]

The Rehabilitation of Death by @bamsara

didnt have time to clean this like i wanted but i needed to get this scene out of my head desperately. im good now

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Reasons to play In Stars and Time: Canon Pronoun Warfare.

[oat-pup]

god damn roblox censorship

[limnsaber]

Why *wasn’t* the X files a romance. Would it have really impacted the plot that badly to have Mulder and Scully kissing in the woods for two minutes before immediately returning to the casefile

[dimensionzero]

the way my auditiory processing disorder ass had no idea what was being said in 45% of across the spiderverse yet it was still the best movie ive ever seen

[bakedbakermom]

txf + text posts (14/?)

[mayhemspreadingguy]

Aaand he got hurt again 💔. The usual.

(a follow-up to this)

[agent-troi]

a couple of nice trips to the forest

[professor-amaryllis]

:{ [Query:] What is the required amount of hours of sleep for an adult human? I am beginning to suspect this behavior is unusual. ':3 }:

[official-penis-posts]

Penis rocks you say?

How about ol' Chimney Rock in NC?

Apparently today’s the day of squat cock rocks!

[aloysiavirgata]

(if you are accepting prompts!) what iffffff you wrote a soft gentle little fic in which Scully has a spectacularly unlovely head cold and after some grouching Mulder looks after her? There are so many moments of peril on x files that sometimes it’s nice when the enemy is just a simple rhinovirus, lol.

He doesn’t even attempt to make it himself. Calls ahead to Loeb’s with his order, which he accepts from a stylish young Mexican man whose name tag reads Pierre.

“A sheynem dank,” Mulder says, echoing the grandmother who called Samantha a shaineh maideleh.

Pierre nods. “Bitte, baby,” he says. “De nada.”

***

Mulder clomps up her stairs with Puritan determination. He feels that since he did not cook the food himself he must exert some other effort for it. His soul is at eternal war with itself.

He doesn’t knock; lets himself in with the Home Depot key Scully had made for him around the time that Tooms wanted into her pants for all the wrong reasons. It sticks a little still, even after so many years. He’s rarely had to use it - when aren’t they together?

A hacking noise from her bedroom, something wet being coughed. Spat.

Mulder helps himself to a bowl, a plate, a spoon.

“I’b arbed,” she rasps from down the hall. “I’b a Federal Agent.”

“Don’t shoot,” Mulder calls back, hunting down a napkin. “I am a poor boy from a poor family.” Her mother wears Revlon and his wears Guerlain.

He tips some soup and two of the matzo balls into a bowl, wedges one of the challah rolls next to it. He puts the leftovers in the fridge.

Mulder carries the plate down the hall, the nearly-full bowl sloshing dangerously atop.

He enters Scully’s bedroom. She’s been upgrading over the past couple of years, replacing her IKEA basics with good secondhand finds in cherry and walnut. The candle she’s lit smells like white flowers with thick, creamy petals.

Scully is tucked into bed like an Austen heroine, all delicate pallor and genteel unhappiness. Her nose is pink-tipped and raw, hair in a ponytail. She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt instead of her usual pajamas.

Mulder sets the food down on her nightstand, next to a vase of dried roses and her Yaqui slide holster. A speed loader. There’s a well-framed Monet print over the bed.

Pat Conroy’s Beach Music is open face down on her lap, surrounded by crumpled tissues. She doesn’t look happy to see him, her purple-shadowed eyes narrowing a bit.

“Go away,” she says. Sneezes.

“Brought you some soup,” he says, unnecessarily. Points at it, also unnecessarily.

“Bulder,” she sniffs. “Go hobe. I don’t like being fussed over. I hab a cold, dot Ebola.”

“Too bad,” he says. “I’m going to. Do you have Vick’s Vapor Rub? You really should have Vick’s Vapor Rub.”

She closes her eyes. Pinches the bridge of her nose, centering herself. “It’s dot your fault I’b sick,” she says, looking back over at him after a moment.

“I dragged you into the woods again. You fell down a hole full of corpses! You’ve been in remission for like…twenty minutes.” He jabs the spoon at her.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t get a cold frob being in the woods. Or frob being chilly. You get a cold frob a virus.”

He feigns outrage. “Excuse me, but are you contradicting noted excellent mother-slash-world-class-epidemiologist Doctor Teena Mulder MD?”

This sends Scully into a flurry of coughing. She swats at him in annoyance. “Ugh,” she says at last. “You see why I can’t hab you here, you’re a lousy durse.”

Mulder takes her hand, pale as a kid glove. He shoves the spoon into it, squeezes her fingers about the handle. “Eat the soup or I’m calling your mom. I’m calling BILL.”

She narrows her eyes again. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think you’re well aware that I’m capable of being overly dramatic when the wind is southerly and the fancy strikes.” He holds the plate before her like an offering to a goddess.

Scully considers him. “You did get us out ob the teabwork sebidar,” she observes. “Techdically.”

“I did,” he agrees.

“You bade be sing,” she adds. Reproachful.

He grins. “The angels all were singing out of tune, And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, Or curb a runaway young star or two.”

Scully looks at the spoon in her hand for the first time, as though wondering how it got there.

“Byron,” she says, a little smile. She picks up the roll, examines it. Peers at the soup. Sneezes again. “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Caroline Lamb,”Mulder replies. He doesn’t point out that Caroline Lamb had been Byron’s lover, that she’d sent him a clipping of her pubic hair in the mail. He certainly doesn’t think of the juncture between Scully’s thighs at all, whether it matches the drapes, whether it tastes like kettle corn and Vineyard whitecaps in July. Lobster rolls and saltwater taffy.

He’d meant it, about the sleeping bag. He wishes there had been a sleeping bag and he is so, so grateful there was no sleeping bag.

Scully sniffles again, defeated. “You got be batzo ball soup?”

He thumbs an escaped tendril of hair back from the sweep of her extraordinary cheekbone.

“I did,” he murmurs back. He sets the plate down between them. He peels the roll open, yeasty and fragrant, and dunks it into the golden broth.

He raises it to her mouth.

Scully sucks at it, draws it past her lips. She bites. Chews, swallows. She holds his eyes with hers. She catches an escaped droplet with her tongue.

“Good,” she mumbles. Watches him dip the dry part back into the bowl. “Thank you.”

He feeds her another bite. Her mouth opens like a snapdragon, like an oyster in the tide. She drops her gaze this time. Her guard.

They complete the entire roll this way, and one matzo ball. Silent, slurpy. Scully’s lids droop, her lashes brushing her cheeks.

“Sleepy,” she mumbles, curling onto her side. Her paperback falls to the floor.

Mulder returns the food to the night table. He strokes her hair until she’s out cold, snoring a little. He curls into the bed as well, his nose to hers. He touches her philtrum with his pointer finger. He traces the tender pink whelk of her ear.

They sleep for hours until she coughs awake, gasping, her thin chest heaving. Mulder rubs circles between her scapulae.

“Go hobe,” she says, knees drawn, leaning against his chest. “You deed to sleep.”

He puts his arms around her, drops a kiss on her tangled head. “Okay,” he agrees.

She’s out again in moments. He holds her upright until he drifts off as well.

They sleep until morning. He feeds her soup for breakfast, calls into work with a case of Ebola.

[spontaneousmusicalnumber]

Also favorite Random Convention Event today:

In the short time I had to wander the halls I heard a voice with a loudspeaker behind me saying things like 'we're going this way! Going forward! Take a right!' And I figured it was someone being a handler for an extremely unwieldy and hard to wear cosplay.

But no, it was a Trigun Stampede (a huge group of like 20 Trigun cosplayers barreling in a line down the halls)

[sstvar]

after hours

- looked at him for too long and was suddenly filled with a great sense of woe

edit: for better quality turn the brightness up oh my god idk why it got so much darker

[moe-broey]

Back to what I do best (bare minimum Putting My Guys In Situations shitposts) 😌

Inspo under cut!!!

[blues-valentine]

Now here’s my TSITP take that no one asked for but I finally caught up to it out of boredom and while I am not invested in any pairing and couldn’t care less about the endgame, there’s some things I’ve seen (particularly in this site) and surely I’m not the only one with this opinion because Jeremiah being considered a healthier or better alternative for Belly is legit so wrong.

I can understand why some people would prefer Jeremiah because on the outside he looks like someone that could make Belly happier since he isn’t “complicated” but him being painted as the healthier alternative to Conrad is like, wrong, Jeremiah has alarming red flags that are often ignored by his supposedly “golden retriever” persona and that’s often way more damaging long term.

The constant anger and resentment issues that results of him feeling inferior to Conrad, often seeing their entire dynamic like a competition that extends to Belly, that has been clear by his actions and narrative. I’m shocked people on this fandom pretend this isn’t a clear narrative choice. He often speaks about how Conrad is perceived as the smart one, the athletic one, the responsable one, and in general the favorite child. Of course, he gets annoyed that Belly might be into him too. It’s always been more about Conrad than it is about Belly. He projects a lot of the insecurities he feels towards Conrad on Belly. He constantly feels the need to remind her “he is the better option” out of not reason and it feels like he is looking for the moment Conrad fails or mess up as if he is counting the scores. Him only making a definitive move on Belly after he sees Belly and Conrad almost kissing — and then he fires a rocket to stop them. I see this being a whole comedic discourse but that’s a major red flag. He cannot possibly have a healthy relationship with her if he feels like he constantly needs to measure up to Conrad. After that 4th of July episode, it’s very easy to see him trying to manipulate and sabotage Conrad with Belly and purposefully make him run late. And he does so intentionally. He knows he is being sneaky. He knows he is inserting himself in there. And I’m not saying he doesn’t like Belly, he does, but why denying that his main motivator isn’t his own bother.

Now, I’m not saying Conrad isn’t also annoying. He was written as the early 00’s broody type of bad boy and I feel the series it’s trying to fix it by showing more of him but it lacks in writing. I feel he needed more polishing to take him out of the archetype. However, Conrad’s approach narratively makes sense. It’s not like he’s being that just by pure aesthetic. Jeremiah thought out Season 1 is living a complete different reality as Conrad. So, of course he feels more laidback and funny. He doesn’t know his mom is dying. He doesn’t know his dad cheated on his mother. Only Conrad knows that. Of course, it would affect his behavior to the point he is emotionally detached. Even the narrative itself tells you Conrad usually isn’t this emotionally constipated or disengaging, and that smoking is also a new behavior. The constant need to make him feel like a villain is so weird because he is clearly depressed and self isolating. Both in Season 1 and throughout Season 2. It’s called grieving the death of your mother. All of them have their own ways of dealing with their grief.

And the funny this is — Conrad knows he isn’t in the right mental state to be with Belly right now. He tries, cause you’re allowed to be happy while depressed but he clearly wasn’t able to handle the grieving process, so he puts Belly’s happiness (or what he thinks she needs) over his own cause he doesn’t think he can provide her with what she needs at the moment (and he is right about that!). He isn’t problematic. I am confused about this. Particularly because while I think he could be clearer with Belly, most of it it’s not his fault entirely. And I’ve been told that by the end of the series, Conrad isn’t the same person he was at the start. He is a mature and emotionally open young man with a medical career that he loves that has learned to deal with grief. And those are very qualities you already see on the show.

Mind you, Jeremiah’s anger and resentment towards Conrad is totally valid and I feel is more on Susannah’s and his dad upbringing that just created that animosity but isn’t it the reason why people perceive Jeremiah as a ”healthier” alternative more to do with the fact his “red flags” aren’t as visible and Conrad’s grieving process is not that “palatable” to audiences?

And the love triangle isn’t even about who is better for Belly — this is a journey about grief that frankly should’ve been the core of the story. The way I see it, Conrad’s grieving process is self isolation. Jeremiah’s grieving process is anger. And Belly’s grieving process is denial. And the majority of the time Belly is reading Conrad’s feelings as him not being as into her as she is — which is untrue. Conrad’s problem is not knowing how to communicate those emotions to her. And Belly’s swimming in insecurities that she projects on Conrad. And she’s also a people pleaser and that has been very obvious on her coddling of Jeremiah. At the end of the day, I will always root for the female character getting the one she truly loves and that clearly isn’t Jeremiah. He isn’t the love of her life and this isn’t some story about second love. It’s about two people not being ready to be together for specific circumstances. Jeremiah is the one that was going to lose here. He inserted himself into this mess. He knows Belly and Conrad will always exist in some capacity that he’ll never be able to measure. He knows his brother loves her. And he knows Belly’s lying to herself about Conrad. So, why is he continuing a game that he knows he’s bound to lose? I genuinely believe that he knows how it will end so it’s going to be hard for me to feel bad for him when the inevitable thing happens.

And I’m also over the whole “Conrad was away while Jeremiah took care of their dying mother!” because that’s not an objective take. Conrad was at university studying to become a doctor. He should not be fault for trying to seek some normalcy after keeping most of the secret himself for months. Jeremiah wasn’t handling those bills himself. Laurel was also legit there the entire time. And I’m sure they also hired a caregiver. Instead of putting the blame and responsibility on teenagers — you should be wondering where was their own father, because divorce isn’t an excuse to not take care of your kids. And the show would benefit from making them build a better relationship as brothers than focusing on a “love triangle” that has a very definitive endgame, hence isn’t surprising.