#team jelly

[tcpforever]

Didn’t even realize she was shakin dat jelly 😮‍💨🤤

Enjoy da fruit ✌🏿🍉🍎🥭🍊🍇🍓

[vanillawildflower]

i’ll actually die on the hill that it’s jeremiah who is the most consistently misunderstood and mistreated character on the show, not a certain #someone else just because his key character traits aren’t being brooding and mysterious and having avoidant attachment style.

jeremiah describes being fully wasted and dissociating with lacie then sobbing afterwards (while she was very much proud of it) which full well sounds like he was taken advantage of yet all b*nrads don’t give a fuck and still shit on him for “cheating”. when it’s been established in canon that he thought they were fully broken up. not even mentioning, steve and taylor have been ACTUALLY cheating on their sos for months, but of course b*nrad defenders and consistent logic just don’t mesh well together.

jeremiah is constantly described as never taking anything seriously, when we’ve seen time and time again that he is serious. even freaking steven acts like he’s a joke (some best friend there lol). who was taking care of susannah’s bills? who stepped aside if it would mean his brother could be happy? who was the MOST supportive of belly going to paris to follow her dreams instead of staying where she was comfortable? and who stayed in the hospital all night when steven was hurt, keeping his distance for belly’s sake but being on standby, just in case she might need him?

jeremiah haters also describe him as manipulative and vindictive, but remind me again. which brother was making fun of belly over her checking her appearance, something which obviously meant a lot to her at that time (it’s the name of the frickin show)! which brother made her constantly feel like she was just an afterthought and not the first choice? which brother always left her hanging and wondering what she’d done wrong? right. whereas jeremiah is always telling belly she’s beautiful, that she can do anything, and that she deserves everything. it’s not even a competition for me

jeremiah is constantly slut shamed when he and belly have had the longest and strongest relationship in the show by far. he’s also the only canon bi character which makes this extra weird. poor writing but also the double standards against jeremiah specifically, all the time, is really something.

all of this isn’t even mentioning the fact that jenny had to do a complete character assassination of jere (in the books—and likely, in turn, the show, though the full extent has obviously not happened yet though i’m bracing myself for it) to stop him from being the obvious better choice, because he is and has been. we have seen jeremiah be an extremely mature, supportive, open, warm and loving partner to belly, and belly in turn is HEAD over heels in love with him. i mean, girlie is skipping towards him, smiling stupidly in all their scenes, and calls him her soulmate and last love. she isn’t constantly upset and doubting herself and insecure the way she was with a certain someone else.

the ONLY way they are not endgame now is by completely ruining jere and bellyjere’s relationship, because so far it’s pretty much been an idyll (taylor herself says this) – obviously it hasn’t been perfect all the time, but they’ve never given up on each other, and always come out the other side stronger. will this likely downfall make sense for them? no. will it make sense for jere’s character? no! but there’s no other way for bellyjere to not be endgame with how happy they were together for over three years—the longest main relationship by far in the show. it’s the only way to make b*nrad and c*nrad the favored choice. if you have to destroy one ship to make another look better, how good is it really? my genuine question for jenny.

so i stand by this. jeremiah is the most consistently misunderstood and mistreated character in tsitp by far — both by the fans and the creators.

[optimism-blooms]

♡ A love for all seasons. BellyJere moments in the Teaser for The final season of The Summer I Turned Pretty | Episodes start July 16 ♡

[rana030]

I don’t care who belly ends up picking can you imagine how wild the family lore is going to be? Like, imagine her future kids finding out about her and their uncle 💀

[amaris-whisperer]

The Way You Stayed l Conrad Fisher x Reader

Pairing: Conrad Fisher x Reader Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Soft Romance Warnings: Mentions of cheating, emotional hurt, heartbreak, mild language, comfort after emotional trauma Summary: Months after a breakup leaves you hollow, Cousins Beach feels empty in a way it never has before. But when Conrad starts showing up quietly, without asking, you begin to wonder if you have been holding onto him in the corner of your heart all along. Note: In case you need more of our Connie baby!

—

It had been months since the breakup, and I had stopped counting the days because they all looked the same. The mornings were pale and cold, the light pressing against the curtains as if trying to remind me that another day had begun. By afternoon, that same light dulled, fading into long, gray evenings that stretched until night swallowed them whole.

My bed became an anchor, or maybe it was quicksand, holding me in place, pulling me down inch by inch until I was not sure I even wanted to climb out anymore.

When I ended things with my ex, it was not because I wanted to. It was because I had no choice. Finding out he was cheating felt like someone had yanked the ground out from under me, and I had been falling ever since.

There had been no slow unraveling, no warning signs I could cling to in hindsight. It was a single, sharp moment that split my life into before and after. Before, I had been certain of us. After, there was nothing but the cold echo of betrayal.

I used to think heartbreak was a little dramatic, something songwriters and poets clung to for the sake of their art. I never believed it could hollow you out so completely. I did not know it could strip away the small, ordinary habits that made up a person’s life.

I stopped eating unless the hunger became unbearable. Showers were rare, and the scent of saltwater in the air no longer reminded me of the ocean just a short walk away. It reminded me of everything I was not doing, of a world that was still moving while I stayed still.

Cousins Beach had always been my escape, my place to breathe. Every summer here used to feel endless, warm and golden, the days melting into nights that held laughter and music. I had memorized the creak of the old porch steps, the way the screen door rattled in the wind, the sleepy hush of waves breaking against the shore.

But now those same things felt foreign. The rooms I once loved seemed too big, as though they were waiting for someone who would never come back. The silence inside them was not peaceful anymore. It was heavy, pressing against my ribs until it was hard to breathe.

Still, I stayed. Leaving felt impossible. I told myself it was because I needed time, because I was not ready to face the outside world. But deep down, I knew there was another reason.

Maybe it was because of him.

Conrad Fisher.

Once, I had been so sure I was in love with him. It had not been the kind of love that burned bright and fast, the kind that demanded to be shouted from rooftops. It was a softer kind, one I kept close and hidden, almost like a secret that belonged to me alone.

I knew his heart belonged to someone else. To Belly. And for a long time, that was enough reason to stay silent. I told myself that loving him quietly, from a distance, was safer.

Back then, I thought I had moved on. He loved her, and I accepted it. I let myself find someone new, convinced myself I was happy, and tried to make that belief fit into the shape of my life. I laughed at jokes that did not really land and pretended that the hollow feeling inside me was just me being cautious.

But now Belly was marrying Jeremiah. And Conrad had been done with her for longer than I realized.

What startled me was not the news of their wedding but how it made me feel. There was no triumph, no spark of hope, no sense of a door opening. There was only the quiet ache of knowing how much had changed while I was not looking.

And I was left with nothing but the pieces of myself I barely recognized.

—

The first time I realized Conrad was in the house, I almost convinced myself I was dreaming. The day had been one of those muted afternoons where the light outside was too pale to bother opening the curtains.

I had been curled up under my blanket for hours, drifting in and out of shallow sleep, when the sound reached me. It was soft but distinct, the gentle clink of plates and the faint scrape of metal against ceramic.

At Cousins, people came and went as they pleased. Over the years, I had grown familiar with the sounds of this place, each person’s habits woven into its rhythm. This sound did not match anyone else’s. It was quieter, more deliberate, the kind of movement that came from someone who was careful without meaning to be.

I pushed the blanket off and sat up slowly, my legs heavy as I swung them over the side of the bed. The hallway felt cooler than my room, the faint smell of something cooking pulling me forward step by step.

When I reached the kitchen, I stopped in the doorway. There he was. Conrad. Standing at the counter like he belonged there, a faded gray sweatshirt hanging loosely on his frame, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows.

His hair looked slightly damp at the ends, as though he had just stepped out of the shower, and it fell into his eyes in that familiar, careless way. I noticed the way his hand gripped the handle of the spatula, the small crease between his brows as he focused on the pan in front of him.

He did not turn when I entered, but his voice carried easily across the room.

“You’re awake,” he said, as though it was something he had expected.

“I heard something,” I replied, my voice still rough from sleep.

“Cooking.”

The single word settled between us.

I blinked at him, trying to understand. “For you?”

“For you,” he corrected, glancing briefly over his shoulder before turning back to the stove.

“I’m not…”

“You haven’t been eating,” he said, his tone steady. There was no accusation in it, but there was no softness either. Just a simple truth he was unwilling to let me dispute.

My first instinct was to push back, to tell him I was fine, that I did not need anyone hovering over me. The words stayed caught in my throat. Something in his voice, quiet but unwavering, made it hard to argue.

He reached for a plate on the counter and slid it toward me. Scrambled eggs, a piece of toast still warm enough to make the butter glisten, and slices of avocado arranged neatly at the side. It was simple, but the sight of it made my stomach tighten in a way I had been ignoring for days. The smell of the toast, faintly sweet from the butter, mingled with the richer scent of the eggs.

I crossed the kitchen slowly, pulling out a chair and lowering myself into it. I told myself I would just take a bite to make him leave me alone, but my fork moved almost without thought.

The first mouthful tasted better than I wanted to admit. Warm, comforting in a way I had forgotten food could be. I took another bite, then another, until the plate was clean.

When I finally looked up, he was at the sink, rinsing the pan. He did not smile or say anything, but his eyes flicked toward me for a brief moment. In that second, there was something softer there, something that made my chest feel strangely tight, before he turned away again.

From that day forward, he came back. Sometimes in the quiet of the morning, bringing the smell of coffee with him. Sometimes in the evening, when the house was dark except for the soft light in the kitchen. Sometimes without warning at all, the sound of the door opening pulling me from whatever fog I was lost in.

I never asked him to. He never explained why. He just kept showing up.

—

One afternoon, I finally left my room because the air inside felt too heavy to breathe. It clung to my skin, thick and unmoving, as if the walls themselves had grown tired of me.

The sky outside the window was pale and washed out, the kind of color that made the ocean look dull. It felt like one of those days that threatened rain but never quite followed through, holding the weight of it in the air without relief.

I padded into the kitchen without much thought, my bare feet sticking slightly to the cool tile. My body was on autopilot, moving toward the fridge out of habit more than hunger. I expected to find the usual things waiting for me.

A couple of takeout boxes stacked in the back that I had never opened. Half a carton of milk I probably should have thrown out by now. A few pieces of fruit I had forgotten about until they were too soft to touch.

But instead, there was a plate on the middle shelf, neatly wrapped in cling film. It was the only thing in the fridge that looked intentional. Resting on top was a small folded note.

I reached for it without thinking, my fingers brushing the edge of the paper before I even registered what I was doing.

‘Eat this.’

Two words, written in Conrad’s handwriting. I recognized it instantly, the slightly slanted letters that looked like he had been in a hurry but still cared enough to make them legible.

My heart thudded once, hard, against my ribs. It was ridiculous to feel anything over something so small. It was just food. Just a plate he had left for me because he thought I would not bother making something myself. But my fingers lingered on the note longer than they needed to, tracing the indentations in the paper as if I could feel the movement of his pen.

The warmth spread through me slowly, almost reluctantly, but it was there. Because this was not just about food. It was about him noticing. Even when I thought no one cared enough to check, he was there in the quiet corners of my life, filling the empty spaces without drawing attention to himself.

And maybe I had never really stopped keeping him in the corner of my heart either.

After that day, I began to notice myself noticing him. They were the sound of his car pulling into the driveway became something I recognized without looking, and the familiar creak of the screen door made my pulse jump in a way I did not want to examine too closely. Sometimes I would catch the faint smell of coffee drifting through the air, even when I had not made any.

He never hovered, never asked questions I did not want to answer. He moved through the house like someone who belonged there, quietly fixing things I had stopped caring about like a loose hinge on a cabinet door, or a dripping faucet, or the porch light that had gone out weeks ago. He would cook, too, sometimes without saying a word, just leaving a plate where I would find it later.

If I joined him, whether it was in the living room or on the porch, he did not treat it like a victory. He would keep reading his book or strumming his guitar, his attention not fixed on me but still entirely aware of my presence. We would sit there, sharing a space without the need to fill it with conversation. Somehow, that was more comforting than any attempt at small talk could have been.

The silences with him did not feel empty. They felt like something I could rest in.

—

One night, I found him on the porch. The air was cool enough to make me pull on a sweater before stepping outside, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath my feet. The ocean stretched out in the distance, a dark and endless expanse under the night sky. The waves rolled in with a steady, unhurried rhythm, their sound blending with the faint rustle of the breeze through the dunes.

Conrad sat in the chair beside mine, his hood pulled low over his head, his gaze fixed on the water. There was something about the way he sat so still that made me hesitate before speaking.

“You ever think about leaving this place?” I asked, my voice quiet in the dark.

He glanced at me briefly before turning his eyes back to the horizon. “Not really. Do you?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing as though he had settled into the question itself. “Maybe that’s your answer.”

I did not reply. The sound of the waves filled the silence between us, and it felt almost wrong to break it again. We stayed there for a while, both of us facing the ocean as if it might decide something for us. Long after we went back inside, his words stayed with me.

It was late when it happened. The rain had been falling for hours, a steady curtain of sound against the windows. The house felt smaller with that kind of weather, the rooms dim and warm, the outside world sealed away. I was curled on the couch with a blanket, half-asleep, my thoughts drifting in and out like the tide.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him. When he came into the room, I lifted my head.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked.

He shook his head and crossed the room, sitting down beside me. The couch dipped under his weight, and his knee brushed mine. The touch was small but immediate, sending a faint spark through me that I tried to ignore.

“You’re different lately,” he said after a long pause.

“In a bad way?” My voice was careful, though I already suspected the answer.

“In a way that makes me worry about you.”

I swallowed. “You’ve been worrying a lot.”

“Someone has to.”

The words landed harder than I expected. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against mine. I did not pull away. The warmth of his skin seeped into mine, grounding me in a way I had not felt in months.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said quietly. “And I hate what he did to you.”

I looked at him then. Really looked. At the way his hair had fallen into his eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the way his hand hovered near mine as if waiting for the smallest sign to hold it. His presence felt solid, unshakable, the kind of anchor I had been drifting without.

“Conrad…”

“I am not trying to fix you,” he interrupted gently. “I just want you to let me be here. Not because I feel sorry for you. Because I do not want to miss my chance this time.”

The words caught me off guard, settling in my chest with a weight that felt both terrifying and steadying. Before I could ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed me.

It was not tentative. It was not a question. It was a promise. His hands framed my face with care, his palms warm against my skin, and his lips were certain in a way that made my heart race so fast I was sure he could feel it through the closeness.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His breath was slow, as if he was waiting for me to push him away, but I did not move.

“Let’s start over,” he whispered. “Let’s begin our story now.”

Something loosened inside me at those words, a tightness I had been holding for far too long. And for the first time in months, I felt like maybe I could.

[jellycentral]

[darklinaforever]

I can't even begin to describe how shameful the family's reaction in the end of the episode to Jelly's engagement is.

They're being outright attacked ?

Adam's accusation that Belly is pregnant ? Adam saying that Jere won't get his mother's ring ? Belly explaining that there's no need, Jere gave her a ring, and Adam laughingly saying "with what money ?!" and Jere saying that of course it's his ? Laurel canceling dinner outright ?! Steven stopping Jelly from kissing by saying they should keep a low profile in a condescending way ? Laurel trying to ban Belly from spending the summer with Jere ? The way she pulled her by the arm ?! Steven telling Belly that she ruined the day ?!

I'm sorry, but who thinks this reaction from their family is normal ?!

The only one who reacted normally to this (dubious) idea of marriage was Taylor in the beginning of the episode.

I'm hallucinating.

@vanillawildflower

[prettyprincesssblog]

Tsitp spoilers!!

Jeremiah saying "the cake is my one thing" to belly trying to compromise is insane?? Like the cake is 750$ you guys are broke 😭😭 like the cake is not that important compared to any other expense??