so yesterday thanks to @odakota-rose I learned that my beloved 90s TV show, JAG, is now on Prime Video in the US in 1080p. I am losing my MIND. to quote @kitain TOO MANY PIXELS!! GO BACK! (TBC this is a joke, I've been moaning about the lack of 1080p footage in this fandom for multiple years at this point, I literally was calling it my white whale yesterday)
anyway i am once again renewing my plea for folks to watch this show. i really need to stop procrastinating and do real work but for an in depth pitch please check out @itsaliveblog's powerpoint presentation and my jag tag.
"I know I don't need you, but that's not the point. You're supposed to fucking be here. And you self-sabotage and you run away when things are good and its not fucking fair!"
"I know. I know that's what I do and I'm trying to break that!"
"So then why are you doing it?"
"I'm trying to change that okay?"
The logic of "I am trying to stop running away" by...running away.
Also this:
"You're my partner!" = you are my partner, in LIFE! I love you and I need you in my LIFE!
"I'm your friend!" = you don't need me, how can I be your partner if you don't need me?! I'm just your friend, Syd.
"You're not fucking acting like it!" = wait you're not my partner? ok let me walk that back while still being angry as fuck with you.
I just know you have a spicy post of Bailey and Q?
Nonny! Behave! I'm trying to have a nice, wholesome Winterfest over here. Now you have me searching the archives for spice... 😩🤣. You made me realize how tame it’s been for these two, but their anniversary is coming very soon. I’ll let the naughty be free. Something to hold you over until then lol 😉
The Webby O’Gilt series is just chefs kiss also the idea of Webby being Scrooge/Peppers kid and Goldie/Blot being her step parents is just the soap opera I didn’t know I needed
I got a couple of versions of this and thought, okay, I’ll write a couple paragraphs of this silly idea I thought of. Instead, you’re getting several paragraphs. (keep reading cut is for slightly non-PG erection stuff)
--
Jaime doesn’t even know how the fight starts. They’re lying in bed, his head on Brienne’s shoulder, and her fingers carding through his rumpled hair. But then, in his state of fucked-out-bliss, he opened his mouth and something he doesn’t even clearly remember fell out and now Brienne is frantically, furiously searching through his room for her clothing.
They don’t fight. They bicker. Silly little disagreements that involve a lot of glaring, followed by intense kissing, and some very heavy petting. Or sex. Frequently, the squabbles just turn into one of them jerking the other close by their collar, a rending of garments, and then a battle for dominance that Jaime never truly wants to win, he just wants to be beaten.
But something goes sideways. He’s left satiated in bed, clearly having said whatever triggered the initial tiff, and trying to bring his orgasm-wrecked brain back online before Brienne actually leaves.
She’s red from her hairline to her breasts, an angry red, not at all like the delicate pink of arousal. She yanks her white button-up from the top of his lamp, and viciously, viciously pulls it on. He focuses as her breasts disappear from view to hear her saying, “--and to really make matters worse, you aren’t even listening to me. Which has been our main problem from day--what is wrong with my shirt?”
The shoulders pull tightly against the curve of her shoulders, cuffs ending just above wrists. But the thing that makes Jaime laugh so hard his eyes water, is the sight of her confusedly trying to button the shirt, only to be pulled up short by the buttons not quite meeting over her chest.
She glares, and he laughs even harder.
“It’s my shirt,” he finally explains.
She rips it off her shoulders with a huff. “Yes, Jaime, I had realized that.”
Brienne’s back to her search, though her body is a little less tense, her righteous indignation sidelined by the shirt incident. Jaime spots it first. In the frenzy, it was flung on his side of the bed--because he has a side of his own bed now--the collar caught on a handle of his bedside table. He glances to make sure she’s still looking and is gleeful at the sight of her on her hands and knees looking under every piece of furniture.
Jaime pulls it on quickly, pleased at the way it wraps around him. It smells faintly of her laundry detergent and shampoo and whatever else makes up the smell that just calls Brienne to mind. By the time she turns around, he has himself artfully arranged on his bed, above the sheets, head propped up on his hand, his best come-hither smile on his lips.
It actually works. Brienne’s scowl transforms into a different sort of heat.
He looks down and plucks at one of the buttons. “I found your shirt.”
“Give me my shirt,” she says in her best boss voice.
It hasn’t even been twenty minutes and his cock is already giving a real college try at coming to full attention.
“Hmm,” he hums, and rakes his eyes from her face to her legs, pausing just long enough to watch in satisfaction as her nipples harden under his gaze. “I’m really very comfortable. I’m afraid you’ll have to come and wrest it away from my clutches.”
“Jaime,” she admonishes, but he sees her eyes flick up and down his body, and the way her tongue darts out to wet her still kiss-plumped lips.
He affects a yawn and drops his to the pillow, only leaving his eyes half-lidded as he looks at her. “Come back to bed.”
She wavers, her mouth set in a stubborn line. He smiles at her, not a shit-eating grin, or an aggravating smirk, just that soft smile that he really always feels in his chest when he sees her. That’s what makes her face soften. She rolls her eyes, but she does shuck her pants and crawl back into bed with him.
He kisses her softly, fingers against her cheek. When he pulls back, she’s almost completely relaxed again.
“I’m sorry,” he says, placing a soft kiss against her temple. “You know my mouth just runs after I’ve come.” He strokes the line of her blush with his thumb. “If you tell me what I said, because I genuinely do not know, I’ll apologize properly.”
Brienne sighs and presses into the caress. “In the morning.”
“You’re staying?”
“Yeah,” she says, tucking closer to him and plucking at the buttons of her own shirt. “I’m staying.”
