robin givins

anonymous asked:

Because I think fandom needs something cheerful - could you please post some fun Claire&Jamie passage from the books, like the scene with miscroscope in "Fiery Cross" or Jamie defending a man from being feathered and tarred and turning the mob's anger into laugh in "ABOSAA" (albeit the latter is rather long)? Thanks!

With pleasure, anon!

—–

“If you’ll not let me be spiritual about it, you’ll have to put up wi’ my baser nature. I’m going to be a beast.” He bit my neck. “Do ye want me to be a horse, a bear, or a dog?”  

      “A hedgehog.”  

      “A hedgehog? And just how does a hedgehog make love?” he demanded.  

      No, I thought. I won’t. I will not. But I did. “Very carefully,” I replied, giggling helplessly. So now we know just how old that one is, I thought.  

      Jamie collapsed in a ball, wheezing with laughter.

– Outlander

—–

 "I dinna need help,“ he said, reaching for the cord at the neck of his shirt. "I told ye, I’m not drunk.”  

      “You’re right,” I said. “ ‘Drunk’ isn’t anywhere near sufficient to describe your current state. Jamie, you’re completely pissed.”  

      His eyes traveled down the front of his kilt, across the floor, and up the front of my gown.  

      “No, I’m not,” he said, with great dignity. “I did that outside.” He took a step toward me, glowing with ardor. “Come here to me, Sassenach; I’m ready.”

– Dragonfly in Amber

—–

“Hold on!” he roared. “Hold on, God damn you!”

I smiled gently, barely hearing him. The sense of great peace was lifting me, carrying me beyond the noise and chaos. There was no more pain. Nothing mattered. Another wave washed over me, and this time I forgot to hold my breath.

The choking sensation roused me briefly, long enough to see the flash of terror in Jamie’s eyes. Then my vision went dark again.

“Damn you, Sassenach!” his voice said, from a very great distance. His voice was choked with passion. “Damn you! I swear if ye die on me, I’ll kill you!”

– Voyager

—–

 "Not to say ill, I don’t reckon,” he replied. He suddenly stood up, and began to fumble up the tail of his buckskin shirt. “It ain’t the clap or the French pox, anyhow, 'cause I seen those before.” What I had thought were trousers were in fact long buckskin leggings, surmounted by a breechclout. Still talking, Mr. Myers had hold of the leather thong holding up this latter garment, and was fumbling with the knot.  

  “Damnedest thing, though; all of a sudden this great big swelling come up just along behind of my balls. Purely inconvenient, as you may imagine, though it don’t hurt me none to speak of, save on horseback. Might be you could take a peep and tell me what I best do for it, hm?”  

  “Ah…” I said, with a frantic glance at Fergus, who merely shifted his sack of beans and looked amused, blast him.  

  “Would I have the pleasure to make the acquaintance of Mr. John Myers?” said a polite Scottish voice over my shoulder.

– Drums of Autumn

—–

“Sperms,” he muttered to himself. “Sperms.” He shook his head vigorously, then turned to me, a frightful thought having just occurred to him.  

  “Whose are they?” he asked, his tone one of darkest suspicion.  

  “Er … well, yours, of course.” I cleared my throat, mildly embarrassed. “Who else’s would they be?”  

  His hand darted reflexively between his legs, and he clutched himself protectively.  

  “How the hell did ye get them?”  

  “How do you think?” I said, rather coldly. “I woke up in custody of them this morning.”

– The Fiery Cross

—–

 “Jem?” she said, startled. “What’s the matter?”  

      The flames gleamed on Jemmy’s hair like freshly minted copper, but the face under it was white, and his eyes enormous dark pools, fixed and staring.  

      “Jemmy!”  

      He turned a blank face to her, said “Mama?” in a small, uncertain voice, then sat down suddenly, his legs collapsing under him like rubber bands.  

      She was dimly aware of Germain, swaying like a sapling in a high breeze, but had no attention to spare for him. She seized Jemmy, lifting his head and shaking him a little.  

      “Jemmy! Wake up! What’s wrong?”  

      “The wee laddie’s dead drunk,a nighean, ” said a voice above her, sounding amused. “Whatever have ye been givin’ him?” Robin McGillivray, rather obviously a little the worse for wear himself, leaned over and prodded Jemmy gently, eliciting nothing more than a soft gurgle. He picked up one of Jemmy’s arms, then let it go; it fell, boneless as a strand of boiled spaghetti.  

      “Ididn’t give him anything,” she replied, panic giving way to a rising annoyance, as she saw that Jemmy was in fact merely asleep, his small chest rising and falling with a reassuring rhythm. “Germain!”  

      Germain had subsided into a small heap, and was singing “Alouette” to himself in a dreamy sort of way. Brianna had taught it to him; it was his favorite song.  

      “Germain! What did you give Jemmy to drink?”  

      “… j’te plumerai la tete…”  

      “Germain!”She grabbed him by the arm, and he ceased singing, looking surprised to see her.  

      “What did you give Jemmy, Germain?”  

      “He was thirsty, m’dame,” Germain said, with a smile of surpassing sweetness. “He wanted a drink.” Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he keeled over backward, limp as a dead fish.

– A Breath of Snow and Ashes

—–

“Nay, I wouldna go wi‘ a whore. Not ‘til it‘s settled between Rachel and me,” he said seriously. “One way or the other. But I shallna take another woman to my bed until she tells me that I must.”

We both looked at him in some surprise across the teacups.

“You do mean it, then,” I said. “You feel… er… betrothed to her?”
“Well, of course he does, Sassenach,” Jamie said, reaching for another slice of toast. “He left her his dog.”

– An Echo In The Bone

—–

I exhaled gingerly and relaxed against him in slow motion, reveling in the feel of his warmth and the solid comfort of his body.

“Elephants,” I said, drawing the shallowest possible breath compatible with speaking. “When a female elephant is dying, sometimes a male will try to mate with her.”

There was a marked silence behind me, and then a big hand came round and rested assessingly on my forehead.

“Either ye’re fevered again, Sassenach,” he said in my ear, “or ye have verra perverse fancies. Ye dinna really want me to—”

“No,” I said hastily. “Not right this minute, no. And I’m not dying, either. The thought just came to me.”

He made an amused Scottish noise and, lifting the hair off my neck, kissed my nape. “Since ye’re no dying,” he said, “maybe that will do for the moment?”

– Written In My Own Heart’s Blood

10

A Rage In Harlem (1991) based on For The Love Of Imabelle (1957), the first of author Chester Himes Harlem Detective series, featuring police detectives, Coffin Ed Johnson and Gravedigger Jones.  Two other books in the series, Cotton Comes To Harlem and Come Back Charleston Blue

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Boomerang: Grace Jones vs. Eddie Murphy (1992)

“No Man can resist this Pussy” ~ Grace Jones as Strange`

Marcus is a successful advertising executive who woos and beds women almost at will. After a company merger he finds that his new boss, the ravishing Jacqueline, is treating him in exactly the same way. Completely traumatised by this, his work goes badly downhill. But then Jacqueline’s more quietly attractive assistant Angela, who has been dating Marcus’ best friend, shows herself more than a little concerned by his parlous state.