The side project I have been working on with @iriswestallens is finally being unveiled! We are so excited to bring this to an audience. Help support us!
Vocal Vixens is a talk show about Women of Color on television. We believe that women are dynamic and their TV counterparts should be as well. Each week we use our voices to bring light to topics that concern WOC characters alone. We do this in hopes that the world will recognize that WOC stories matter…period.
Been wanting to paint this lovely lady since “Deep Breath” aired. Jenny is beautiful when she’s modeling for Vastra, but she’s just as beautiful in action. I told myself if she was going to be painted, I’d rather it be like this than objectified and humiliated. (Plus, this way she actually gets painted.) And yes, she does brighten the room. Tremendously.
It had been almost four months since Claire and Jamie had returned to the Highlands. Four months since the tragedies of Paris had threatened to cripple them completely. But Scotland - and Lallybroch - had been restorative. The pace of life in the Highlands had given them a chance to slowly heal the gaping wounds left by the loss of Faith. Everything from the air, to Jenny and Ian’s understanding, to Murtagh’s gruff affection, to wee Fergus adjusting to a quiet, more homely atmosphere among family, helping tend even his more darker memories.
Intimacy had slowly made its way back into their bed as well. They didn’t rush or force it, only let it develop naturally between them once more. Long Lallybroch nights that turned words into quiet exchanges of touches and caresses. One night, two months after returning, those small touches and caresses became more. They’d turned wordlessly to one another in the hushed stillness of a warm summer night, finding again what they once feared had been lost to them forever. A connection that only forged itself from their intense coupling, a soul-deep connection stronger than even the darkest dungeons of Wentworth or the devastation of the loss of their blood. A connection that was their sanctuary. Through tenderness and later, raw, blinding passion, Claire and Jamie found themselves once again in one another.
Most evenings were spent with Jenny reading to them all by firelight. Claire and Jamie cuddled on the settee, drowsily passing the time relearning the shape of each other’s fingers and hands, exploring the tiny changes that came with working long hours with their hands in the fields or tending patients. One night - while looking for something she hadn’t read before - Jenny had found in amongst the old musty books in the library, one of Jamie’s books from the Université. A collection of poems both in Latin and English, that she said had been frightfully dull for her, and given it back to Jamie - who looked as though he could barely control his excitement. That night, as they readied themselves for bed, Claire took the book from him as she lay back against the pillows and opened it at random. Jamie took his time undressing.
“You’ve read this in both languages, I take it,” Claire said, scanning the pages.
“Aye,” Jamie replied as he slipped his shirt off over his head, watching her. “I quite enjoyed it actually, committed most of them to memory.”
“To regale all the dainty young French lasses, nay doubt,” Claire teased. “Nothing more erotic than a dashing young man who can pull Catullus out of thin air.” She glanced at him as he unbuckled his belt. He snorted.
“Och aye! Nothing like regaling lasses that hardly spoke neither Latin nor English enough to understand yon dashing lad! Falling a little on deaf ears, no?” He looked up at her then, a cheeky smirk lining every inch of his face. She laughed and went back to skimming the pages, then paused, intent, as a passage caught her eye.
“This is quite lovely,” she said quietly. He smiled, seeing her eyes light up as her smile touched them. He thought he knew which passage she read, but asked anyway. She settled more comfortably, angling herself so the candle by the bed illuminated the page better and began reciting; he could hear the grin plastered on her face clearly in her voice.
“Come and let us live my Dear, Let us love and never fear, What the sowrest Fathers say, brightest Sol that dyes today. Lives again as blithe tomorrow, But if we dark sons of sorrow, Set then how long a Night, shuts the eyes of our short light!”
Just as she was about to go on, she felt Jamie slide into bed behind her, naked, his arms coming around her body, thighs fitting neatly behind her own and his hoarse voice muffled in the clouds of her hair, as he continued - from memory - where she’d left off.
“Then let amorous kisses dwell, on our lips, begin and tell, a Thousand and a Hundred score, a Hundred and a Thousand more…”
He moved her hair off her shoulder, placing a tender, lingering kiss in its place. For some inexplicable reason, Claire found her eyes brimming with tears, emotion catching in her throat. It took a couple tries to swallow them away, even then, when again she spoke, her voice croaked and cracked. ““Da mi basia mille…”” she turned her head, pressing her cheek to his forehead.
Jamie’s arms tightened about her, pressing her back to him, his lips still on her shoulder. Then his hand slid down her body, pulling her leg back onto his. ““…Deinde centum…”” he replied, so faint she’d felt the vibration in his chest rather than heard the words themselves. He shifted then, gliding gently home.
death grips release the instrumental album called fashion week and the titles spell “jenny death when” fashion week starts in february the episode of buffy when jenny dies aired on february 24 jenny death = february 24
So, very explicitly, Vastra is Sherlock, who is married to her live in assistant, Jenny.
Of course, they pretend in public that Jenny is the maid, to hide themselves from people who would not accept them. But to the Doctor, to Clara, to Strax, they are married. Some people know, but mostly it’s a secret. Not because they’re ashamed, but because they wouldn’t be understood were they to be open.
And it’s not just that they are in love, they actually have that domestic, legal relationship (though presumably under some other government than those of earth at that time…unless the Silurians married them.) But at least twice Jenny mentioned their being married. And Jenny corrects Clara, “I don’t like [Vastra]. I love her.”
This episode was written by Steven Moffat, and he very explicitly tied Vastra/Jenny to Sherlock/John and then very explicitly repeated that they were married, and then they shared an incredible screen hogging kiss. (So it was mouth-to-mouth, but hear me out. Vastra didn’t give breath to anyone else in that room who needed air, just Jenny. It came right after she called Jenny “My love” and was filmed in an indisputably romantic kiss kind of way. So, don’t say it wasn’t a kiss without taking those issues into account first.)
This Steven Moffat human also writes a show about Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I wonder if he’s ever thought that maybe they’re in love and going to get married and kiss or something. Idk. Hard to say but…
The Jenny Jones Talk Show was, as the name probably suggests, a talk show hosted by Jenny Jones that began airing in 1991. Another likely obvious statement is that the Jenny Jones show was not hard-hitting news, but rather a televised spectacle often featuring subjects such as rebellious teenagers, DNA testing, and other sensational topics.
In March 1995, Jonathan Schmitz (24) of Michigan flew to Chicago to appear on a never aired episode of the show. He had been told by producers that he was being featured on a segment about secret admirers. The heterosexual Schmitz was led to believe that his admirer was female. He apparently spent money on new clothing to look his best for the appearance.
Instead, when Schmitz walked on stage, it was to laughter and teasing of the show’s live audience as he discovered this his admirer was Scott Amedure (32), a friend of his upstairs neighbor. Visibly embarrassed and uncomfortable, Schmitz listened as Amedure detailed his crush on him. This included a pre-taped sexual fantasy about the two of them. When Jones, the show’s host, asked Schmitz for his reaction, he stated that he was heterosexual.
Humiliated from his awkward appearance, Schmitz returned home to Michigan. Three days later, 911 received a call from him admitting to the murder of Amedure. He had purchased a shotgun and gone to Amedure’s home, where he murdered him at close range. A direct quote from Schmitz to the 911 operator was “he fucked me on national TV”.
Schmitz’s defense was based largely on the appearance on Jenny Jones, as well as manic-depression, alcoholism, and a thyroid condition. He was sentenced to a minimum of 25 years in prison. His conviction was appealed, but he was found guilty again and received the same sentence.
Amedure’s family brought a wrongful death suit against the show and was awarded 25 million dollars.
Tomorrow we’re recording with Jenny Slate (right) and director Gillian Robespierre to talk about their new film Obvious Child. The film is about a aspiring stand-up comic Donna (Slate) who, after a drunken one-night-stand, gets pregnant and has an abortion. To read more about the movie, here’s our film critic David Edelstein’s take.
You might also know Jenny Slate from Parks and Recreation (Mona-Lisa Saperstein, sister of Jean Ralphio), Kroll Show (PubLIZity) or her internet sensation, Marcel the Shell with Shoes On.
“Milady, are you sure?” Suzette asked as she tucked a woolen blanket around Brianna, securing her even further to my chest.
I reached out and gently cupped Suzette’s cheek. “I’m sure, Suzette. Jenny would not have sent the letter if it wasn’t urgent.”
“I still wish to know how she found your whereabouts,” the kindly maid, who was more of a friend than anyone, said gruffly.
“Perhaps Jared let it slip in a letter? I’m not sure, but I do know Jenny’s handwriting. That’s why we’re here,” I said pointing over the side of the ship at the land mass growing steadily closer.
Suzette’s face turned a slight tinge of green as the boat rocked with a forceful lurch.
“I’m sorry Milady, but if you’ll be needing me, I believe I’ll be relieving myself of my gut.” I sighed a small giggle as Suzette lunged for the side of the boat expelling her stomach, before making her way below deck, most likely to cradle a bucket to her chest.
“Suppose it’s just you and me now, huh, my little Bree?” I said, stroking the soft exposed expanse of baby skin. Her small brow furrowed as she grunted and wiggled her head closer to my chest, still deep asleep. I couldn’t help but smile. If Jenny’s letter was anything to go by, Jamie needed me and if luck should have it, he would be alive by the time we slowly made our way across the sea and land to him.
The air was crisp, clean, and smelled more of home the closer we came to Scotland. The green of the land could be seen in detail now: the trees that dotted the shoreline, as well as the pier and seafaring town we would be docking in. My nerves were starting to get the best of me. My palms became clammy and I was glad Brianna was strapped to my chest instead of in my arms; I don’t know if I would have been able to keep hold of her well enough.
“Best get below deck and gather your belongings, Mistress,” a deckhand said from behind me. “We’ll be docking soon and I know the men willna want to tarry long. We have another journey to complete as soon as we can load those barrels on board.” A long leather-browned skinny finger pointed to the mass of supplies that were stacked just offshore.
I let out a breath, “Alright. Thank you. I’ll be sure that my maid and I exit the ship promptly. Please tell your captain that I’m ever grateful for his safe passage to Scotland.”
The young man smiled and nodded. “Aye, ma’am, I shall. I still don’t know what an Englishwoman, and French noble at that, would want with the Scottish Highlands. Nothing but outlaws and criminals live here.”
I didn’t dignify his assumption with a retort, and simply walked below deck to grab Suzette and the meager bags we had packed.
“Yes, Suzette?” I asked, turning to find my friend awkwardly and stiffly sitting astride one of the horses I managed to purchase.
“Do you think… well,” she cut herself off, “Do you think Master Murtagh might be there?”
Her cheeks instantly turned a brilliant shade of pink. I felt my gaze soften as I took in my friend’s embarrassment. I reached out and grabbed her arm.
“I don’t know. Jenny didn’t say who all was at the estate. There’s a very good possibility that Murtagh is there, but there’s also a chance that he didn’t survive the war.” I squeezed slightly. “Please don’t get your hopes up too much. I’m not even sure what state we will find Jamie in when we get there. I’m hoping for the best but…”
Suzette nodded. “Oui, Milady, I understand. I do pray that he will be restored to me.”
“I hope so too,” I whispered. If she heard me, Suzette didn’t acknowledge my words.
We rode silently for the most part, save for the baby babble from Brianna or her occasional screams of hunger or restlessness.
“No baby!” I cooed during one of her tantrums. She squirmed and wiggled against the bindings that secured her to my chest. “I can’t let you down quite yet. Wait a few more hours for Mama, please?”
“MAMA! DOON! BE DOON OW!” She wailed in my ear. If my memory served me right, we were only a two hours ride from Lallybroch and I didn’t wish to stop except for emergencies.
“DOON!” Her persistent wail continued, cutting off my pleas. I quickly looked around and found a small clearing to graze the horses while I attempted to calm Bree’s tantrum. Suzette quietly followed a frown etched on her face.
Bree shrieked again, only in delight when her feet hit the soft springy ground. She wobbled for a moment as though she were thinking of walking, then promptly fell to the ground crawling on the grass, squealing at the new sensation.
It was mid-April in the Highlands and we were lucky that the landscape wasn’t snow covered or being pelted by a deluge of rain. I took the time while Bree was poking at new unknown bugs, to look at the surroundings. I didn’t recognize this area as well as I should have. I was positive we were headed in the right direction, but without map or a guide we didn’t have any way of confirming it until we were further down the road. Broch Mordha should be visible soon, and with it the broch of Broch Tuarach signalling the arrival at Lallybroch.
The sound of hoofbeats startled me. Suzette squealed and lunged for the horses hoping to keep them in her possession. The last thing we needed to happen was having our main means of transportation stolen. I grabbed Bree and she grunted in protest, but I kept my grip on her tight, clutching her to my chest. A rider and horse slowed their advance as they approached our clearing. The figure’s back was to the sun, his face cast in shadow.
He leaned over, seeming to assess our persons. “My God, it canna be!” a gruff and familiar voice exclaimed. “Claire? Su-suzette?”
His voice cracked on each name, Suzette’s more than mine. Suzette looked as though she were about to faint.
“Murtagh?” I questioned, still trying to see the gruff man’s face. He dismounted and enveloped me in a bone crushing hug, which caused Brianna to scream in protest at being smothered. His bushy eyebrows shot up into the black of his hair as tears streamed down his face.
“You’re no’ dead,” he said simply. “You and a-a child.” Murtagh stuttered and looked down at Brianna, tears flowing faster. “She looks just like Ellen.”
That was all he said before he walked over and scooped Suzette into a searing kiss, then helped her mount her horse.
“We need to be moving lass. Red coat patrols will be coming through here soon.” He swung up on his horse and waited for me to ride mine next to him. “Do you remember the way?”
I nodded. “I think so. We were going to follow the road to the mountain pass. We were going the proper direction, were we not?”
The gruffy man’s eyes crinkled and his beard twitched with a smile. “Och, aye, you’re right enough. If we push the horses we can be home by supper and I ken a few people would like to see ye and the bairn.”
We were closer to Lallybroch than I thought. The journey with Murtagh leading the way lasted less than an hour. The dust clung to my neck, face and skirts. I was sure my hair was a riotous mass of dirt and curls, but I couldn’t care about any of that while staring up at the white stone estate that called to my heart; home.
Dogs barked and Brianna jumped against me, then tried to throw herself off the horse to get to the dogs, one of which was so large Brianna could sit astride him and ride the dog as a horse.
“Og! Mama, og!”
“I see them, sweetheart.” I kissed the top of her now bouncing head. The joy in her small body seemed to be bursting at the seams.
“Quiet you great lumps!” Jenny’s sharp tone cut through the air.
“Jenny!” I whispered at the same time she looked up and a smile split her face.
“Claire!” She promptly pulled me from the horse and crushed me to her. Her shoulders shook with emotion as she clung to me. When she pulled away, I could see the tears that streaked her face. “And who are you mo chridhe?” She sniffed, tenderly caressing Brianna’s head.
“Be!” The little girl grinned and said with a squeal.
Jenny laughed and looped her arm through mine. “Be is it?” She turned to me. “She’s the spit of my brother and mam.”
“Her name is Brianna, Bree for short.” I nuzzled the side of my daughter’s head. “She’s already learning so many words. It’s incredible to see her learn and–”
Jenny grinned a watery smile and nodded. “Aye, I ken what ye mean. Is that why ye were missing? After that battle I mean? Why did you no’ come here first? Ye ken I would have protected ye and the bairn with my life! Did ye no trust me, Claire?”
Her voice was soft and sad, but with the underlying firmness that was all Jenny. I placed my hand on her arm and shook my head. “I tried to come home, but I couldn’t get beyond the red coats. They would have recognized me for Red Jamie’s wife and I had no choice but to flee. I thought…I thought Jamie had died during the battle and I couldn’t bare it if I lost his child as well. I went where I knew we would be safe for a time–”
“You don’t need to continue, though you may want to explain this all to your husband,” Jenny said pulling us into the kitchen, and with a jerk of her head pointed to a cellar door.
“Aye, deep in the back–beyond the potato sacks–you’ll find another door hidden in the dark. He’s down there, in the priest’s hole.”
I took a shuddering breath as Jenny patted me on the shoulder then shoved me towards the cellar once more.
Slowly, I descended into the cellar and felt my way around to the priest’s hole. A faint glow came from the ground beyond the potatoes, then extinguished just as fast. If I hadn’t known the door was there, I would have thought it a trick of the dark and the light coming from above. Kneeling down, I rapped my knuckles on the boards of the priest hole and called out, “Jamie?”
The door burst open and in the dark I could faintly make out his form. Tears clouded my eyes as I quickly clambered down shutting the door again and threw myself into his arms.
“Mo graidh, tha goal agam ort. I’m no’ dreaming am I?” His voice was rough from disuse, but still the same deep burr I dreamed about.
“If you’re dreaming then I am dreaming as well.” I clung to him, soaking in the feel of him, and even accepting the stench of him that had to be from his living in solitary for so long.
“Please dinna be a dream, Sorcha, please!” he begged, and clung to me tighter. “Oh, Christ!”
He gasped as he felt Brianna’s small hand press against his chest. “Mama, doon?”
I heard Jamie sob as he fell to the floor and lit the taper, giving the room a soft yellow glow.
Setting Brianna down slowly, I knelt beside her. “Brianna, sweetheart?” Her bright blue eyes whipped between mine and Jamie’s in question. “This is your daddy.”
I nodded, my tears beginning to fall. “Yes, sweetheart, that’s your Da.”
Jamie sat, tears freely flowing down his dirt and beard covered face, but through it all I could make out the red of his hair and beard and the bright blue of his eyes. Brianna crawled over to him and patted at his chest and face, then patted her hair.
He grabbed her hand and gave it a small kiss, the whiskers of his beard causing her to giggle. “Aye, mo nighean ruiadh, we have the same hair and eyes.”
“Da?” She whispered, which was probably the quietest I had ever heard my daughter.
Jamie nodded again and began to sob louder when Brianna threw herself at his chest and burrowed her face overtop where his heart lay. She gave out a big sigh, then reached back towards me.
On shaky legs, I joined them on the ground wrapping one arm around Bree while resting against the right side of Jamie’s shaking chest.
“Thank you, Dear God in Heaven, I thank you for the safe return of my family,” he said in reverent prayer while holding us tighter to him.
“I’m not leaving you again Jamie Fraser, so don’t ask it of me.”
“Never, mo graidh. I’ll never ask that of ye again.”