#henry shaw

[pinewaterbacc]

Janelle and Christina got home just as Kim had to go to work, and found Lisa and Michael both sitting on the sofa quietly flicking through children's books.

"Wow!" exclaimed Janelle. "Your sister did a good job, huh? Did you have a nice day with her?"

They looked up and nodded.

"I beat her again at Monopoly!" giggled Lisa. "I'm really good at that game!"

Kim came home a few hours later with a promotion to Piano Tuner. She didn't really want to be a Musician and only really fell into this role, but she's now doing really well! I'm not sure if she'll keep it up as an adult but we'll see!

[madnessiseverything]

your son loves touch, yet

flinches when you reach out to ruffle his hair

keeps a blank face when your hand meets his back

hugs you like he is never sure where to stand

and yet,

he loves touch, you know because

his friends—small boys, oh, so small where he sprouts tall—are covered in hand prints, their shoulders, waists and backs littered with your son's palms. he reaches for them like his lungs reach for air, like a flower reaches for the sun—like a hungry, desperate thing made of nothing but want.

he loves touch, you can tell, because he lets them reach back.

there is soot streaked across his chin and lips, an impression you dare not recognise but burns so bright near the back of his neck, glowing prints all over his torso front and back, to match the ones he leaves on them. he lets them touch him, reach for him, tap their fingers against the back of his hand while they smile. he lets them hold on; so.

your son loves touch, because

he stands taller when his friends touch him

smiles brightest when they bump his shoulders

lets their ash and blood keep kissing him

pushes back into their hold like something starved

holds out eager, steady hands (as though the fear of touch never dug its claws into his exposed throat, as though the bitter taste of it not once reached him through you)

your son loves touch, and

where is the anger, did he forget to dig, did you not teach him what it takes to survive, where is his shield, where did you leave it

still, your hands can’t bridge the gap.

[glasswaters]

you ruffle his hair and he scowls. you pat his back and he flinches. you-

you don't touch him when he looks as though the anger might eat him alive. you don't set him on your shoulders when he wins that first race.

you watch him throw his arms around a boy's shoulders and press his back against another's chest. he's laughing, like this, as though his mouth has not yet learned how to make of itself a sharpened blade.

once, a boy laid his lips against your naked throat where it was bared, and uncovered. his mouth was soft, and in it, you could feel the beat of your frantic heart.

once, a boy lost teeth and mouth and blood in the expanse of your hands. he lay, wheezing and laughing, under the heavy rain of them. he pulled his lips back, and somehow, you could still taste them at the back of your throat.

once, your child slipped through your hands like molasses. sticky and sick and bloated with ferment, you clung to it. didn't you know? one rotten apple spoils the bunch.

place a soft molding mushroom into a tupperware full of fresh ones and you have doomed them all to be fed on. one touch of foul, squelching flesh, and nothing might stay fresh, anymore.

come on. touch your child. make it soft. make it last.

_____

this is a piece inspired by @madnessiseverything 's piece here: https://madnessiseverything.tumblr.com/post/709593192293646336/your-son-loves-touch-yet-flinches-when-you-reach

[thepastisalreadywritten]

London (CNN) — An art historian has identified a missing portrait of King Henry VIII after spotting it on social media.

British fine art researcher Adam Busiakiewicz was idly scrolling on X when he was stopped in his tracks by a post from somebody he follows.

The post was a photograph shared by Tim Cox, Lord Lieutenant of Warwickshire, an honorary position representing the British Crown in the central English county.

It showed a gathering at a reception in Warwick’s Shire Hall, where Warwickshire County Council is based.

But Busiakiewicz wasn’t interested in the people smiling at the camera.

His focus was on the background where, hanging on a wall, was what he suspected was a missing portrait of the Tudor monarch Henry VIII.

In a post published on his blog earlier this month, Busiakiewicz said he had been “scrolling at speed” when he spotted the painting “with a distinctive arched top” on the wall.

He was immediately reminded of a series of 22 portraits commissioned by a local politician and tapestry-maker during the 1590s.

According to Busiakiewicz, Ralph Sheldon (1623–1684) commissioned the pictures – which were mostly of kings, queens and “significant contemporary international figures” – to hang in his home, Weston House in Warwickshire.

The reason they had arched tops was because they “were once incorporated into an architectural frieze of the Long Gallery at Weston,” Busiakiewicz said.

In a press release sent to CNN, Busiakiewicz said the arched top was a “special feature of the Sheldon set,” while the painting’s frame was “identical to other surviving examples.”

The painting also showed the king holding a sword and wearing a feathered hat – just as he appeared in an engraving of the Long Hall made by antiquarian Henry Shaw in 1839.

The series of portraits was later dispersed at auction and “the majority remain untraced to this day,” according to Busiakiewicz.

After making his theory public, Busiakiewicz visited Warwick’s Shire Hall together with local historian Aaron Manning to see the painting close up.

“The portrait is large, and completely in-line with the other Sheldon portraits,” Busiakiewicz wrote in a later blog post, on July 22.

In a telephone call with CNN, Busiakiewicz revealed that this was not the first discovery he had made thanks to social media.

In 2018, he stumbled across a picture a friend had taken at a wedding and posted on Instagram.

It featured a portrait that he identified as the work of 17th-century female artist Joan Carlile (1606–1679).

“Social media is a crazy thing,” Busiakiewicz told CNN, “because some people use it to watch cat videos and follow what’s going on in the world, and then people like me just look at what people have hanging on their walls.”

A spokesperson for Warwickshire County Council told CNN in an email that Busiakiewicz and Manning approached them about the painting and arranged to come and see it.

“Adam and Aaron viewed the painting at Shire Hall, and have confirmed they think it is definitely one of the Ralph Sheldon commissions,” the spokesperson wrote.

“Since this discovery, the painting has been moved into our Museum Collections Centre to allow further research to take place.”

Busiakiewicz told CNN that the identity of the painter is not known, but the creator of the portraits is sometimes referred to as "The Sheldon Master.”

He is now working on trying to establish the painting’s provenance.

It was acquired by the council as recently as 1951 but there are gaps in the records.

“Provenance is always such a really tricky thing - it’s very hard sometimes to find, particularly when pictures are sold privately. But there’s no doubt that this is Ralph Sheldon’s painting of Henry VIII,” he said.

“Looking at paintings and pictures of paintings is my life and it’s great fun, particularly when you can in some way right a historic wrong, let’s say.

Pictures that are overlooked, pictures that aren’t appreciated as much as they might be.”

[etherealyearning]

The mausoleum, solemn, stands, Guarding dreams and future plans, A monument to love and care, In a garden meant for all to share. So wander through this sacred land, Feel the touch of a gentle hand, For in these gardens, richly blessed, Lies the heart of one at rest.

Henry Shaw - Missouri Botanical Garden

ᴾʰᵒᵗᵒˢ & ʷᵒʳᵈˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵐʸ ᵒʷⁿ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎𖹭

[world4]

Clasp of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor. 16th century.

Clasp of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, 16th century CLASP OF THE EMPEROR CHARLES V. (1500-1558) AMONG the numerous rich specimens of ancient bijouterie which have been preserved from the ravages of time, we know of few more elegant than the clasp represented in our plate, which is now in the Debruge collection at Paris. It was made for that celebrated monarch, the Emperor Charles V., the ally…

[livesinfantasyland]

There's just something about Will Shaw- beaten black and blue that gets me EVERY TIME!

[florida3exclamationpoints]

If I had a nickel for every time there was an actor on Agents of Shield with the same last name as a character on Agents of Shield played by a different actor and who could not be more different than their own character I'd have 2 nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

[beyondthefold]

HENRY CAVILL as WILL The Cold Light of Day (2012) | dir. Mabrouk El Mechri

[agentsofmarvel]

jellycats i would give the agents of shield characters with no explanation

daisy 👇🏻

sousa 👇🏻

fitz 👇🏻

jemma 👇🏻

coulson 👇🏻

may 👇🏻

mack👇🏻

elena 👇🏻

deke 👇🏻

alya 👇🏻

[pinewaterbacc]

The Shaws all sat down together that night for a family meal. Now that the twins were children (and Henry and Janelle weren't planning on having any more nooboos, with any luck), they could all fit nicely around their table and discuss their days together.

"There was another suspicious package in the city today, and this one turned out not to be harmless! The police are now investigating who might have left it there because it was asbestos!" Henry was explaining. "I was so glad I had my full hazmat suit on."

"You didn't breathe any of that stuff in, did you, Dad?" asked Christina, concerned.

"No, no, don't worry. How was your day working with Mum at the diner?"

Christina launched into a story about how she almost dropped a tray of food on one of their customers, but stopped when her mum shot her a look. "Um... I didn't, though! I said almost!"

[daughterofhecata]

Kleines Menschenjunges, wohin führt dein Weg dich heute Nacht? Bob ist auf der Suche nach Ablenkung, läuft dabei jedoch jemandem in die Arme, der ihn nur umso heftiger an die Vergangenheit erinnert.

Hello, have some more RBEI!Bob/Henry :)

[hier auf ff.de]

[madnessiseverything]

verlassen, verb.

Bedeutungen: (1) uneingeschränkt (auf jemanden, etwas) vertrauen —“Du, ich wollte wirklich kommen, aber es ist einfach wahnsinnig-” (Sein Vater trägt Schuld wie ein Kartenhaus, und Peters Enttäuschung ist ein Windstoß—ein Stein, eine Hand, die es wagt, sich den Karten zu nähern. Wiederholte Versprechen, alte Ausreden. Schuldige Blicke, die sich wie Motoröl auf Peters Haut sammeln. Peter wusste genau, was kommen würde. Er hatte nicht ohne Grund seinem Dad den Rücken zugedreht. Er atmet tief durch.)  —“-viel los, ja, ja, ich weiß.” + —“Ich kann mich doch auf euch verlassen, oder?” (Peter weiß nicht mehr, wann sein Dad das letzte Mal wirklich zu einem seiner Spiele oder Rennen gekommen ist. Er weiß aber genau, dass jedes Spiel, das er hatte, mit einem Versprechen verbunden war—‘Natürlich komme ich, Peter. Wirklich.’ Er weiß, dass er es mittlerweile erwarten sollte, sich nicht auf seinen Vater und sein Wort verlassen zu können. Das macht das Misstrauen auf dem Gesicht seines Vaters nicht weniger schmerzhaft; eine klare Warnung, dass Peter sich an andere Maßstäbe halten muss als sein Dad.) —“Ja, Dad, das kannst du.”

+ —“Ich dachte, wir haben gesagt keine Detektivspiele!” (Peter, sein Gesicht hinter kalten Händen versteckt, fragt sich, ob ihn eine Zukunft erwartet, wo er sein Vater wird. Gebrochene Versprechen, kein Verlassen. Enttäuschung, Standpauken, Anschuldigungen bis zum Beweis der Unschuld. Zugeschlagene Türen, die durch ein ganzes Schloss hallen können. Peter atmet tief aus. Er hasst es, zu enttäuschen.)  —“Ich dachte, ich kann mich auf euch verlassen.” (Justus tigert auf und ab, unberührt. Peters Fingernägel bohren sich in die Haut unter seinen Augen.) (Ausgestreckte Hände, ein Abgrund, Wasser. Vertrauen. Vertrauen. Ein Sprung.) (Noch nicht.) (2) sich von jemandem, dem man nahegestanden hat, mit dem man in gewisser Weise verbunden ist, trennen —“Peter, ich schaffe es heute nicht.”  (Peters Vater holt aus und sein zu großes Grinsen schüttet sich wie kaltes Wasser über die erbärmliche Flamme seiner Entschuldigung. Der leere Sitz im Publikum und die Enttäuschung haben sich zu tief in Peters Brust eingenistet, zu viele Löcher durch seine Lungen und Herz gefressen—ihre Krallen zu tief in seinen Rippen verankert. Er ist zu alt, um sich mit Haarewuscheln und Lachen zufriedenzugeben.) —“Ist schon okay, Dad. War nur ein blödes Rennen.” + —“Ich habe keinen Bock, wegen deiner blöden Verschwörungstheorie noch mehr Ärger zu bekommen!” (Peter reagiert giftig, eine Schlange, die sich aufbaut, größer und größer wird, und- Justus hat keine Flöte, keinen Text oder eine Melodie, um das fauchende Tir vor ihm zu beruhigen. Alles, was er sagt, was er schon die ganze Woche sagt, scheint es nur noch schlimmer zu machen. Er weiß nicht, wie er dieses Biest bändigen soll. Er weiß nur, wie man es wütend macht, wie es sich bäumt und ausbricht. Giftzähne schnappen in der Luft.) —“Ich bin weder der Zweite noch gibt es irgendwelche Fragezeichen!” (Justus schnappt nach Atem.) (3) weg-, fortgehen von, aus etwas, sich von einem Ort entfernen —“Wie ist’s denn gelaufen?” (Peter weiß nicht mehr, wie oft er stockend den Verlauf seiner Sportevents seinem Vater erklärt hat, während der zwischen zuhören und etwas anderem hin und her wirrt���Arbeit, Haushalt, ‘nein, Ich höre dir zu, versprochen’. Peter will es nicht mehr sehen, nicht mehr hören. Er weicht aus.) —“Ich warte draußen.” + —“Wo willste denn jetzt hin?” (Bob weiß, dass Peter gerne so tun würde, als wäre nichts passiert, als hätte sich kein Rätsel in den Schlosswänden um sie rum eingenistet. Als gäbe es nichts zu lösen. Er versteht es auch; Mr Shaw’s Blick war eisig gewesen—kalt genug, dass Bob sich seine Klamotten enger um den Leib ziehen wollte. Aber es ist schwer, nicht neugierig zu sein. Bob sieht Justus an, dass ihr Erster gar nicht erst versuchen will, seine Nase aus den Machenschaften des Schlosses rauszuhalten. 

Nicht, dass sie etwas anderes hätten erwarten sollen. Justus Jonas ist und bleibt schließlich Justus Jonas. Peter rollt mit den Augen, dreht ihnen den Rücken zu, und Bob weiß nicht, wie er ihn bei ihnen behalten kann—traut sich nicht ganz, nach der Kunstblut-verklebten Hand zu greifen und ihn wieder in ihre Mitte zu ziehen. Egal, wie sehr seine Arme mit dem Wunsch danach zittern.) —“Raus aus der Gefahrenzone.”  + —“Niemand verschwindet spurlos.” (Es verwandelt sich von einer Feststellung in ein Mantra. Justus klammert sich an seinen eigenen Fakt, spricht es in eindringender Dunkelheit aus, hält es mit zitternden, rußverschmierten Händen Peter hin. Er hofft, man kann es unter der Asche noch als Trost erkennen. ‘Niemand verschwindet spurlos,’ flüstert er. ‘Wir werden nicht verschwinden,’ spricht er nicht aus. Peter drückt die Stirn gegen seine Knie. Bob flucht. Die Luft fühlt sich schwerer an, liegt wie Blei auf der Zunge. Sie haben nicht mehr viel Zeit. Justus kann grade so noch Bob und Peters Gesichter ausmachen, und weiß nicht, ob es Fluch oder Segen ist. Er wünschte, er könnte ihnen die Lösung, mit rot und blau verziert, überreichen. Er wünschte, es wäre heller. Peter runzelt seine Stirn und steckt seine Hand in seine Tasche. Justus fühlt das Feuer der Hoffnung in seiner Brust aufflackern.) —“Liebe findet doch immer einen Weg.” (Liebe, denkt Peter, als er dem von Justus geworfenen Streichholz runter in den Geheimgang folgt, Liebe findet immer einen Weg. Es ist dunkel, er kann die Wände an ihren Seiten spüren. Sein Herz rast, die kleinen Flammen der Zündhölzer brennen zu schnell runter, hinterlassen stechende Hitze auf seinen Fingerkuppen. Hinter ihm spürt er Bob, dann warme Hände an seiner Hüfte, zwischen seinen Schulterblättern. Bobs Stirn in seinem Nacken. Justus atmet in der Dunkelheit zitternd aus. Peter schluckt, starrt das letzte Streichholz an. Liebe findet immer einen Weg.) —“So wies aussieht, gibts nur einen Weg.” (Das Wasser ist kalt, ihr Lachen warm. Über ihren Köpfen geht die Sonne auf.)

[d3adchads]

i would keep messing up on purpose just to be in this man’s arms !!

[comradesummers]

i don't think the spike girlies talk enough about how he was an upper-class posh dude who reverse my fair ladied himself so that he would sound cooler. like do you think he sat around practicing "the rain in spain" to make himself more cockney?

[cavillomania]