angel stained glass


All Saints Watermillock Cumbria by Dave Webster
Via Flickr:
Designed by William Aikman for James Powell & Sons

anonymous asked:

When you and/or the boys were on a case and you were at one of those old cathedral churches looking for leads did you ever come across an angel painting/mural/mosaic/stain glass thing that was about you or had you in it?

Not to date


really cool and rare- a stained glass window that actually shows the several orders of angels, (plus some archangels)- PLUS each order has the correct amount of wings to match their sphere!! this is from bath abbey, and I was SO HYPE to find it. even cooler than the revelation ones I found. I super wish I could have gotten better pics, the window is quite high up. They are good quality, so you can zoom in quite a bit.

From left to right, in two rows:

Seraphim, Archangel Gabriel, Archangel Michael, Archangel Raphael, Cherubim

Virtue, Dominion, Power, Principality, Angel (?)

Pisces - The Mutable Mirror

Pisceans can try on new personalities like they try on shoes,
and with those unusual feet hardly any shoes, from heels to flats or docs seem to fit properly, like all these personalities she tries to be, none of them cloak her soul with the colours. Nothing ever seems to fit those shades
she knows ripple inside, those pastels that haven’t been invented yet. From room to room she moves, shifting face and shape, slippery with sea salt infused in her skin, impossible to catch or define, lost and wandering,
the facets of a thousand personalities. It feels so foreign being trapped in a body, when she can feel wings fluttering behind her shoulder blades,
and scales shimmer under her thighs. Like a mirror carved in heaven, reflecting people as angels
she is the stain glass window that forever changes colour and tone, paint streaked over her spirit, impossible to conceive without a kaleidoscope. She knows her true self resides at home
The home in the sky, made of clouds and liquid love. But for now the show must go on. Who do I dress as today.
Nobody knows.


[art: kristina webb]
Spooky Converted Church Complete With Graveyard Up For Sale As Family Home

House-hunters with a taste for all things ghoulish have a rare chance to make their home in a Gothic church, which has its very own graveyard in the garden. The Grade II listed building, on the market for £450,000, has kept the original stained glass windows, elaborate octagonal church tower and even the ornate altar – now in the kitchen. In the garden there is the occassional gravestone, although prospective buyers are assured visiting mourners are rare. Inside the Lincolnshire property there are three bedrooms tucked under arching beams, a spiral staircase and original flooring.

Home Sweet Home

The untouched exterior of the church. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Private Property

Home-hunters after their own Gothic residence will be impressed by the Old Church House. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Under The Arch

The stones of the imposing lychgate were laid more than a century and a half ago. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Watchful Eyes

Carved angels and stained glass figures overlook the kitchen. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Bath And Beams

There are even original features in the house’s bathrooms. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Below The Beams

One bedroom has impressive oak beams and a colourful stained glass window. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

What’s Cooking?

The original tessellated tile floor remains in the kitchen. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Make An Entrance

Chandeliers and stone carvings decorate the hall. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Living Area

The large living room has beams and exposed brickwork. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Stained Glass

There are original stained glass windows throughout the Gothic building. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

Period Features

Every room has plenty of impressive features. (SWNS)

Source: SWNS

herondaleslewis  asked:

hello!!! i have a jimon prompt. jimon + grammy herondale playing matchmaker for jace and simon

Simon’s palms sweat as he knocked on the heavy oak door. A week ago, he would have walked right in, ready for the eye roll Alec would have undoubtedly thrown him from behind the desk, if he were even there at all. A week ago this had still been Alec’s office and in a few weeks it would be again, but now it belonged to Imogen Herondale.  Suddenly, he was in the fourth grade again, standing outside the principles off for saying Billy Henshaw was goyim. The teacher refused to believe him when he said it wasn’t a curse word. 

“Come in,” answered a sharp voice from with in. 

“You wanted to see me, ma’am,” Simon asked, around the ornate door’s heavy edge.

Imogen regarded him with a sharp, hawkish gaze for a long moment, seeming to be working out who exactly he was, before she nodded.

“Come in, Daylighter, and close the door.”

Simon’s heart dropped into his stomach like a stone. Most people in the Institute had gotten used to his presence here, even those who didn’t like it. But Imogen Herondale was a hand of the Clave and the Clave didn’t care that he was a Daylighter. He was not human, and there for not equal. Useful but not equal.

“Sit down…Simon, isn’t it?”

Simon nodded, sitting on the edge of the familiar leather couch. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tightly.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair, before she stood, coming around the desk to perch on the edge. There was a stern authority to her, but something in her face had softened.

“Please, call me Imogen.”

Simon nodded, softly, confused.

“I’m going to be plain with you Simon, I asked you here because I want to understand your intentions towards my grandson.”

“E-excuse me,” he spluttered, caught off guard by the question. Before, he’d felt like a child sent to the principle, now he felt like a mouse in a lion’s den.

“Jace has been through more than can ever be asked of anyone his age. In the last year he has been manipulated and lied to, he’s been brutalized and ostracized despite his model service to the Clave.  As much as it pains me, I must admit to my own part in all of that,” she sighed, “You must understand Simon, my son was my world and to know I left my grandson at the mercy of a mad man will haunt me until the end of my days.”

She shook her head, turning to gaze at the Angel etched in the glass behind him. Simon felt the tightness in his chest loosen, the fear began to ease. Being a vampire meant hearing every breath, every heartbeat, and suddenly, listen to the way this woman’s chest tightened with the urge to weep seemed to, for the first time, make her real. 

“So while I know this is vastly overstepping, and I know I probably have no right ask you, I know that I will never be able to live with myself if I don’t do my best to protect him now, even in the smallest of ways,” she said.

“Ma’am…Imogen, Jace and I are friends. He saved my life, more than once, but that’s all we are, is friends,” Simon said plainly, the half lie bitter on his tongue. Friends was all they were, and all they would ever be, regardless of whatever pipe dreams Simon let himself entertain from time to time. Jace was like the stained glass angels, beautiful and powerful in a way that was unearthly, and at the same time so very breakable. So Simon had done as he always did, he set the feelings aside, in a place out of everyone’s way, because Simon had learned a long time ago that if you love someone, you put what they need before what you want. 

A ghost of a smile graced Imogen’s thin lips all the same.

“Their are some things being a downworlder doesn’t change, I see the way you look at my grandson when you think he’s not looking,” She said plainly, “And moreover I see they way he looks at you.”

If Simon’s blood still flowed, he was sure he’d be pink from his forehead down by now.

“Are…are you telling me to ask your grandson on a date?” Simon asked, certain at any moment Jace was going to jump out from corner and say “gotcha!”

Imogen shrugged.

“What I am saying is, you have a long life ahead of you, but don’t waste the oppurtunites you have at present. Do you understand?” She said, the softeness melting out of her expression as she stood, straightening her jacket.

Simon nodded, a flock of butterflies coming to life in his stomach.

“Good,” Imogen replied, taking her seat behind the desk again and sliding a pair of reading glasses onto her nose, “Make sure to close the door on your way out.”

Simon smoothed his palms nervously down the front of his shirt, effectively dismissed. Jace was probably finished in the training room , if he didn’t go now he was going to lose his nerve. 

“Oh and Simon…”

He paused turning back to the Inquisitor.

“This conversation never happened,” she said, regarding him sharply over the rims of her glasses.

“Yes, Ma’am.”