i got it from someone on here a while ago

Another de-aged Alan Rickman in the role of Severus Snape.

I did this one a while ago and it was a request i got from someone on Tumblr.

If you’ve seen this picture float around before you’ve likely found my main blog but since i am using this blog to release the other pictures i am editing i figured i should post this one here as well and i actually worked on it a little more since posting it last time.

The original picture is a behind the scenes picture.

or at least that is what i assume judging by the candles hanging from the ceiling with strings.

original:

references used: Alan Rickman in Barchester Chronicles and Mesmer.

Feedback as per usual is always welcome.

I sent one of my pipes in to be repaired.

The pipe in question was my first Canadian that I had bought as an estate from Iwan Ries last year while in Chicago, Unfortunatly I’ve bitten through the stem. It happened a little while ago, but I never got around to finding someone to repair it until recently. 

I’ve never sent a pipe off to be repaired before so was slightly nervous when I found James J. Fox in London but I called them up, checked that they would accept my pipe and packaged it up.

Here it is before I sent it away.

And The other day when I received my pipe back.


Its been well polished and buffed, the replacement stem looks fantastic. Even better than when I first got the pipe as an estate from Iwan Ries last year. I havent smoked this pipe since I got it back yet as I’m trying to stick with March Meerschaum Madness but I’m looking forward to my first smoke when I get around to it. 

anonymous asked:

Is there anything Revel would change about himself for someone else?

I got this a while ago completely unprompted. Not sure who it’s from, but I’ll chunk it here now that I’m in a better mindregion.

Yes, and frequently: his appearance, to whatever specifics they desire. With regard to his actual character, however, most things he would TRY to, but not expect any genuine success at. The only thing of his that can’t really be changed is his disregard for himself–though that might change if he didn’t have the disease, it would never completely go away.

3

I got tagged by @sheepskeleton to post my lock screen, last selfie and last song I listened to! So here, have these: a background from an android phone game I discovered recenly (Mr. Cat), me trying a new shirt on (I love it so much you don’t understand), and a song by Paramore taken from a fanmix me and @rurilelith did quite a while ago.

I’m not gonna tag someone in particular because I don’t know everyone’s policy about displaying photos on tumblr, but if you follow me and you see this, and you want to do it, then consider yourself tagged! 

for your Sunday, here’s a thing i started a while ago, when someone asked me to write something about New York City

My best friend is leaving New York, and it feels like the city will tumble to the ground behind her.

She moved to New York from upstate in April of 2010 and I moved here 4 months later from Portland.  We followed each others’ blogs and we had sent messages saying we were scared and excited and glad to know somebody else was doing the same thing.  When I got here, I sent her an email with the subject line “Non-coffee related activity” and we set up a time to meet, hoping we’d recognize each other in person.  “I feel like it will be the awkward, platonic version of You’ve Got Mail,” I told her.   We met on a street corner, I rushed up to her and said “Hi!” and almost immediately felt I wanted to talk to her about everything every day forever.  We spent that evening wandering the streets of SoHo, going in and out of stores, telling each other about boys we’d kissed and books we’d loved and all our hopes and plans.

After that, the city was ours.  We built it, shining, exhilarating, terrifying, as we went along, a map based in memories rather than geography, skyscrapers made out of whatever pop song made us feel invincible that week.  I was 20, so we spent nights at a bar in the Village where the bartender–Trevor, Irish, inveterate winker–knew and liked us and never carded.  One night it snowed and we stayed there with him until 4:00am, in front of the fire eating pizza, like it was our living room.  One night we commandeered the iPod and put on Footloose and everyone in the bar followed our lead and started dancing.  We took the R train out to the public pool in Astoria and the A train out to the Rockaways.  We went to every 24-hour-diner south of 14th Street, and a few north.  She ordered a Turkey Club, I ordered a B.L.T. and she gave me her side of coleslaw.

Emails and texts and links and Facebook posts flew back and forth during boring night shifts.  “Should we go to this midnight screening of Jaws?” “This is the message that creepy guy sent me on OK Cupid” “Here’s a video of me lipsyncing to That Thing You Do” “What do you want to do tonight?”  Once, we spent an entire night on her couch, watching Showgirls and taking silly Photobooth pictures and videos and posting them to our bar-review sideblog, until we suddenly realized it was 6:00am and the sun was rising through her kitchen windows.

I am always happy to see Caroline’s face.  I am always excited to get her texts.  When I’m with Caroline I never worry that anything more fun is happening anywhere else.  She is the most fun.  

When I cried that my family would never be there for me like I needed, she said, “You’re my family.”  

One day, two years after we’d met, all the magic of our shared city seemed to have run out.  Caroline had just broken up with her boyfriend. I had dropped out of college and been robbed at gunpoint and she hated her job and we both felt helpless and hopeless and heavy.  We were both, I think, starting to wonder if all of this, the long hours and the longer rides home when the R train wasn’t running, was adding up to anything.

With my phone and computer stolen, I couldn’t contact her.  I rode the Subway uptown to the school library–the last time before I withdrew–and left a message for her on Facebook that I would stop by, and hoped she’d see it.  When I got to her apartment she wasn’t there and I sat down on the dirty grey-green carpet outside her door, too sad to cry.  I would have sat there for days if she hadn’t come.  But she did, arms full of shopping bags, not even surprised to see me sitting there on the landing.  "I did some retail therapy,“ she told me.  

“I dropped out of school,” I told her. We stayed there on her couch, until we somehow made it out the door to go across town to meet a friend.  She handed me one headphone cord of her earbuds and through 2 train rides, one transfer at Canal St., over 2 bridges, in the sweatiness and duskiness of late summer in New York, we listened to the same Rilo Kiley songs, we walked carefully through doors and up stairs, she leaned her head towards mine, being sure neither of us lost the cord.  

We survived that day.  After, everything was less sparkling, but more real.  We made two whole, beautiful, separate but connected, lives.  Not out of magic, just out of hard work and time.  We fought, we made up, we cut our hair, we learned how to live and shared our lessons.  We grew up.  

Then, several months ago, she posted on her blog that she’d signed her last lease in Brooklyn.  I read it and shut my computer, stunned.  I guess I’d thought she’d be here forever.  A few months after that, she and her boyfriend took a roadtrip to the South.  She came back and told me, one bright afternoon in July, that they were looking for jobs in Savannah.  I tried to school my face into a neutral expression, but I was crushed.

Caroline is leaving New York and it feels like the city will tumble to the ground behind her.    

But it won’t.  I moved to Portland two years ago and came back.  It is, after all, not fair to expect her to stay forever.  There is the internet, for long emails and short notes.  When I left, we started a new blog, Dear Caroline/Dear Lily, to write to each other.  It’s still there, waiting for us to need it again.  “Dear Caroline,” I’ll start my first new post after she leaves, “Dear Caroline, I miss you so much it hurts.  But the city is still standing.  I miss you, and I’m proud of you.  Tell me everything.”  Over and over we choose each other.  Growing up means accepting change.  Keeping a friendship through adulthood means letting go, being excited for her new adventures, looking forward to someday meeting her babies.  Caroline says our lives are too intertwined to untangle now, and grown up friendship means I trust her to be right.