#Scene Summer Smith

[cloudysarts]

Is the rest of the family in Scenecore too?? :oooo

not all of them!!!! its rick, summer, and morty who are scene (scemo in summers case) :3 maybe also spacebeth??? havent decided yet sdjhkflhk but i know original beth had a really big scene/emo phase in her teens bc her mom and dad both had one, but shes kinda grown out of it during the show :P rick had too, but got back into it when summer and morty got into it :] and jerry is not/has never been scene jskajsakks. he keeps calling them 'emo' because he just doesnt get it </3

their color schemes are actually sorta meant to reflect that!! Rick, morty, and summer operate on a magenta/yellow/cyan color scheme <3 cyan for rick, yellow for morty, and magenta for summer!!

i dont have a full out ref for anyone else yet, but heres some old sketches of summer!!!!

pr*ship/c*mship dni please!!

[toppermostpoppermost]

@tolerateit's EDITING PROMPT OF THE MONTH: JANUARY EDITION

LIVE PERFORMANCES

PANIC AT THE DISCO I LIVE IN CHICAGO CONGRESS THEATER CHICAGO, IL I May 23 & 24, 2008

[alwaysbewoke]

Did you know that the famous line "And what the hell is that smell?" from 'Independence Day' was improvised by Will Smith? While filming the scene on the salt flat near the Great Salt Lake in Utah, nobody warned him about the strong odor caused by billions of decomposing brine shrimp in the lake.⁠

x

[lawrencegordonsleftfoot]

Ok gang this is my FIRST tumblr post EVER and I’m also new to digital art so pls be nice… I’m a cosplayer out of my element here but I wanna get better at drawing. Anyways i redrew that one scene from Morty’s mindblowers!

[starshapedspider]

the only character ever!! I had a ton of empty space so i just drew how i think she’d get the belly piercing i give her

[scoliosisgoblin]

Smith family doodles

[crashnbrn]

summer, i love you

season 7, ep 7

[christiecandor]

Drew and colored over a bit of this scene a few weeks ago since someone mentioned the pregnancy parallel, and it's been sitting with a bunch of other half-done projects inspired by this season. It was just a quick job, but I figured some of you would still appreciate this, especially after that finale 😅

[rustychainsnorter]

By now we've all seen the new R&M season 7 opening theme, but did anyone else notice the sheer lack of VIOLENCE in it?

Like, it's just so goofy. Look it, we got summer doing powerlifts with Rick.

We have the Beths doing a bizarre cupcake dance in a throne room with their kids watching. (Super weird btw, lol).

We have grandpa and Morty patiently waiting for a zombie hand to pop out of the ground. (And, unless they killed the person/thing themselves, there really isn't any violence).

Then we have chibi grandpa and Morty snow sledding on their tongues while miraculously avoiding getting hit by fireballs. (I feel like this is the most violent clip since they are getting shot at, but at least they weren't hit).

And then we've got buff Jerry doing chair yoga.

See what I mean? These clips aren't violent. They're goofy. In every other opening scene, we at least see something violent, bloody or inappropriate, but here- aside from a rotting zombie hand- we don't get anything but simple, goofy, enjoyable scenes.

The reason why I'm pointing this out is because I'm HOPEFUL. We've talked before about how we wanted the show to be a tiny bit more wholesome and heartfelt. Maybe this is a sign?

[plumbus-central]

more doodles from twitter 🦐

[rabbitcruiser]

The Great Seattle Fire destroyed all of downtown Seattle on June 6, 1889.  

[churipu]

WHAT REMINDS THEM OF YOU 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, megumi fushiguro, itadori yuuji

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. just pure fluff :D

note. i was going to write some hurt comfort — but then i figured that i wanted to keep myself sane for today :>

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

anything strawberry. scent, taste — anything strawberry.

gojo remembered when the first time he brought you home some honeoye strawberries after a mission since it was in season. the way your eyes just lit up at the sight of strawberries made him happy, and from then on — gojo looks at a picture of a strawberry or even smelled strawberry from god knows where.

he just thinks of you.

one time gojo saw a rabbit eating a strawberry while scrolling through his social media, and he wasted no time sending the video to you with a small message: "you <33"

or the other time gojo sees a bucket cap with strawberry motives and he just had to get it for you. the male waited in line for half an hour for that hat (and he had to "fight" a kid for it, he won in the end because the kid moved on to a duck motive hat instead).

"baby, look what i got you — strawberry scented bath bomb. it was the last one on stock, and i had to argue with a lady over it," he happily bursts through the door, boasting while raising what seemed to be a bath bomb.

gojo just knows when you change your usual brand of strawberry lip balm. it took him a peck and he asks you, "did you change your brand? this one tastes weird," he wipes his lips.

"they were out of stock, 'toru."

"why didn't you say so?" he cooed, kissing the bridge of your nose, "i'd go to the other side of the earth to get you one, y'know?"

you chuckled, "or, i could just wait for it to stock back . . ."

"nonsense!"

𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑���

the smiths.

he finds it amusing when you start quoting that one scene from 500 days of summer, "i love the smiths . . ." and he just unexpectedly replied with, "sorry?"

but that time — he didn't know that he was "unknowingly" going along with it. confused, he had to question you about it, and when you told him it was from a movie. megumi finally understood and thought that maybe you really liked the movie.

he was wrong. it wasn't the movie, it was the smiths. so now, every time he sees anything or hears anything about the band, he finds himself thinking about you — but he'd never actually say that. megumi often listens to their songs just so he could understand when you talked to him about it.

also, quoting the movie was now a habit for you two. you just go, "i love the smiths," out of the blue and megumi will continue it (even if he says that it's pretty corny).

megumi loves it when you listen to the smiths out loud, singing softly to the tune. the male tries really hard to get you unofficial merchandise, official merchandise for the smiths are actually so hard to find today — so he just had to go and make it custom for you.

"and when the double decker bus, crashes into us . . ." he heard you sing, both of your ears jammed with earbuds from the earphones, "to die by your side."

that, was your favorite song. and megumi made it into a custom painting of you and him as if the two of you were in that one scene in 500 days of summer. i'm not kidding.

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈

mochi skin. the texture, the flesh. it just reminded him of your cheeks — it's so squishy and soft. every single time he buys a mochi, he makes sure to do something that he calls a squish test.

where he squishes the mochi, and then squishes your cheeks. if they don't feel the same, yuuji gets rid of the mochi and gets another one (he eats them).

"it doesn't feel the same y/n, i don't like it," he whines out softly, tossing the mochi into his mouth — he angrily takes out another bill of cash to buy another mochi.

"yuuji, why does it have to be the same again?" you asked him, hands inside your pockets.

"because . . ." good point. why?

the male prompts to ignore you and buy another one (three others) to make sure they are the same texture as your cheeks. it's something he does — if a mochi he buys doesn't feel the same way like your cheeks does.

he eats them or lets you have them.

if it does.

he also eats them or lets you have them.

it's just something he does for fun, so he could always remember you. and when you're not there with him — yuuji makes sure to buy at least five before coming over to visit you so he could do the test.

when he's not feeling like it but he misses you, he takes a video and sends it to you with a caption: "i miss you."

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[crimsntwlip]

“i said i love the smiths” | mattheo riddle x reader

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

warnings: kinda short, mentions of alcohol, readers status not mentioned, reader is a slytherin, soft fluff?

summary: slytherin is throwing a house party, to which you desperately want to stay in your room but get dragged downstairs by your friends. you end up on the couch, next to mattheo, who was also stuck in the same situation . 🐾

a/n: this imagine is inspired by the my fav 500 days of summer scene 😭😭!!! if you have no clue what im talking about you can watch it here! pretty cute scene :> but enough of that!!!!

masterlist | posted: 11/15/23 | part 2

you looked at yourself in the mirror, staring out the outfit you wore for the party you swore you wouldn’t go. that was until your 2 closest friends, elenoise and augusta, begged for you to join them. i mean fully begged, down on their knees begged, to the point where you just finally agreed to end this madness.

you could see the both of them through the mirrors as they wore a smug expressions behind you as they sat on your bed. you groaned, having second thoughts, “do i really have to go?” you sighed. to be fair, your friends knew you weren’t really a social butterfly, i mean you’d rather just stay in bed with headphones in blasting music while reading.

but of course, your friends thought you needed to go out and experience more stuff while you were in hogwarts. which brought them here, dragging you with them to some stupid party.

“yes!” they exclaimed in sync, “we’re doing this for you, trust, you will be thanking us later,” elenoise grinned as augusta nodded next to her. you only huffed, feeling defeated.

as you three begin to make your way downstairs, the smell of alcohol hits your nostrils as the loud music blasts. you make your way through the crowd, and you already regret coming. you look back, expecting to see your two friends following behind, only to find them gone, lost somewhere in the crowd. you sighed, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants anxiously.

you made your way through the overcrowded space as you spot an empty space on a couch that was in the corner of the common room, making you sigh in relief. you sat down, your nerves finally calming down as you observed everyone. It was only then that you heard the faded music of your favorite band, the smiths, lingering next to you. causing you to glance over your shoulder, revealing mattheo riddle, looking bored out of his mind as music blasted through his headphones.

you only glanced at him before you hesitantly start trying to make convo. you weren't friends with him, but you knew of him, i mean who didn't know him?

you gave him a small smile as you saw that he had finally noticed your quiet presence. you took this opportunity, "the smiths?" you start off, your index finger pointing up towards his headphones. but with his music still blasting in his ears, he doesn't hear you. he glances at you and gives you a small "hi" before he turns his gaze back away.

but you continue to try again anyways. you lean in slightly closer, paying close attention to confirm that it was the smiths. "i love the smiths," you say with a serene smile as mattheo turned his attention towards you. "sorry?" he asked, pulling his headphones down to his neck to hear you clearer.

"i said i love the smiths" you state once again, causing mattheo stare at you in awe making your smile slightly grow. again, you hesitantly speak once again, "you've- you've got good taste in music," you complimented. "you like the smiths?" mattheo asks nearly cutting you off, you grow shy and nod muttering a small "yeah" before you sang along to the music that was still blasting around the star-struck boy's neck.

"to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die- i love em." you grinned, glancing around the room once again. mattheo kept his gaze on you, but before he could say anything else, your friends came along. "(y/n)!" one of them exclaimed, "we were looking for you everywhere!" they said, taking your hand and dragging you with them, leaving the boy alone once again. you glanced back to see mattheo still staring at you in awe, making you giggle and turn back towards you friends.

"holy shit," a smitten mattheo mumbled as he watched you disappear in the crowd.

a/n: lmk if you guys want a part 2 or if i should make this into a series!! i enjoyed writing this 🤭 <33

[kayakiki]

MINE | Red dead redemption x reader

Red dead redemption characters reacting to you getting hit on

Characters included: Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, John Marston, Javier Escuella, Lenny Summers, Charles Smith (In this order)

warning(s): threatening, mention of death

Genre: fluff

Arthur Morgan

The saloon was dimly lit, filled with the familiar scent of whiskey and sweat. You were just trying to enjoy a drink, letting the warmth of the fire and the buzz of conversation settle over you like an old, tattered blanket. But, of course, peace never lasted long in a place like this.

Arthur saw it before you did—the way the man leaned in too close, the cocky grin stretched across his face as he said something low enough for only you to hear. Whatever it was, it made your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.

He sighed.

He’d been in this business long enough to recognize trouble before it started. Didn’t matter if it was a rival gang or some drunk fool thinking he was invincible—trouble always walked in wearing the same damn smirk.

Setting his glass down, he adjusted the brim of his hat and stood, slow and deliberate. He didn’t need to be loud. Didn’t need to make a scene. When he moved, people noticed.

The man flirting with you didn’t, though.

Not until there was a shadow over him.

"Step back." His voice was calm, steady. Not a demand, not a threat, just a statement. But the weight behind it carried more warning than any drawn gun ever could.

The flirter, either too stupid or too drunk to recognize the danger he’d just waded into, gave a sloppy grin. "Didn’t realize this pretty thing belongs to someone, friend."

His jaw tensed. "She ain’t a prize to be claimed. Now move along."

Something about the way he said it—the quiet steel in his tone, the absolute certainty—made the man hesitate. But there’s always one idiot in every saloon who thinks they’re tougher than they are.

"Or what?" the flirter taunted, puffing his chest out like a rooster in a henhouse.

Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He was getting real tired of this kind of stupid.

"Or," he said, finally letting his hand rest on the holster of his revolver, "you’ll find out firsthand why I don’t waste bullets on warnings."

The man gulped, eying the gun. For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackle of the fire and the creak of old wooden floorboards.

Then the flirter swallowed, muttered something under his breath, and all but ran out the door.

Satisfied, Arthur finally turned to you, expression unreadable. His eyes, though—they were searching, checking, making sure you were alright.

"You alright?" He spoke softly to you.

You gave him a small smile. "I could’ve handled it. But thank you. You're a real gentleman, huh?"

"I know you could handle it." He nodded, lips twitching up at the corners. "But I ain’t one for lettin’ fools talk too long."

He was just a man. A man who made his choices, lived by a code, and—above all else—protected what was his.

Dutch Van Der Linde

The saloon was alive with music and laughter, the scent of whiskey thick in the air. His people were scattered throughout the room, celebrating some recent victory—another step toward the future he was building, a future he made them believe in.

Dutch sat at his usual spot, whiskey in hand, leaning back with that ever-present smirk playing on his lips. A man of ambition, a man of vision. A man who owned every room he walked into.

And then he saw it.

Some poor, oblivious fool had sidled up to you, leaning in like he actually thought he had a shot. The man was talking fast, trying to impress you, and—bless his heart—he really didn’t know whose woman he was trying to charm.

A slow grin spread across his face.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

Rising from his seat, he adjusted his coat, took a slow sip of his drink, and sauntered over like a king approaching his throne. Confidence in every step.

He placed a hand on your waist first—a silent declaration.

Then, with a voice as smooth as the finest whiskey, he spoke.

"Darlin’—imagine my heartbreak, sittin’ over there all by my lonesome, watchin’ another man try to steal you away." His tone was playful, teasing, but his eyes? Oh, there was fire behind them.

The flirter blinked, clearly confused. "I—uh—I was just—"

He cut the man off with a chuckle, shaking his head like he was genuinely disappointed. "No, no. Don’t backpedal now. You were doin’ real well—real confident, too. Almost made me jealous."

That was a lie. He wasn’t jealous. Not even a little. Because jealousy was for men who weren’t certain of what was theirs.

The flirter, now visibly uncomfortable, mumbled something and practically disappeared into the crowd.

With that little distraction handled, he turned his full attention to you, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

"Now, tell me the truth, sweetheart, was he borin’ you to death?"

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "You could’ve let me handle it, you know."

He exhaled a laugh, lifting your hand to press a slow, deliberate kiss against your knuckles.

"Oh, I know. But what kind of gentleman would I be if I let my lady suffer through such poor conversation?"

You shook your head, amused, but he could see the way your eyes softened for him.

"Now," he continued, voice dropping just a little, just enough to make your heart skip, "how ‘bout you let me buy you a drink, and I remind you why you chose me over every fool in this room?"

Hosea Matthews

The saloon was buzzing, card games in full swing, drinks flowing like a river after the rains. Hosea sat at a corner table, long legs stretched out, hat tipped just enough to give him a lazy, uninterested look—a man who saw everything without looking like he was watching.

And right now, he was watching.

Some poor bastard had decided that tonight was the night to try his luck with you.

He didn’t get mad. No, no. Anger was for men who didn’t know how to control a situation. Instead, he just sighed, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he observed.

The fool was talking big, flashing his best smile, leaning just a little too close for comfort. You looked unimpressed—which he found rather amusing.

He pushed back his chair and stood, adjusting his coat as he made his way over.

"Now, now," he drawled, sliding into the space between you and the flirter with the effortless ease of a man who had never lost a game of poker in his life. "I do hate to interrupt, but you wouldn’t happen to be botherin’ my lady, would you?"

The flirter blinked, clearly realizing that this wasn’t just some random man.

"I—uh—was just makin’ conversation."

"Oh, conversation." He nodded, stroking his chin like he was deep in thought. "Well, I do respect a man with a love for words. Tell me—what exactly were you hopin’ to achieve with this little chat?"

The flirter frowned, clearly confused.

"Were you hopin’ she’d find you more charmin’ than me?" He tsked, shaking his head. "That ain’t likely."

"Maybe you thought you could outwit me?" He grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. "That’d be a first."

The flirter opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Hosea lifted a hand, stopping him.

"Or—maybe you just enjoy flirtin’ with taken women. Now, that’s a dangerous little habit, my friend."

His voice was still light, still playful—but there was something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make the fool hesitate.

"So, here’s my friendly advice—take whatever dignity you got left, walk away, and count yourself lucky I’m in a good mood tonight."

The flirter didn’t need to be told twice. He muttered something and all but ran out the door.

Satisfied, he turned back to you with a grin. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he plopped himself into the seat beside you, resting an arm along the back of your chair.

"Now, how ‘bout you buy me a drink for my troubles? Savin’ my lady from unwanted attention is thirsty work." He mused jokingly.

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

And no, he did not let you pay for his drink. He is too much of a gentleman.

John Marston

The saloon was dimly lit, hazy with cigar smoke and filled with the low hum of conversation. You were at the bar, waiting for your drink, when some nobody decided to slink up beside you, all smug confidence and cheap cologne.

“Well now, ain’t you just the prettiest little thing in here tonight?” the man drawled, leaning in slightly.

But before you even had to deal with it, you felt a familiar presence behind you—a looming, quiet storm.

John wasn’t one for scenes. He didn’t do flashy threats or loud outbursts. But when he was angry? You felt it.

A heavy hand landed on the bar beside you, just close enough to the man’s arm to make him notice. John didn’t say anything right away. He just stared.

The cowboy hesitated, then scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Something wrong, friend?”

John let out a slow, tired sigh, like this was the last thing he wanted to be dealing with.

Then, in a low voice, he muttered, “Walk away.”

That was it. Just two words. But damn, did they carry weight.

The man chuckled, trying to brush it off. “Relax, I was just complimentin’ her.”

John’s jaw twitched. His hand flexed once against the bar. Then, just as calmly, just as quietly, he repeated, “Didn’t ask what you were doin’. I said, walk away.”

His voice was steady, deadpan, but his eyes? Cold as hell.

The cowboy hesitated, glancing between you and the muscular, very unamused man standing beside you. Eventually, he grumbled something under his breath and backed off. Smart choice. Your boyfriend didn’t even watch him go. He just exhaled through his nose, finally looking at you.

“You alright, love?” he muttered, voice still low, still gruff, like he was still shaking off the irritation. He then proceeded to sneak his arm around your shoulders, squeezing you tightly against him.

You smirked a little, nudging him lightly. “You gonna start throwing people out of saloons now?”

He scoffed, finally reaching for his drink. “If I have to.”

Then, after a beat of silence, he muttered, “Damn idiot’s lucky I was feelin’ patient.”

And that was that. No gloating, no dramatics. Just his usual, grumpy, quiet self—like scaring the hell out of some poor fool was just another part of his evening.

Javier Escuella

The saloon was loud, the air thick with cigar smoke and the scent of spilled whiskey. Javier sat at a table near the back, boots propped up, a half-empty bottle in front of him. His hat was tilted slightly forward, casting a shadow over sharp, dark eyes that scanned the room like a hawk.

He wasn’t in a bad mood. Not yet.

But then he saw it.

Some dumb pendejo had the nerve—the absolute balls—to sidle up to you, flashing some cocky smile like he actually had a chance.

He watched. For a moment. Maybe you’d tell the bastard off yourself.

But then the man had the audacity to touch your arm.

The chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood. Oh, now he was in a bad mood. He walked across the room, boots heavy against the floor, zero hesitation in his step.

Before the flirter even knew what was happening, a strong hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back.

"Qué carajo te pasa, idiota?" Javier snapped at the man, forgotting to speak english thanks to how angry he was.

The flirter stumbled, eyes wide. "I—"

"No, no, no. You don’t talk. You listen." Javier's grip tightened, fiery anger sparking behind his gaze. "You think you can just walk in here and touch my woman?"

"I—I didn’t know she was taken!"

He scoffed, shoving the man backward with enough force to make him trip over his own damn feet.

"Scram"

The flirter scrambled up and bolted out of the saloon, leaving behind his pride and probably a little bit of his soul.

With that handled, he turned to you, still fuming.

"Qué chingados fue eso? Are you collecting dumbasses now, mi amor?"

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "Its not like I want to, you know. Besides, I could have take care of it myself without the violence"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "Sí, sí, cariña. But that doesn’t mean I have to sit there and watch some idiota put his hands on you."

His eyes softened—just a little—before he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to his.

"Next time, just tell me first so I don’t waste time watchin’ before I break his damn nose, sí?"

Then, without waiting for a reply, he pressed a quick, fierce kiss against your lips—just enough to make a statement.

When he pulled back, he smirked.

"I don’t like wasting my time on dead men walking."

Lenny Summers

The saloon was buzzing, the low hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of glasses. Lenny sat at the bar, his legs dangling over the edge of the stool, playing with the rim of his glass absentmindedly. His quick-wit was always sharp, and his mind constantly raced with new ideas, but in moments like these, he found himself stuck in a kind of awkward silence, observing rather than jumping into the conversation.

He liked to think of himself as someone who didn’t need to make a big show of things—but right now, his attention was focused on you. You were laughing at something one of the other men said, your smile bright, and your eyes sparkling with amusement.

But then, a man he didn’t recognize leaned in a little too close, trying to match your energy and charm.

His fingers drummed nervously on the counter. Why was he feeling so uneasy?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen men flirt with you before. But something about this one… he didn’t like it.

A quick glance to the side showed the man was pushing his luck, inching closer, leaning in with a confident grin that made his stomach twist.

There was a brief moment where he considered letting it slide. You could handle yourself; he knew that. He’d seen you put people in their place without raising a finger. But then the thought of that man getting too bold sent a rush of frustration through him.

With a deep breath, he stood up, adjusting his coat as he made his way over.

The man noticed him just as he was about to say something else, and he made the mistake of locking eyes with him.

"Hey" he said, his voice not quite as loud as he intended, a little unsure. "I think you’ve gotten a little too close."

The man shot him a confused glance.

"Come again?"

"I said… you’re a bit too close," he repeated, trying to sound calmer, more composed.

You turned to look at him now, a curious expression crossing your face.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but he pressed on. This wasn’t like him. He’d spoken to men a lot worse than this. It was just—well, it was you. He hated seeing anyone else get too close to you.

"Hey, I don’t mean any harm" the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender "but I was just talking."

"Yeah, well," His voice dropped just a little lower. He cleared his throat and tried to appear more confident. "She’s not interested, alright? So, maybe it’s time to move along."

The man, realizing there was no point in arguing, just nodded with a lazy grin and walked off.

He stood there, awkwardly, unsure whether to feel relieved or embarrassed that he’d gotten worked up over something so small.

You were staring at him now, eyes narrowed slightly in amusement.

"Well" you said, a teasing tone in your voice, "you sure look scary mister"

He flushed, scratching the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "I just I didn’t want you to be bothered by someone."

You smiled, stepping closer to him. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to steady his nerves. "You don’t have to do that, you know. But I appreciate it."

His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he almost forgot where he was. "I’m just glad I could help."

You laughed softly, the sound making him smile more than he realized.

"Yeah sure did. Thank you" you said.

He felt the knot in his chest loosen, his shoulders relaxing just a little. "You have nothing to thank me for."

Charles Smith

The saloon was alive with noise—piano keys clinking, drunken laughter rolling through the thick haze of tobacco smoke. Charles sat at the bar, posture relaxed but never careless, one hand around a glass of whiskey, the other resting near the knife strapped to his belt.

He never spoke more than he had to. Words were cheap. Actions mattered. And right now, his attention was drawn to you. Or, more specifically, the fool who thought he had the right to stand too close, talk too sweet, and try his luck where he had no business trying.

At first, he waited. Gave the man a chance. Maybe he was just being friendly. Maybe he’d realize his mistake and walk away.

But then the flirter leaned in.

Your shoulders tensed ever so slightly. You weren’t scared—you could handle yourself, and he knew that.

Didn’t mean he had to let you.

Setting his glass down with deliberate ease, he rose from his seat and crossed the room in a few slow, measured steps.

The flirter didn’t notice him at first.

Not until a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

The man froze. Turned. Looked up into unreadable eyes.

"Step away," he said, voice quiet—but quiet in the way distant thunder warns of a coming storm.

The flirter blinked, surprised, then scoffed. "Didn’t realize she was taken."

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind the man that he could.

"You realize now."

A pause.

Then the flirter nodded, mumbling some excuse as he backed away fast enough to trip over his own feet.

Once he was gone, Charles finally turned to you, gaze softening just enough.

"You alright?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "I could’ve handled him."

His lips twitched, almost amused. "I know."

That was it. No gloating, no teasing. Just quiet certainty.

[scottlynch78]

On the Cover of a Grimdark Magazine

Hey, Tumblr. Long time, no tumbl.

Just wanted to mention that the first-ever Gentlemen Bastards short story, "Locke Lamora and the Bottled Serpent," will be appearing as a two-part extravaganza in Grimdark Magazine's issues 40 and 41. Issue 40, GDM's tenth anniversary celebration, is available for you to grab right now:

bit.ly/GdM_Issue40

"Locke Lamora and the Bottled Serpent" returns us to Camorr some months after Locke's 13th birthday, which was described in the "Orphan's Moon" chapter of The Republic of Thieves. Locke, working as a bar-back in a rough-and-tumble Right People tavern, deals with some issues, including the fact that his only real friend on the premises is an aging mercenary named Mazoc Szaba who has an addiction to drinking poisonous wine for contests of chance. Since there are no flashbacks in Thorn, this story was the first time in quite a while I'd "gone back" to Camorr, and I found the experience pretty emotional. The good folks at GDM were lovely enough to give me this chance to play in their pages, so if you harbor any affection for Locke, give 'em a shot. The individual issue should be about $4, and also comes with a load of fiction and non-fiction from people including Anna Smith Spark, Mark Lawrence, Christopher Buehlman, Cat Rambo, and many others!

If you missed my August updates on novellas, signed bookplates, and other matters, check it all out at: http://www.scottlynch.us/updates.html

And hey, if you didn't see my short story "Selected Scenes From the Ecologies of the Labyrinth," published in the Sunday Morning Transport in July, give it a read! No charge.

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Dame Margaret Natalie Smith, CH, DBE 28th of December, 1934 — 27th of September, 2024

She received  numerous  accolades,  including  two  Academy  Awards,  five  BAFTA  Awards,  four  Emmy  Awards,  three  Golden  Globe  Awards  and  a  Tony  Award,  as  well  as  nominations  for  six  Laurence  Olivier  Awards.  She  was  one  of  the  few  performers  to  earn  the  Triple  Crown  of  Acting.

“ Do  not  be  stilled  by  anger  or  grief.  Burn  them  both  and  use  that  fuel  to  keep  moving.  Look  up  at  the  clouds  and  tip  your  head  way  back  so  the  roofs  of  the  houses  disappear.  Keep  moving. ” — Dame Maggie Smith in her memoir; You Could Make This Place Beautiful (2023)

"My  wife  and  I  were  deeply  saddened  to  learn  of  the  death  of  Dame  Maggie  Smith.  As  the  curtain  comes  down  on  a  national  treasure,  we  join  all  those  around  the  world  in  remembering  with  the  fondest  admiration  and  affection  her  many  great  performances  and  her  warmth  and  wit  that  shone  through  both  on  and  off  the  stage." — King Charles III

"The  end  of  an  era  of  the  sheer  definition  of  what  it  means  to  be  an  actor.  You  created  characters  that  clung  to  us,  moved  us,  entertained  us  ......  made  us  look  within.  You  defied  the  expectations  of  age....  crossed  generations.  You  were  greatness  personified  Dame  Maggie  Smith.  'A  lady  always  knows  when  it's  time  to  leave'  [...]  Godspeed  ♥️"  —  Viola  Davis

"She  was  a  fierce  intellect, a  gloriously  sharp  tongue,  could  intimidate  and  charm  in  the  same  instant  and  was,  as  everyone  will  tell  you,  extremely  funny...  The  word  legend  is  overused  but  if  it  applies  to  anyone  in  our  industry  then  it  applies  to  her."  —  co-star  in  Harry  Potter,  Daniel  Radcliffe

"Maggie  Smith  was  a  truly  great  actress,  and  we  were  more  than  fortunate  to  be  part  of  the  last  act  in  her  stellar  career.  She  was  a  joy  to  write  for,  subtle,  many-layered,  intelligent,  funny  and  heart-breaking.  Working  with  her  has  been  the  greatest  privilege  of  my  career,  and  I  will  never  forget  her."  —  Downton  Abbey  creator,  Julian  Fellowes

"Maggie  Smith  was  a  great  woman  and  a  brilliant  actress.  I  still  can’t  believe  I  was  lucky  enough  to  work  with  the  “one-of-a-kind”.  My  heartfelt  condolences  go  out  to  the  family  …  RIP."  —  co-star  in  Sister  Act & Sister Act 2: Back In The Habit,  Whoopi  Goldberg

"When  I  was  younger  I  had  no  idea  of  Maggie’s  legend  –  the woman  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  share  space  with.  It  is  only  as  I’ve  become  an  adult  that  I’ve  come  to  appreciate  that  I  shared  the  screen  with  a  true  definition  of  greatness."  —  co-star  in the  Harry  Potter film series,  Emma  Watson

"Heartbroken  to  hear  about  Maggie.  She  was  so  special,  always  hilarious  and  always  kind.  I  feel  incredibly  lucky  to  have  shared  a  set  with  her  and  particularly  lucky  to  have  shared  a  dance."  —  co-star  in the  Harry  Potter film series,  Rupert  Grint

"Anyone  who  ever  shared  a  scene  with  Maggie  will  attest  to  her  sharp  eye,  sharp  wit  and  formidable  talent,"  on-screen  son  in  Downton  Abbey,  Hugh  Bonneville

"I  had  the  unforgettable  experience  of  working  with  her;  sharing  a  two-shot  was  like  being  paired  with  a  lion.  She  could  eat  anyone  alive,  and  often  did.  But  funny,  and  great  company.  And  suffered  no  fools.  We  will  never  see  another.  God  speed,  Ms.  Smith!"  —  co-star  in  Suddenly,  Last  Summer,  Rob  Lowe