The key to immortality is popping 20 Benadryl and running a mile. If you survive then no weapon forge by mankind will ever hurt you again, but your chances of dying due to bear related injuries suddenly sky rockets.
sameen shaw always thought there was something wrong with her but her whole life was dedicated to trying to help others - she was a soldier, a doctor, and a part of team machine. she was willing to give her life for her friends all with the knowledge that no one would ever know her name. i love sameen shaw
I attended the private view for the ‘Mark Shaw: A Moment In Time’ exhibition at Aston Martin’s boutique store on Dover Street in London tonight (23.02.17). The display features images of Coco Chanel reclining on a sofa, John and Jackie Kennedy (Mark became their unofficial family photographer and produced many photographs which can be found in the wonderful book ‘The Kennedys’) and three gorgeous images of Audrey taken by Mark during the filming of ‘Sabrina’ in 1953. We were also very privileged to have Mark’s grandson Hunter Shaw in attendance who spoke with passion and warmth about his grandfather’s work.
The exhibition is open from 23rd February for six months and prints are available to purchase. Please follow this link on this post for further information.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Mark Shaw Photographic Archive for inviting me to this wonderful event.
Hi there! Wondering if you are still taking prompts, if that's the case here's one: Root's been bored for the past few weeks without new numbers or whatever reason and has been reading about vampires. One day she ask the machine to run a simulation with her as a vampire. Cue VampireRoot being a nerd and crushing on Shaw. [BTW, thank you for sharing all your stories with us. I'm in love with you writing. Have a nice day!]
Thanks for sending this in! I’m always taking requests! Hope you like it!
were curious creatures, each with their own interests and things they did in
their spare time. Her Analogue Interface was no exception. They’ve known each
other for four years and still Root managed to surprise Her with new hobbies,
the most recent being a peculiar fascination with vampires. It was hard to
pinpoint when the fascination began but a guess would be two weeks ago, when
numbers were infrequent and she lay around with Sameen in bed or lounged by the
large bedroom window to read books in order to put a damper on the boredom.
Books on vampires had slowly accumulated and now there was a stack of five
sitting on the nightstand, all of various thicknesses. The sixth was in Root’s
hands, brown eyes drinking in the last few pages, and when the book was set
gently aside Root was silent for long moments afterwards, a thoughtful look on
her face. Patiently She waited for Root to say something; often this waiting
brought to mind the cursor blinking on a blank Word document or blinking after
several lines of code.
Then, “What do You know about
She was about to pull up a Google
search but Root interrupted, “And don’t Google it; just off the top of Your
skin, no heartbeat, repulsed by garlic, cannot see their reflections in
mirrors, drinks blood, sleep in coffins, can only be killed by a stake through
the heart, She replied. May I ask why
this particular subject fascinates you?
Root shrugged, plucking at a string in her
sock. “It was something Hanna was interested in for a while, but that’s not the
point. My imagination gets away from me and I end up thinking all these strange
things. I don’t know,” she continued softly, “maybe I’m just curious what it
would be like to be one.”
She perked up. I can do simulations.
There was still the gear she and Sameen had
stolen from one of Samaritan’s last strongholds in the middle of the Nevada
desert, hidden underground. They’d meant to destroy it and only got around to
destroying half. The other half Root hid underneath a loose floorboard under
the bed, where Sameen would find it if she looked carefully. Her excuse for
keeping it was in case they needed to torture a Samaritan operative for
information. “They don’t have the strength Sameen has,” she’d said. “They would
break after one or two.” Root dug it up. It took seven minutes to get
everything in proper order and, after She was certain Sameen wouldn’t be home
anytime soon, She said, Lay on your bed
and relax. I will keep it brief.
Root lay on her back, hands settled over her
stomach. She closed her eyes. “Ready when You are.”
Her skin was cold and pale as a
sheet, blue veins standing out more than they normally would. There was no
heartbeat inside her chest, and no breath either. When she looked into the
mirror there was no reflection and though she was technically dead her hair
looked healthy and her eyes shone as brightly as they would if she were a
human. Her canines were thin as needles. When she reached her hand out to the
patch of sun streaming in through the crack in her blackout curtains, it burned
“Keep these closed,” Sameen said
with an air of impatience, nearly bumping into Root’s shoulder when striding
past her to yank the curtains shut. The room was enveloped in darkness and
Sameen flicked on a lamp. “I’d hate for you to burn to a crackly crisp.”
“Why, because you wouldn’t find
anyone else to chew on you?” She stepped into Sameen’s space, leaning down, the
tip of her nose dragging over the pulse point in Sameen’s neck. “Glad to know
you like it so much.”
“I like it when you bite me,” Sameen huffed, “not when you
try to drink me dry.”
“I wouldn’t,” Root murmured. She
settled herself in Sameen’s lap. “What were you saying about biting?”
Everyone thought the
nightmare had ended with Mara Dyer’s memoirs, but it was only the
beginning. As old skeletons are laid bare, alliances will be tested,
hearts will be broken, and no one will be left unscarred. Let the confessions begin.