They’ve Been Rebuilding The Tower Of Babel, But This Time They Have A Team Of Linguists On Site. Every

I will fulfil your wishes of a more revolution centred plot after this chapter I promise but, as it were, this particular chapter is centred around other matters concerning the ending of the last scene. So with all due respect, reviewers, keep your freakin' pants on. If you want this to play out nicely in the end then please give me a decent ending! Send in your ideas please, they're needed. The raven shadow of codename V whipped across the night sky untouched by the moonlight. It slunk from shadow to shadow becoming something and then nothing again before an eye could comprehend. Just as a car cast its yellow eyes across the face of the bank of London, he slunk down into an alley passage and turned into the sound of a cat on the fire escape of an old woman who had stayed up late and was making a cup of brew. She opened the window to let her pet in and found nothing there. He was in a hospital room a block away. It was a wonderful tranquillity that came in this place, just knowing that his love was here, somewhere. V gave himself a moment to soak in it. He left the ward and stepped out into a badly lit hallway, letting his feet make noise again, knowing there would be no one there. He stopped. He took a breath… …Nothing. For a moment V thought he had smelled gasoline. The masked man had reached a decision, as with (what was) the fait of the train, he would leave his destiny in the hands of Evey. Two hands he could trust. And once he was rejected he could slip out of her life as quickly as he had entered it. It was not a happy note to leave his thoughts on, but it was solid. It only made sense. Evey would die for him, an act of obedience, but he could never ask her to love him. This was all that there was to it, when boiled down: she had taken his heart, it was only fitting he should reclaim it, even if it was to be damaged in the process. His purpose had been fulfilled, he was just occupying space in her life. Things would be so much easier if he had died when he was supposed to. He eased quietly throughout the hospital to the fourth floor burn ward and into the cold little room. A gloved hand hastily swept the curtain aside. His heart nearly stopped. Before him, asleep, was the love of his life. A gloved hand reached down and stroked the surface of her face, cold. Its molten texture collided with his fingers in a singularly strange sensation. It was like stroking pink fleshy coral. Unwillingly his eyes stung with the beginnings of tears. Evey, poor sweet, small and gorgeous Evey, stripped of all her beauty, pocked and swollen. His throat was suddenly very dry. He cupped her cheek. Two brown eyes eased open at this, one quite red. "V..?" The man's heart ached. All thoughts of the revolution, of purpose, of death aside, he could spend the rest of his life staring into those eyes. He cleared his head and took a breath. A weird taste was left in his mouth. "Evey," V finally responded. His voice was a muttered whisper, but she heard. Evey gave him a relieved sigh and smiled warmly. He sighed as well. "V, where have you been?" "I'm sorry I'm late. I suppose I got caught up in some music…" "…its fine" her smile lit up her face, her beautiful ruined face. Foreign and yet hers. Curious eyes, a loving smile. "Your out of your bandages." That seemed rather rude of you to say! his mind echoed, why would you bring that up? "…hmm." she said weakly. His mind drew a hundred conclusions from this, but before anything could be vocalized her hand rested over his, and he was lost. "Do I look alright V?" I could never lie to you Evey, not again. "You're beautiful Evey" She gave him a smile, a little shy, a little hurt, a loving twisted smile. The moment lasted only a small spool of eternity before V sensed something strange and broke their locked eyes to stare at the window. Its bottom edge was frosted with… steam? Beebeep beebeep beebeep beebeep beebeep beebeep smack! Kara yawned and arched her back. Work. Fucking work. She glanced over at the alarm clock, it was one in the morning! How could anyone live like this? Why was she living like this? Student loans didn't need repaying since the banks weren't under any real order anymore, she only needed enough money to live on. This wasn't the way to do it. She felt her way down the stairs and clicked the kettle on, threw on some clothes, drank some weak coffee, grabbed her purse and left her warm flat for Soho. Fucking Soho. No one should be expected to be up this early. She wasn't a morning person. Coffee was so expensive these days. Her clothes were too small. Why did she have to walk? God life in the city was miserable. Well I'm not moving HOME! She sighed. One on the morning. On call every night, moonlighting, half heartedly scribbling out signatures on forms, checking bed pans, fluffing pillows, changing diapers. If there was any place in the world that made home look hospitable, it was a Soho hospital. Coming out of an alley, she looked to the end of the street where the Hospital lurched over the surrounding houses. The windows appeared to be glowing orange? Kara's tired mind tumbled over suggestions as to why but before anything came together, the deafening sound of an explosion in a top floor room shattered her curious thinking and drew her eyes back to the white and yellow mass. In return to her glance, another explosion erupted. Before she could think of anything more productive, the young nurse was bolting toward it. Her high heels dropped onto the pavement outside, giving her enough speed to run in and grab the first person she could. The passage was clogged with panicking patients and nurses, young and old climbing over one another for the fire exits. Her hands landed on flesh. A small child of an indeterminate sex crying in the hallway was swept up into her arms and carried out onto the sidewalk before its saviour lunged back inside again. Kara threw her purse to the ground and started just pushing people towards the entrance for lack of a better thought. Once the room was semi-clear she checked each door for sleeping patients. Three rooms behind her, the label on an oxygen tank peeled in the surrounding heat. It burst. The first thing to go was the cape, then the boots. Without them, the trip to the parallel roof was made much easier, particularly as they were alight. The heft of Evey in his arms pulled him down the tiles of the church's peaked roof, from which he jumped and landed nimbly on the roof of a block of flats. With no possible onlookers in sight, the terrorist set her down and raced back to the building. There was a flash of darkness in the deep blue soaring from rooftop to rooftop. It went unnoticed by all the Londoners, except one who continued to preen his feathers and, after admiring the big pretty yellow thing for a little while longer, flew off to tell his mates that they should probably avoid this spot for a while. Kara's eyelids sizzled with pain as she attempted to open them. Smoke blinded her, even on the floor the fumes reached her lungs causing her to cough and sputter. Closing her eyes, she pulled herself in the direction of the front desk, her legs bleeding profusely, draining her energy. The nurse's heart hammered. She squealed as flames licked at her sides, pouring out of a side room like water flowing into the ceiling. Another explosion thundered above her* on a higher floor and debris rattled down off if the ceiling. Burning tiles landed beside her. A final waft of smoke finally breached her throat and was swallowed into her lungs. She choked and collapsed. The last thing Kara felt before she blacked out was an arm around her waist. V's bootless feet touched down on the jagged tiles and, finding a flat spot, lay the nurse down. The shadowy figure knelt by her. A glove was removed and its now naked hand placed two fingers to her neck. A pulse answered him. He sighed. She coughed. Somewhere below, someone took a photo took a photo on their phone. *there are quite a few oxygen tanks in a hospital if you need a reason for all the explosions

a chapter from my V for Vendetta fanfic 

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6511680/9/A_Sudden_Change_of_Plan

Posting old art of mine. This one is Random Number Generator Horror Podcast fanart in the style of a Stephen King book cover. Made in Procreate about 6 months ago

Can you spot all 3 of my signatures?

the Sponge squad if they were a band from Splatoon

had an idea about clowngirl pajamas so i made a whole design about it

[image description: a reference image for an original character named snoozie, a lanky clown girl with curly dark red hair. on the left is her in a red and pink babydoll nightie that resembles a circus tent with curlers in her hair. on the right is her without the nightie and curlers, where she is wearing pink and red pajamas with matching gloves and stockings. end id]

"America" by Claude McKay

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,

And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,

Stealing my breath of life, I will confess

I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!

Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,

Giving me strength erect against her hate.

Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.

Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,

I stand within her walls with not a shred

Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.

Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,

And see her might and granite wonders there,

Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,

Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.

men will do literally anything other than engaging in pro-social community-oriented behavior and then get online and complain about how masculinity is vilified and men aren't allowed to be heroes anymore