"What ability have you gotten your hands onto this time?"

"—I don’t know, but I can’t turn it off.”


░『 ⌚ 』 onthisrock

❛        are you sure you can
   wrap your hand around it ? ❜


❛ i think is too THICK for you. 


"….Nice try. Nothin’s gonna stop me from picking up this sledgehammer and hitting you with it."


#375 | Sylar | Heroes


Milo Ventimiglia

© Carmen Chan, 2010


Heroes Rewatch - Still my favorite character!!

Peter Petrelli (1.20 Chapter Twenty ‘Five Years Gone’) [Black/White Edit]



Adam followed Peter’s gaze and for a moment, he felt irritating brief confusion. Then the realization hit him. Oh for—-unbelievable! 

 ”…that is you to the teeth,” he said, a hint of anger, his blue eyes bright.  He motioned to the corpse. “Shall I set him free?”

He was sullen, oddly so, and moved on, focusing on his point. ”He’s not in any pain, except for the pain caused by his hunger.”


"—and I the one trying to sort out this problem. While the rest of you have hidden and waited for the storm to pass. Doing nothing.” 

"I didn’t say that." A corpse was a corpse. It was rational thought, Peter knew that, but that didn’t make it aggravate him any less — the expression flickering across his features was only pained, oddly sympathetic to it.

There were so many dead, so many infected scattered across the ruins of what used to be their world, but who had time to bury them?

For all his time watching people pass, Peter felt hollow.


"We’re gathering our numbers. Sticking together. Surviving. That’s our top priority.”




Lips split in a strangled cry as Nathan stumbled back, a hand cupping his aching teeth. Warm blood trickled. He couldn’t run, not while Peter’s eyes sparked flames of hatred.

Sucking in a sharp breath, his hand jutted out and swept the air below his brother’s feet, dragging him to the ground. Nathan took hold of the brief distraction to give himself some clarity and command his disorientation. Wiping his mouth clean stained his sleeve red.

Brothers bickered and brothers fought, but this was far more childish games. Emotions boiled over and cast away their former affection, leaving behind a dull mask of feverish rage. Brothers-in-arms no longer, but enemies bent on war. 

He arched as he hit the ground, and hard, back rolling against the floor — but the world only burst with light, colours blinking against the backs of his eye sockets. Disoriented by near agony, Peter struggled for breath.  

A pipe to the head, the end of it swung over Nathan’s shoulder like a baseball bat. ‘Stop.’ As if. No matter how he asked, that blow still came — and no matter how he asked, here and now, that blow would still come, but this time? He wasn’t going to lie there. He wasn’t going to save Nathan from the flames.  

And it was worse that way.




If Peter wanted a fight, so be it. 

The blow struck his brother’s cheek with all the force he could manage. Immediately, his knuckles began to throb on the retreating jerk, but he ignored the pain pulsing through. 

"I told you to stay out of it. If you make this your fight, you’ll be in my way—just like she was.” He couldn’t control the words now. They tumbled from his mouth no matter how vile or false they were.

A grunt. The punch cracked hard against bone and flesh, nearly making the world blink from existence — but the taste of blood sprang to his tongue and spurred him forward, a hand clenching in Nathan’s shirt. His fist drawing back and slamming hard into his mouth.

The time for talking was over.

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