#asksylar

((There needs to be more John/Molly in the world))

((Did you just Kim Possible this post?))

empcthic : PETER lowers his head, staring at his...

*Sylar whistling in corner*

Normally, he wasn’t one to imbibe in a drink simply for the sake of imbibing. He’d long ago learned that his metabolism made the rate of consumption required to feel any effects absolutely astronomical, and had never garnered false emotions about the comfort of a stiff drink. But that day, which seemed to herald what he had both waiting for and dreading for decades, it seemed permissible. If only to toast the way of life that was soon to be over.

When his brother in arms stepped through the door of their shared tactical base, the loft flat felt for the moment less empty, not echoing quite so loudly with the promise of how vacated it would become sometime in the future. He looked up from his whisky, a vintage malt that on the market was worth thousands but which he had seen bottled in person, and caught the other man’s gaze.