#p:icarus

[whitexrabbits-blog]

{icarus: jjg x hj}

        아무도 말해주지 않는 사소한 비밀 얘기 하나,                                아무리 몸부림을 쳐도 아무 것도 변하지 않아.

He’s found himself wandering for a few days now. He’s restless, and he doesn’t want to go back to Hongdae or to the library to deal with Sullivan. It’s been about a month and a half since he died, and the general nervousness that followed him about the situation hadn’t yet subsided. He’d been murdered by one of the most brutal men that he’d ever met, and there was no telling if K-Sung would stoop down to hurting those who Jeongguk was closest to just for the purpose of sending a message. In his life, he’d taken care to cover his tracks to protect those closest to him, but there was no telling what about him was out in the open now that he wasn’t there to safeguard his information anymore. As such, he’s taken to checking up on those that he cared about most in order to make absolutely sure that they were okay before he took the advice of the reaper and passed on into hell (he’d given up on hopes of heaven, given the sick shit he’s done in the past).  “Yah, Jeon Jeongguk!” What the fuck? The sound of his name pulled him out of his thoughts, and the ghost turned with wide eyes to face the young woman who he was checking up on. Surprise wasn’t a strong enough word to describe current emotions. “June....Noona, you can see me?” He asks in confusion, brows furrowing as he tries to figure out just how she was talking to him.                                                           { aekure }

[oliversgrant]

Icarus :|: Oliver Grant

          Sometimes it started at his fingertips, a sharp pain that slowly dulled as his nerve ending were burned away. It moved up his arms and across his shoulders, down his spine and the sides of his legs. He couldn't move -- couldn't scream. He was trapped. That was usually when the bear came for him, undeterred by the flames. Slobber dripped from fangs as long as his hands, black eyes rimmed with bloodshot white as it roared in his face. That was also usually the time Oliver woke up. He didn't scream. Not anymore.           Three years had passed since Oliver had won the 58th Hunger Games by jumping from a tree on top of a career's head. Not only was the death brutal -- there was nothing left of his face when Oliver pulled the spikes in his boots out of his skull -- but it sealed Oliver in as one of the youngest tributes to ever become a victor. He knew he couldn't have done it without the help of his own mentor, wondering what kind of strings the man had pulled in the Capitol to have the sponsors send him such life-saving gifts: a thermal jacket that doubled as camouflage against the snow; a set of flint to help light fires; and salve for the burns on his palms when he had tried to ward off the giant bear Muttations with a burning pine branch. He soon learned though.