#drecmcrcfters

“Who are you?” 

anonymous impressions || @drecmcrcfters || accepting

☯︎  you’ve helped me improve my writing

❤︎  you are my favorite writer of your muse

"But... if you are slightly ill and ignore it, won't it... get worse? Shouldn't you start getting ahead of it?" Kharon questions, he wasn't sure how others dealt with sickness. Since he rarely became sick himself, and hanging around sick humans from time to time was not the same since she wasn’t that. 

* talk about your muse!

send 😵 for a sickness headcanon

Being the type of enhanced human that Yang is, it takes a damn lot for the woman to fall ill. Most sicknesses or infections do not have a chance to take hold, the immune system and incredibly enhanced physicality fights off the usual culprits. Out right immune towards certain things. However certain kinds of severe poison, rotted food, and so on, can knock Yang on her ass. The draw back of this capability means that other things hit like a truck. Yang's metabolism is higher than normal people, as well as her own natural physical happenings hitting her far harder. Sickness is not common, yet not impossible, and at times has caused Yang to over estimate herself. Landing her bed ridden on occasion.

           :･ﾟ ⚡┇Visitors come and go to the Sky Temple — most are monks or travelers who seek to offer tribute — yet this time he picks up on an different kind of energy; an aura which Raiden cannot recall if he has felt before or not. And so Raiden chases after it, stoic and calm, following the energies’ path until he comes across a small figure resting near a fountain in one of the smaller courtyards. The feeling he gets then is both soothing and troublesome… both balancing simultaneously at his core. Familiar yet foreign.

            The Thunder God clears his throat in order to attract the young lady’s attention — does not want to startle nor frighten her either — and as she looks at him, he is struck by her eyes and their periwinkle color; most certainly not natural, or at least, unusual. Is this a symptom of magic?

            His brows knit into a mild frown, keeping his distances for now — her aura bleeds and overwhelms him for the time being. She could be a threat — or not. He cannot gauge. ❝You are unlike the others❞, he comments, his voice gentle despite the command in it, ❝— who are you?❞

--------- 

The Master rounds on the young woman who stands at the threshold of his TARDIS. 

     “One of three possibilities presents itself,” he declares, lifting a forefinger.  “One, you are incredibly stupid. Two, you’re ignorant of what this little dwelling really is. Three, we know each other.”