#chronic pain tw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🩼 Chronic pain, maybe for Jameson?

CW: chronic pain,.Jameson is kind of a bastard here, he judges himself a lot for this

-

Jameson's eyes haven't even opened when he decides he isn't leaving the bed today.

It isn't even the ache, the throbbing deep pain in muscles and bones that were forced into position for so long they can't remember how to come back. The pain he can place to the side, mostly. Swallow some pills, rely on crutches or maybe his chair today, push himself along through sheer determination and momentum.

No, it's not the pain.

It's that the pain is so fucking exhausting.

He's been in this stupid goddamn bed for ten hours but feels like he hasn't slept at all. His eyelids feel like they grind through grit when he blinks them open, and his body just won't move. It would take monumental effort just to get downstairs.

Some days, he can't even use the railing. He has to sit and push himself down on his ass and he feels like a child, cheeks burning in furious embarrassment for something that was never his fault, that he can't control.

Tears burn, and he blinks as rapidly as his tired body allows.

No.

He's exhausted inside and out. Tired of hurting and fighting through hurt. Tired of staircases, tired of standing. Tired of tossing and turning in his sleep and still waking curled up like he's still in the dog crate he left behind years ago.

When there's a knock at his bedroom door, he thinks about answering it.

That feels like too much fucking effort.

"Hey, Jameson?" It's Vince, of course it is. Goddamn fucking Vincent shitty Shield.

"What." He barely manages to spit the word, not even sure he's loud enough to hear through the door. His legs throb harder as if to respond to him and he swallows back a sound.

If this shit makes him whimper like an animal where Vince can hear him, he just... he can't take that.

"Uh, you asked yesterday about getting coffee down-"

"Yeah. No. Not going."

"You sure? I could bring you back a latte-"

"Fuck fucking off, Vince, leave me the fuck alone, I feel like shit. Just fuck off."

There's a long pause.

"Do you want me to get Nat? She's out working on her garden-"

"I said fuck off!"

He grabs the closest thing to him, a book he was reading, and throws it. It bangs against the door and falls to the ground with a flutter of pages that sounds distinctly like it's judging him.

Another pause.

He should apologize. Vince is just being nice, or trying to.

He doesn't say anything.

After a second, he hears Vince creaking on the stairs, and he pulls the covers up over his head to middle himself further. Only then does he let himself hitch the smallest, whispered sob.

#jameson bb #chronic pain tw #injured whumpee #recovering whumpee #escaped whumpee #bbu #whump #pet whump #box boy universe #box boy

[brain-bumbler]

I've been scrolling through your psychic Dion headcanon and I saw the chronic migraines idea and I just thought of the cutest fluff idea of Dion's polycule trying to take care of him before Morris realizes that his psyonics being on the fritz is connected to his migraines!

The sun is setting behind the tree line when Dion feels a tingling behind his eyes, like fingers pressing on his optic nerves.

Not now. Please, not now.

He's sitting on the roof of the brain-shaped building he's grown so familiar with over the summer, his feet dangling twenty feet over the Quarry's lake.

Gisu's pressed to his left side, her hand linked in his as they watch the sky turn gold. Morris is on his right, his chair resting on the ground for once so he can rest his arm on Dion's shoulder. It's the end of the day and he just wants to spend his precious free time relaxing with his partners.

It's the water. It's always the water. He should have known better than to get so close to so much water, but the weather is so nice, and he's been doing better. He doesn't even get dizzy looking down at the lake.

Gisu and Morris's chatter floats over his head. The words garble together, bleeding into long strings of nonsense. Sunbeams bouncing off the water grow brighter, trailing in long wispy lines as he moves his head. It almost looks pretty.

The hand on his shoulder shakes him. He hunches over, neck muscles tightening like stretched rubber bands. Oh god, it's starting and he can't stop it. The pressure in his head builds slowly, like air filling a balloon.

"Dion? Awoka eenu ehligh?"

It takes a second for him to register his name. "Mmmph. I'm fine," he says automatically. He turns to look at Morris, and catches the sun behind his head, burning directly into his retinas. Red, green, and yellow and lights flash behind his eyelids as he squeezes them shut.

"Dion, abuu habing norah?"

He tries to focus on Gisu's voice. Her tone is full of concern, even if the meaning is hard to puzzle out.

His skull feels too small, like his brain is swelling up with water, threatening to crack the bones and explode like a horror movie prop. He presses his palms to his temples as a dozen little invisible needles pinprick his skull.

Warm hands hold his chin. They press against his jaw, coaxing him to unclench his teeth.

A hand pressed to his back, two more on his shoulders, pulling him to his feet. He wobbles, his legs tingling and half-asleep, but Morris and Gisu steady him.

They walk him back into the Motherlobe. Morris's levitation lifts Dion, supporting his weight as Gisu nudges him forward step by step.

He isn't sure how long it is they walk. Anyone they pass is sure to stare, but he can't tell with his eyes shut tight.

A door opens and closes behind him. A larger set of hands cup his head, fingers warm and rough. They rub delicately over his brows, the signal that it's safe to open his eyes.

The lights are off in the jr agents' dorm room, and it's getting darker as Gisu hurries to draw the blinds. Adam smiles down at Dion, cupping his cheeks.

"Apahhu nruv?"

Dion can't understand the words, but the tone of his boyfriend's soft British drawl brings his shoulders down from around his ears.

The dumpy couch in the dorms smells like Morris's cologne and Sam's woodland animal friends. He didn't used to like it, but now he relaxes into the familiar cushions, laying down and curling into a tiny ball. The dark helps. He can focus on breathing and not holding back vomit.

Gisu nudges him, and he lets her pick him up and deposit his head in her lap, careful not to jostle him. She pets his head as the others chat quietly.

He listens for as long as he can, holding on to the sound of their voices as his head splits down the middle. The pressure is the awful part. Something inside him banging on the inside of his head, trying to get out.

He might make a sound of pain— he can't hear himself if he does— because the talk around him stops. Gisu squeezes his arm as he wraps his hands around his head. The agony throbs with his heartbeat.

Someone else touches him. He tries to open his eyes, but the world is a swimming mess of color. Leaning into their hands, Dion lets them move him however they want.

They lightly touch his forehead, and he can feel cool breath on his face as his cheeks pinken. They're so close, and he doesn't need more blood rushing to his head from being flustered.

Then, miraculously, the pounding in his brain eases. Like air escaping from a leaky tire, the pressure in his head deflates. He gasps, nearly falling forward face-first.

When the touch pulls away, he whines, reaching back for them. His brain is still on fire, but it's more of a campfire and less of an incinerator. With relief so strong he can't keep himself up any longer.

The feeling is like cool water running over a blistering burn. It's enough that he can start to drift off. The only thing he can do is wait for the rest of the migraine to fade on its own, but now he can doze until it passes.

Gisu stares at the boy in her lap. His chest rises and falls steadily as he sleeps. Morris and Adam gape at Lizzie, kneeling in front of the couch, her hands hovering over Dion.

Lizzie's own shock is obvious. She closes her open mouth, one eyebrow quirked as she studies the boy in the center of them all.

"Lizzie… Did you…?"

"I thought a little ice would take the edge off. But then I felt his mind… there was so much energy, it's like a lightning storm in there. The static was gonna discharge eventually," she says, whispering.

"Psychic discharge. Hell, that means…" Adam kneels next to her and presses another kiss to Dion's forehead.

"Okay. Okay. I think we should talk about this when he's awake." Even with her mind racing on a superhighway of questions, Gisu can't help her own lips twitching up as she sees how calm Dion is. There will be a lot to talk about later, but for now it's enough that he's feeling better.

"Sounds good to me. Leave the serious stuff for later. I want to find some whipped cream and a feather." Morris rubs his hands together like a cartoon supervillain. He won't do anything, not when Dion is in pain, but the joke disperses some of their anxiety as Gisu whaps him on the hair.

Dion is psychic. It makes sense. The symptoms of psychic repression are weird, but the headaches and fatigue are classic. He's always been so firm and confident about it, and his family agreed that he never displayed any visible powers. But that's not a guarantee. People miss things, I should have considered the possibility….

Morris settles next to Lizzie on the couch while Adam slips under Dion's legs to sit in the middle. She puts the should haves away. For now, they'll keep each other company, watching anime without sound and texting each other memes until Dion wakes up.

When he does blink awake, Dion feels better than he ever has after an episode. His friends and partners are sleeping, flopped over him, limbs tangled together in such a mess he doesn't want to think about getting up.

Dion finds someone's hand and holds it tight, and he can almost feel his head clear even more. Love is funny like that.

#psychonauts 2 #psychonauts #dion aquato #chronic pain tw #headache tw #migraine tw #ask bumble #psychic dion #Sorry this took me so long! I just loved the question so much I wanted to write a little thing for it!! #is this whumptober technically? doesn't fit the theme of today #finally do a whumptober type piece on halloween lol #Dion you get psychic powers but instead of making you cool they just make you really sick : ))))) #psychic powers present differently like neurodivergencies in the real world #so sometimes trying to find out if someone is psychic by comparing them to their siblings doesn't work #there's lots of ways to be psychic #Such a neat idea! #<3 <3 <3 <3 #poly relationship #dion/gisu/morris #dion/adam #implied dion/lizzie #dion/gisu/morris/lizzie/adam #? #Sam might be in there too its ambiguous #pair whoever you want together in this lol

[luciolefire]

The current struggle...

#chronic pain tw #ehlers danlos syndrome #hypermobile eds #joint pain #hypermobile ehlers danlos

[midtown-gwen]

It was a cold rainy day. Despite how much Gwen's neck and headaches pursued her; she wasn't letting that stop her. She had to get a life set up for herself along with continuing her search. While her search for Peter felt like a losing game, she wasn't giving up. Nor was she about to give up on her education and career. As she was passing a building with a large clock on it, the time turned to a new hour causing the bell to ring out loudly. The breath catches in Gwen's throat as she comes to a sudden dead stop; much to the surprise of the person behind her. "I am so sorry. It, the clock, startled me." @misteriios

#closed starter - JJ #chronic pain tw #injury mention tw

[brooklynislandgirl]

So as some of you know, I pinched my sciatic nerve some time ago by being a certified Dumbass.  Today, it’s being real, I am very stiff and in a huge amount of pain {from all of my lower back/tail bone and it’s wrapping around both my legs and down my thighs}}  so. Replies may be a little slow but I’m trying my dudes. I love y’all.

#A Tiny Turtle psa #chronic pain tw

[maryellencarter]

that chronic illness feel when you do an overexertion and you feel like your whole body has been beaten with rolling pins

#this post needs some kind of warning tag but i'm not sure what #chronic pain tw

[tsarnvoiny]

tw: vent , tw: chronic pain , tw: disability , tw money . . .

i really wish the world wasn't so hard to function in when you're poor , and chronic pain. like , it's really hard to put a smile on my face when my whole life amounts to wanting to cry constantly because of this pain i'm in . . . but nobody out there wants to give someone a chance in a job that's actually good for your body.

i'm a work horse when i need to be . . . and like i said . . . bills gotta be paid. welcome to america.

#i am probably gonna be pretty quiet ooc today #not even 12 #and i've already met my limit #i just want to not constantly want to cry just to exist #vent tw #chronic pain tw #disibility tw #money tw #✡ / 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 . . . vents.

[salthq]

@greatpain

returning battered and bruised from a ball wasn't an expected outcome for the tactical agent. chaos ensued and sinéad had been knocked over, most likely unintentionally, as people moved out of the hall. things around the organisation hadn't felt quite right and with what happened, it had only unsettled her further. she's made sure to leave her accommodation half an hour earlier than she would have to ensure a smooth transition, despite having a really bad night. sitting in her chair, the woman adjusts her position until she's as comfortable as can be. being bruised just made everything hurt more - there's a sense of doubt in her mind, that it's all mental considering they've all been under duress but even then, she can physically feel it as there's a burning sensation in her back and hip. it causes her to lean forward and plant her elbows on the table. show your face for a couple of hours and then you can get home and cry. "agent vitalis." she nods towards the other as soon as she could see him. he was the one who had helped her but she couldn't start trusting people now...

#maxime. #chronic pain tw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash beloved, as a prince of woe and misfortune (a fibromyalgia haver) can i request some jameson on a bad pain day

the current vibe is 'i need to pee but my legs are fucking screaming and i havent even moved them yet and my shoes feel too tight because all my peripheral joints are getting inflamed' and i feel Terrible bc i used to be able to just ,, do stuff and now i cannot because of the evil 'You Have Pain And Doctors Don't Know Why' Disorder™

i am not sure whether i want to revel in shared misery or schadenfreude but i am sure i want to see a guy in pain

Anon, my gift to you and my sympathies for your Whole Body:

CW: Chronic pain, self-harm (brief, self-hitting), self-loathing, aftermath of whump, recovering whumpee

-

"You pushed yourself too hard, that's all." Nat tries for soothing, but when she puts a hand out to touch his shoulder, Jameson shoots her a furious glare and she carefully shifts it back again. "Right. Okay. You have to take things slow, honey, your legs-"

"-are goddamn fucking useless, yeah, I get it. I got it." Jameson's rasping voice is thinned to little more than a whisper as he hunches over himself, sitting sideways on the couch with his legs out on the cushions bent at the knees, refusing to straighten. He slams a fist down on his thigh just to feel a bloom of new pain that's is brighter and new compared to the eternal goddamn throbbing of the old. It's... nice. He tries it again on the other side.

Jesus, how fucked up is this? That this is what helps?

"Hey, hey now," Nat says, and before he can do it again she takes his wrist in her cool hands and holds his arm steady. "Not your best idea. I didn't call any part of you useless, that isn't what I said, honey."

"I wanted to walk to the goddamn gas station." Jameson glares at her hands, but he holds still under her deft, gentle touch. He doesn't pull away, or hit anything, he just... sits here, his knees shifting and muscles twitching in a pointless attempt to escape what's inside of them, what's as much a part of him as his own breath in his lungs now. "It's less than two miles. Less than two! I used to-... to run, on the treadmills in training, for fucking five miles, ten miles, no fucking sweat. My handlers told me I had a record for going so fast. I could run for fucking days on end, if I had to! Now..."

He groans, dropping back against the arm of the couch, even angrier when hot tears burn against his eyelids, trying to force their way out.

"Jameson-"

"Now... I can't even fucking walk."

"You do have the crutches, and the chair you can use, I know the sidewalk runs all the way past the gas station-"

"I wanted to fucking walk, Nat! I felt really good this morning! This shit didn't start up until I was putting on my fucking clothes! I shouldn't have fucking needed the goddamn fucking crutches or the stupid fucking chair!"

He grabs almost sightlessly for the crutch leaning against the couch, has it in his hand, and pulls his arm back to throw it.

"I hate this fucking shit!"

Nat's hand closes back around his wrist, and this time her grip is like iron, and Jameson feels his rage wither when he meets her steady hazel eyes.

"Jameson. You are not going to throw that."

Nat rarely uses this voice. Not with him. But now she does, firm and even stern, brooking no appeal. If she wasn't Nat, that voice would be an impossible turn-on. He'd be on his knees, not that he could do that without screaming any longer. He'd be begging her for... anything.

If she was Nanda...

No one's ever going to be Nanda. Not ever again. He pushes down the sharp, if finally slightly faded, spike of pain.

Nat refuses to let him look away this time. "Listen to me. That crutch is a tool, not a weapon. It was a gift, and it is a gift for you. It lets you go places you could not go before. Just like the chair. So if you break it, it's broken, and you lose that tool. Please, honey, don't cost yourself something that helps by getting angry at it for being needed."

"I didn't need it, before," He whispers, and she takes the crutch away from him, laying it down on the floor. He lets her do it. "Even when I was on the run. I didn't need this shit until I started getting better, and it feels like I'm just getting worse."

She nods, and holds his hands in her own. The ache in his fingers fades a little when they warm to each other. "Your body is incredible," She says, voice low. When he scoffs, she shakes her head, smiling. "Come on, let me finish. You survived two people who tried to kill you."

"Technically five people have tried to kill me."

"Five?" Nat looks, briefly, so baffled that Jameson nearly laughs. "You've only mention the two-"

"Those were the two where I killed them first," He says, voice low. "I don't even feel bad about it."

"I know. And I'm not asking you to feel bad. I've done some things in my life I'm not proud of, too, but it kept this safehouse together and I don't regret it for a second."

"What... what did you do?"

"We're not talking about me. I'm saying that you lived when other people died. You have survived more than any other runaway I've ever met. Your body carried you through it. It kept you alive. It kept you moving, kept carrying your weight when it wanted to give out because you hadn't given up fighting. Now, it doesn't have to carry you so far anymore. Your body knows you're safe, that you have people here who care about you, so it's hurting like hell because it hasn't allowed itself to hurt as much as it needed to for a long, long time. Your body carried every bad thing that ever happened to you, and I for one am grateful for it, because it got you here to us. Look at you."

Jameson shifts, trying to move his legs so he can face her. They protest with a scream that he has to grind his teeth against, but he manages to get both feet flat on the floor. "Look at me?"

"Yeah. Look at you. You're alive, honey." She smiles, hands on either side of his face, and he finds himself - reluctantly - smiling back. "You're alive and you wake up every day and sometimes the days are good, and sometimes they're not-"

"Like today. Today sucks."

She laughs, short and soft, and he loves her so much it is physically painful, the way that you love a mother, or a sister. "Yeah, okay. I'll give you that. But today is just one day, and you've got more comin'. Maybe tomorrow you can walk to the store, or maybe you'll need the crutches or the chair, but you know what? You'll still get there, if you want to, because you are the most stubborn son of a gun on earth and if you want those awful taquitos, I know you'll find a way."

Jameson's smile shifts. Incredulous, he asks, "Did... you just say 'son of a gun'?"

"Oh, shut up. I grew up in a family where that was just about the worst thing any of us could say without serious punishment. Sometimes that stuff still comes out." She pokes him in the nose, watching him wrinkle it in response.

There's a pause.

Then he clears his throat.

"It wasn't, uh, it wasn't taquitos." He discovers he's mumbling, flushing a little.

"Oh. Doughnuts, then?"

"No, not those, either, just... it's stupid. But Vince, uh, the other day he made this stupid fucking joke about Red Bull, so..."

"So..." She blinks, eyebrows furrowing. "You were... going to buy him a Red Bull?"

"I was... gonna buy about fifty and put them in his bed."

Nat just stares at him, blinking, as seconds stretch slowly out. "You were... you were going to-"

"Buy like... fifty Red Bulls and put them in his bed, uh, cover them in his fucking blankets and like arrange them like a person, and then... you know... It, uh, makes better sense in context."

"How could it possibly? You know what, doesn't matter. Here's what we'll do. You get those crutches on your arms, and i'll drive you to the gas station, and we will... we will get you your... fifteen Red Bulls."

"Fifty."

"Oh, my God. Where do you even get that much money?"

"... Vince gave me money."

"You're using his own money to prank him?"

"It's not like he fucking needs it!"

"You know what? I'm going to stop asking questions when the answers only give me new questions to ask." She pats his arm, and he takes the opportunity to brusquely throw an arm around her and crush her tightly to him in a hug. "Jameson-"

"Thanks," He mutters, then pushes her back and away so he can clumsily get on his feet. His knees nearly buckle, but when he throws his hand out Nat is holding the crutch, and he slots his arm into the cuff that fits just below his elbow. Nat has to hand him the other one, and help him with his shoes, and the whole time his legs ache like someone is slowly sawing them off with a nail file, but he stays standing.

He wants to play this stupid fucking prank on Vincent fucking Shield, and he can already tell it's the only thing he'll be able to do today and even that's only with Nat's help.

By the time they get back from one single errand he'll need more painkillers and a nap just to recover enough to finish putting the energy drinks into Vince's bed. Then maybe another nap after that.

But it's what he wants to do.

Fuck it.

If he only gets one thing to work on this shitty day, it might as well be the most bafflingly confusing thing he's ever done.

Plus, Nat always plays Jameson's playlist when she drives him in her car. So that's one good thing.

-

#jameson bb #whump #chronic pain tw #aftermath of whump #recovering whumpee #escaped whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #self-harm tw #brief but still worth the tag I think #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #box boy whump #writing

[starwrittenfates]

OOC ;; I finished reading “The Chamber of Secrets!” Now you know what this means… time to move onto “Prisoner of Azkaban” and see Remus and Sirius! 💯❤️👏

#ooc ;; serenity has left the group chat #it’s taken me awhile to get through the book thanks to my Cervical Radiculopathy but I’m managing #chronic pain tw

[akindplace]

Had to go to the hospital yesterday... again, because I was in too much pain. I think I've been there almost 10 times this year. But I'm feeling somewhat better. Some people in healthcare can be ableist and that can put anyone off from seeking help, but god bless the ones that are good, and I feel blessed for being helped. I still need to learn how to reach out and ask for help and just be objective and direct about it. Honestly needing help is not about how vulnerable I feel I am being, it's about needing help and nothing else, it's not a judgement of my character.

#I feel so blessed #and so loved #but in so much pain all the time ouch ouch ouch #I cried so much these past... weeks #chronic pain tw #cw hospital

[coreofgold]

@devilsmenu​ for Heiya 

“I’m okay !”  Kili hissed in pain.  “This normally happens.”  Ever since he got shot in the leg and the poison was sapped from his body. . .it left him with intense pain that flared up every once in a while.  “Can you. . .help me up and not say a word to anyone about this ?” 

#I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us! (Kili interacts) #devilsmenu #muse: heiya #pain tw #chronic pain tw

[queerlyloud]

When people talk about suicide rates among any marginalized group and how it's obvious proof that the lives and lifestyles of those groups make them unhappy, I think about my chronic pain and how if I had any kind of support to ease my way or access to regular healthcare or pain management of any kind, how exponentially much better my quality of life would be and how that's what society was invented for, was so that people who couldn't survive on their own have safety nets so that they continue to live and to even thrive and that's what started the devolment of civilization as we know it and how currently the richest and worst people are using their influence to con literally the entire world into abandoning that so that those select few have all the benefits of civilization while denying those same protections to everyone else and i get so incandescently furious that I basically have to sedate myself, but also it's what keeps me alive because damned if I'll let those fuckers win by taking one more voice out of the fight against them, no matter how bad the pain continues to get. Maybe I'll reach my breaking point someday, but it's not today and I'm damned well determined to see, at the very least, Mitch McConnell dead before I let the warm earth have me back.

#mine #jo is talking #personal #chronic pain #chronic illness #disability #chronic pain tw #tw chronic pain #tw suicidality #tw suicidal ideation #suicidality #suicidal ideation #us politics #i will see mitch mcconnell dead short of my own death by natural causes #and then im gonna throw a party

[bledf1rst]

how can i live laugh love in these conditions

#the conditions: debilitating back pain #LMAOOOO #WHAT IF i just melted into the floor #sounds like a FANTASTIC idea right abt now OOF #out of character. coma #chronic pain tw

[stigmvtas]

KIRAN EKANSH SHETH — ABRIDGED.

welcome to marina, KIRAN EKANSH SHETH ( nonbinary, he/they ) ! they are a THIRTY FOUR year old who has lived over on HYLAND PARK for MOST OF THEIR LIFE and works as a PSYCHOLOGY/LITERATURE PROFESSOR. everyone says they look a lot like DEV PATEL. what do you think? — JAMES, 24, THEY/THEM, EST.

MENTIONS OF ARSON / FIRE, DEATH, CHRONIC PAIN ( FIBROMYALGIA / CHRONIC FATIGUE ), AND INJURY.

profile.

full name: kiran ekansh sheth.

birthday: june 9th, 1989.

astrology: gemini sun, virgo moon, libra ascending.

sexuality: bisexual.

currently listening to: i wanna be your dog by the stooges.

last known location: [[[cannot be found]]]

PINTEREST.

brief history.

born somewhere in connecticut, but their memories of the state are clouded and dense. born to parents who were happy, always smiling - an older brother, if kes can remember right, if they can still remember their little sister.

arson / fire / death; around the age of five, or maybe six - a mysterious fire took over their house, consuming everything in sight. and by some sort of sick miracle, he was the only one to make it out.

from there on - kes was a product of the foster system. for the next few years, it was them in group home to group home, never fully wanted, never fully belonging to anyone.

they're fostered out to a family in marina when they're ten, and the sheth household was the only household that stuck by kiran. he put up a fight for a while - never made it too easy on them, but they never gave up. by twelve, they officially adopted kes.

an angry kid whose fire barely extinguished - for a long time, even into teenhood, even when they drew into themselves and their endless amount of books.

eventually kes learned to turn the anger into passion, to do something better than mope around, or get into useless fights; started studying seriously, obsessively absorbing information.

after high school, they left to study at columbia, english and psychology; a waste of time for most people, maybe, but not kiran.

stayed in the city for a long while, moving tiny apartment to tiny apartment and surviving on the bare essentials - a mountain of both student and medical debt threatening to avalanche over them.

eventually moved back to marina after their masters, did a few research programs and their own independent studies before going for their doctorate at the local university. and after that - kes settled on becoming a professor. had bigger dreams, but life got in the way of it. and that's currently what they're doing now!

facts & temperaments.

regularly goes by kes, it's just their initials put together but it's almost preferred at this point.

fire / injury; was left with substantial burn scars from the house fire all those years ago, mostly hidden away by their clothes. they can be, at times, insecure about them. they prefer the lights off.

chronic pain / chronic illness / invisible illness; also a sufferer of the double whammy that is fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome. their flare-ups for fibromyalgia began when they were a late teenager, while their CFS started manifesting during their later college years. a lot of days are tolerable, but a lot are also unbearable. is at the point where they rely on a cane more often than not, even as a precaution.

a lot less angry than they were as a teenager - is too tired for it, maybe - but they still have a tendency to fixate on their chosen fields of study. is always learning, even after receiving their doctorate.

tends to be wary of strangers, or just people they don't know very well. will still be cordial, or even strike up a conversation if it suits them - but the wariness remains.

on the other hand - endlessly loyal to those who've stuck by them since childhood. treasures their friends deeply, would probably die for them even though half the time they make him want to rip his hair out.

tends to run more neutral - doesn't care for taking sides, though is naturally biased towards his friends and generally tolerates their shit more than anyone else. patience can wane a little thin towards others. tries to end arguments, not start them.

a little oblivious when others flirt with them - kes has spent so long focused on their schooling and then their career, that the idea of settling down has completely slipped their mind.

#––– ❛ kiran ekansh sheth 【 freak out in a moonage daydream / about. 】 #marina:intro #arson tw #fire tw #death tw #chronic pain tw #me: im going to create a golden retriever #also me: this is kes they r obv ripped from another famous werewolf and they hate! living probably #w/e they're both dogs... in a way... it works #im sure there's more to them bt i just wanted to get this intro OUT #expelled from my body like a demon