sweet creature

|| micah || 20 || london || || ptsd || ocd || depersonalization/derealization disorder ||

[micahshepard-blog]

[onedirection-bandw]

[micahshepard-blog]

roy-waters:

In life there were good days and bad days, and most people adjusted to that fact. From a young age you were expected to go with the ups and the downs that were thrown your way, and most people learned to expect them if not accept them. With mental illness in the picture, it could be drastically different and Roy was uncomfortably familiar with that fact. Today was not by any stretch of the imagination a good day; everything was louder than usual and reality seemed to slip through his fingertips like smoke. It was evident to anyone that walked by given that he was standing completely still off to the side of a hallway posed as if midstep. His hands cradled his head, elbows bent to rest against his ears. “Stop,” he said repeated, voice slowly growing louder until he was almost yelling. 

He had only said a couple words to the other boy since he arrived - being in the same room as someone else was still a sensitive thing; that, paired with his painfully shy demeanor meant that even his roommate didn’t get much conversation. Still, here Micah stood. He had just rounded a corner, eyes down to avoid any confrontation, before hearing that familiar voice suddenly, loud now. He glanced up just long enough to see the other figure grasping his head, and, instantly, anyone could tell something was wrong. Instinctively, Micah took a quick step back and his eye line shot downwards, curling the sleeves of his sweatshirt in his balled up palms. His shoulders raised slightly in natural defense, but he stayed where he was, funnily enough, as though something pulled him there. Don’t say anything, his mind screamed. Don’t say anything, the last thing he wants is you bothering him, you’ll just make t r o u b l e . All of a sudden, the words flowed from his lips, and he regretted it almost instantly. “R-Roy? Are you o-okay?” He spoke meekly, and, in the other boy’s state, he couldn’t even be sure he heard him. He sucked in a quiet breath of air through his teeth, mentally kicking himself for intruding.

[micahshepard-blog]

peterxgdi:

He frowns but also tries his best to not look disturbed by it. He knows he shouldn’t have just left the drink sitting around there, it was sloppy of him to do so and he plans to pay more attention so this display, the look of confusion on people’s faces won’t have to appear again. Peter shakes his head while studying the boy. “No, I’m sorry. It’s my drink.” He offers his hand. “Hand it to me, please?”

At this point, Micah knew how ridiculous he must’ve looked. Still, he couldn’t help how his heart was still hammering from the sight of what he thought was unattended garbage. He let out a small, shaky breath as he realized the mistake he had made, mentally beating himself up. Stupid. He nodded meekly, but hesitated as he saw the young man’s hand reach out. He felt himself shrink back slightly, but forced himself to move forward just a bit, just to reach the other man’s hand with the cup before pulling his arm back. He pulled the hems of his sleeves over his palms and crossed his arms, not looking at the other, but also trying to assess the feeling the other was giving off. “I’m r-really sorry.” He murmured, a small burst of heat rising to his cheeks in a combination of embarrassment and nervousness. He felt desperate to make it up to the other, his mind instantly blowing the situation out of proportion. “D-did you need a, um, a new one? I c-could get you one if... if you want...” His voice faded as he spoke, already stumbling over the simplest of words.

[micahshepard-blog]

dima-volkov:

TIMID. The stranger seemed to FRET the situation but Dima could relate to the feeling. “I’m not OKAY. I’ve been STABBED with NARCOTICS by incompetent MEDICS.” Dima didn’t mean to hiss but it came out as one. The weak man pulled himself up from t he cold floor, leaning heavily against the desk. “I’m SORRY. I’m sorry.” UPRIGHT, he felt less exposed, less threatened. “I’m sorry, this place makes me UNCOMFORTABLE, I didn’t mean to yell,” Dima spoke through mutters and mumbles. He didn’t MEAN to be rude. This place SCARED him. He felt TRAPPED. “What’s your name?” He questioned, steel blue eyes assessing the stranger for threats. Dima still felt like a cornered ANIMAL, even if the man seemed more threatened by HIM.

Micah flinched at the harshness of the man’s words - both in tone and content. The wording alone was enough to make Micah’s hands tremor: stabbed, narcotics. He didn’t even notice that he had taken a small step back, lips slightly agape as he took in a shaky breath. His eyes were trained downward, but they also carefully darted around the scene, without making contact with the other man’s. “A-are you okay?” He asked almost silently. He hated asking questions without being prompted to, but he felt worried. As he noticed through his peripheral that the brunette was pulling himself up, he took another small step back, this time voluntarily. He pulled the hems of his sleeves over his palms as he tightly, discreetly clenched up his fists at his sides, trying to relieve some tension. 1, 2, 3, 4. The fog had already rushed into his head now, but he did hear the others’ words again. Sorry... I didn’t mean to yell. Micah’s head tilted slightly to one side, unsure of how to react. Although he wasn’t looking straight at him, Micah could feel fear and reactivity radiating tangibly from the other. A feeling perhaps similar to his own, although displayed very differently. Still, he remained shrunken back. “Um.. I-I’m Micah.” He swallowed, trying to clear his throat as he stumbled over quiet words. He could hear his old therapist’s voice in the back of his head: If someone asks you your name, it is an introduction. Ask them back. He let out a tiny, shaky breath before continuing. “Wh-what’s your name?” His brown eyes were still trained downwards, but towards the other figure, careful to see how he reacted, praying he wasn’t imposing. 

[micahshepard-blog]

brilliantlykurt:

Kurt hated days where everything and everyone was loud. It was one of those where a lot of patients seemed to find solace in talking and talking until he could his ears burning from all the noisy chatter. He was a silent guy who always preferred solitude over anything and that seemed to be impossible today which only put him in a gaunt mood. Thankfully, he managed to eventually find a boy who seemed to not be one of those loud people and decided to sit next to him. He though he heard mumblings though and then out of nowhere there was an apology “For what?” he asked gruffly “Are you okay?”

Micah was silent for a moment at the other man’s words - for what? He shouldn’t have spoken at all, clearly the other wasn’t anticipating it and he could’ve kept the whole thing from turning into an interaction. Micah cleared his throat silently, keeping both eyes on his mug as the other man spoke gruffly. He was taken aback at his second question - even after almost a year of being in the ‘real world’, he wasn’t nearly accustomed to that: someone asking about him. His eyes were trained downwards, not looking up towards the other figure. “Um...” He cleared his throat again, still speaking softly. “Um, yeah, are... are you? I didn’t, um, spill... spill anything on you, did I?” It was a lot to get out at once, and Micah found himself stumbling over simple words like he always did. He patted up the rest of the droplets on the table, before arranging then rearranging his mug, not relenting until it was in the exact position it was before.

[micahshepard-blog]

calalcott:

He had his own cup of coffee; draped over weary fingertips that fortunately were sturdy enough to maintain its embrace, although the warmth licked his skin like something harsh and implacable. Caleb was attempting to relish his break as much as he could, he was a man with over-working hands but sometimes a good rest was necessary to keep himself fit. Capable. Not weak. He decided to step out of the library for once–mingle, perhaps, that was what his sister had been suggesting him so he wouldn’t all too robotic and shady. As he was about to reach his destination, past the cafeteria and towards the nurse’s station, his hip accidentally bumped one of the tables. When he looked aside, the stream of apology was enough to make him nearly, nearly, crack open his mouth in a stunned expression. “I should be the one apologizing.” He muttered. “Are you alright?”

Micah wasn’t expecting a response, so when he heard a voice return in his direction, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Wide eyes quickly glanced to the person’s shoes, then back on the mug as wiped down the remaining drops. He returned the mug to its original position, before adjusting it and fixing it once more. It was only on the third go that he realized he’d been asked a question. “Um... y-yeah, I’m fine.” He was still trying to get a hold of people asking him this, even after nearly a year of being back in the real world. If he could apologize for just being there, he would, but his therapist back in London told him countless times that this wasn’t something to apologize for. No matter how much he didn’t believe that, he did want to at least feel slightly normal, so he decided not to voice that. “It’s just... I shouldn’t have...” He doesn’t want to hear your excuses, Micah’s conscience burned in his mind. As usual, he was painfully self-aware, reddening a bit over how much he was stumbling over his words. He decided for something fail proof - repeating the other person. “Are, um, are you alright?” He glanced towards the other man’s figure, hoping he didn’t hit something the wrong way, or perhaps get some of Micah’s hot tea on his leg.

[micahshepard-blog]

vglycherries:

Chris had always been a huge fan of physical contact - even if other people didn’t like it. It was how he showed affection. Really, it was one of the very few ways he knew how. Nobody was immune from his hugging or clinging, not even people he didn’t know very well. He sighed softly, leaning up and pressing a gentle kiss to the other’s cheek. “Your hair is pretty.” He said simply, looking up and flashing him a smile. Shifting a bit in his seat, the blonde hummed softly and leaned back, rocking back and forth on the chair. “Micah,” He repeated with a nod. “That’s nice. I’m Chris.” This person was obviously new - Chris would have recognized him before if he’d been here for a while, and this definitely seemed like someone that he’d want to get to know. “It wasn’t your fault, by the way. Not at all.” He couldn’t let that go and have the other think that it was his fault - that would bother him, make him feel guilty.

There was a something about his presence, perhaps a kind of softness Micah wasn’t used to. Even with his own family - his father was a powerful omnipresence, his mother an unshakable force. Sure, the feeling came closest with his brother, but even he had an air about him that his own ego was unapproachable. Despite the gentleness - or maybe because of it - the unfamiliarity left Micah on guard. He was just turning his head away slightly when he felt a small kiss on the check. The actual action of a kiss left nothing but bad memories in Micah’s mind, but, somehow, this gesture didn’t create that residual shiver up his spine. The compliment that followed created a small, hot flush to the boy’s cheeks, but, this time, he didn’t turn away. His eyes wandered up slightly - not to eye level, but just to quickly observe - and he caught a quick glimpse of a smile from the other. Remember how to respond to compliments, the sturdy voice boomed in his head again. They’re a sign of friendliness. “Thank... you.”  It was like the simple phrase caught in his throat like peanut butter, his soft tone stuttering slightly between the words. Without even noticing, his frame relaxed just slightly, and he didn’t focus quite so hard on the floor. “Chris. That’s nice.” He repeated quietly, a small, unfamiliar smile dancing slightly on his lips for just a moment before disappearing. Not your fault... that was a statement he was still trying to get a hold of. “Um, I just... I know I probably shouldn’t have had it so full. I shouldn’t have.. had it... there...” His voice faded as he spoke, trying to remember that wasn’t what people wanted to hear anymore. Instead, he took a chance - risky for him - and asked a question. He couldn’t place a finger on it, but something about the other’s presence was comforting, and he wouldn’t mind it for a little longer before they inevitably would want to leave. “Um... how-how long have you been here?”  His eyes still didn’t meet Chris’, but they were further in his direction now. 

[micahshepard-blog]

nolan-williams:

Nolan hadn’t been fully aware of his surroundings as he trudged to the coffee pot before the beginning of his shift started. Since starting his job, Nolan hadn’t had one night of  good, restful sleep and this left him in a foul mood every morning and while most mornings he would opt for a cup of tea– despite hating how the Americans brewed it, he needed something with an extra caffeine kick this morning. In his dazed state the young guard hadn’t even noticed his leg had knocked the table until he heard the soft whisper of the man occupying the table. “Hmm? What’s up mate?” He questioned, filling his mug to the brim with the dark substance. 

Hearing the man’s voice did stir Micah for just a moment - in a sea of American accents, it was clear when someone was from his own country, although a different region. Still, it wasn’t enough to bring his eyes up to the figure, as he carefully, quietly wiped the few drops from the table, making sure it was completely dry. “Um, n-never mind. Sorry.” He grimaced slightly as he noticed that he was repeating himself. After rearranging the mug once more to the same place, he glanced up at the man as he knew the other was looking away momentarily. He looked rather dazed as he poured himself a cup of coffee, and Micah thought back to his old therapist’s words on conversations, and how he needed to keep them going if he were to continue to progress. The thought of it made Micah’s heart pang, but he tried to remember the guidelines of a normal conversation. “Um, are… are you okay? Y-you look…” His quiet words drifted off, feeling as though he had just made a hundred mistakes. His restless hands found their way back to the mug, this time just gripping it for its warmth, something which was comforting to the young man.

[micahshepard-blog]

vglycherries:

Chris had been wandering around for a bit, trying to find something to get into. That was, until he spotted someone he didn’t recognize. He’d moved quickly over to the table, bumping the side of it with his hip accidentally as he was moving in closer. “Shit, I -” He paused. The other had apologized first - that was different, something that rarely happened. “Sorry.” He said simply, biting his lip as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to the other. Although he was hesitant at first, the blonde slipped his arms lightly around the other male’s waist, giving him a gentle, quick hug. “I didn’t mean to. You don’t need to apologize. My fault, really.”

Micah looked up for less than a second to take in the figure before looking back down. It was something he’d trained himself to do, to analyze as much as he could about a person in just a mere moment of observance. As he heard the chair scrape slightly against the floor beside him, he quickly finished wiping up the droplets of tea left on the surface before pulling his arms back under the table, rubbing his hands together nervously. His eyes were trained on his cup as he saw, through his peripheral, the person sit at the table beside him. The hug was unexpected - the contact made him flinch, but the hug was too quick to physically react, although his heart didn’t seem to have a problem instantly stopping. Hugging is a nice gesture, he could recall his therapist saying. It doesn’t mean any harm. It took a moment for Micah’s heart to regain proper speed, but he could still physically feel it thumping. He remained silent for a moment, before his low, quiet voice found its way back to him. A year had passed, but he still wasn’t nearly used to apologies being thrown in his direction, and he was still getting the hang of replying to them. “No, it’s... it’s okay, s’my fault.” He pulled his chin up and to the side just enough to face toward the person, while not looking directly at him. He went over the steps of initial meetings his therapist had told him a million times. Names first. Remember, your name is Micah. It’s always been your name. The voice rang in his head again. “Um, I... I’m, um, Micah.” 

[peterxgdi-blog]

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He walks over rapidly to the person who’s seemed to mistake his white plastic cup for theirs. “That’s my coffee.”

[micahshepard-blog]

The moment Micah spotted it, he knew it couldn’t be there. It was trash, a cup sitting idly with no owner. It needed to be tossed, somewhere other than out in the open. The thought of it was making his skin crawl as he paced over to remove it. Just as he scooped it up, he heard a voice, and his breath caught in his throat. He went still, turning to the sound of the voice but not looking up. “M’sorry, I - um...” He cleared his throat silently as the quiet words seemed caught in it, his mind still focused on the ‘mess’ and his eyes on the tiles. “This isn’t trash?”

[dima-volkov-blog]

The arrival was HORRIBLE. When the nurses had patted him down he lost his mind. Dima briefly recalled BREAKING one of their FINGERS in his panic. It might have been their UNIFORMS or how they crowded him but there was NO way of telling anymore. The nurses had been able to jab a needle into his arm to CALM him and the effects were shown quickly. Dima stumbled around the lobby, DISORIENTED and muttering gibberish, “стоп.”, “Не трогай меня.” and “Прекрати причинять мне боль.” His head was light. Dima collapsed against one of the desk when his knees gave out. “I’m sorry, I’m SORRY, don’t mind me.” He slurred as he tried to push himself back UP with no results. He surrendered to his WEAKNESS - sat down on the ground, eyes strained on something in the distance when he caught someone approaching his slumped form. Big round eyes looked up at the person, QUESTIONING, suspicious. “Can I HELP you? Stop STARING.”

[micahshepard-blog]

Micah could hear a stirring of commotion ringing from one of the corridors, but with the way he noticed this place echoed, it was impossible to figure out which direction it was coming from. Still, he tried his best to head in the opposite direction from where he thought it was coming from. Out of all the many things Micah wasn’t good at handling confrontation and messiness were two of the top on the list. Still, his instincts seemed to fail him this time around, as one wrong turn created a situation where he found himself staring at a slouched figure, clearly disoriented, stressed, drowsy - muttering a language Micah didn’t understand. Social situations were not his forte - he didn’t grow up learning what to properly do in different situations - so he was entirely unsure of how to react. Still, he felt that simply leaving was not the proper response. The hems of his sleeves were pulled over his palms as he tightly crossed his arms, as though that was some sort of protection as he approached the ailing brunette. The moment he felt the other’s eyes train on him, his own darted to the floor beside the slouched figured. He took a shaky breath as the other spoke, forcing himself to utter a few words in response. “I’m sorry, I... d-do you need help? Are, um, are... you okay?”

[micahshepard-blog]

Micah’s eyes wandered along the floor beside him, taking in the plain, slightly-chipped tiles which adorned it. He cleared his throat silently - always silently - before reaching for his mug on the table in front of him. He allowed his fingers to pull out from where they held the hems of his sweatshirt over themselves as he lightly grasped the cup and took a small sip. He didn’t really know what else to do here, but think. 1, 2, 3 4. He counted the seconds that the cup’s edge was pressed to his lips. He placed it down gently, fixing the handle into just the position is had been before. Then again. Then again. Just as he was going to do it a fourth and final time, he suddenly felt a figure slightly move the table, causing the cup to tip, messing up it’s position and spilling just a couple drops of tea. His whole figure tensed up, his brow tightening in worry over the new presence and his heart quickening over the, in his mind, mess that just occurred. He rapidly began shifting the cup back to it’s proper position without looking up. “Sorry,” he whispered with just a breath, before realizing that the person couldn’t hear a silent word. “M’sorry.” It was just loud enough to hear this time.

[howtobesadforever]

I am so sorry. I’m so sorry that I’m such a mess. I am trying so hard to put the pieces back together but I don’t even know what’s missing anymore.

(via howtobesadforever)

[queenofindecision]

[queenofindecision]

[queenofindecision]