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throwin a starter call out here!

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      ok for those musician OCs out there, it would be so cool to have something inspired by rocketman like callum being a lyricist who meets your guy through an agency or something

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     it is so rare to see muses on here that have disabilities or disorders that impair their ability to communicate

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©

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BEDNEST.

  once again, our stray’s gone hungry. skipped dinner. who needs “dinner”, anyway? take one peek you’d know that he does, the spindly little thing, all skin ‘n’ bones—but it’s not the food that’s brought him to this convenience store. didn’t have enough coins in his blazer pocket  for the sandwich rack ( trust me, he checked ), just enough for the discounted taquito but his last encounter with one of those had him so ill he could hardly move. he’d stay away from the reduced to sell selection until he absolutely had to. until then, a cigarette would be as good of a meal as any … though his lungs would say otherwise. if they could. he’d have to buy himself a new lighter. he hadn’t realised how obviously homeless he looked to the general public until he’s approached by the kind-hearted stranger. it was something he’d have to remind himself of time and time again, grown accustomed to the effect surviving by the skin of his teeth had on his appearance. eyes meeting eyes as hollow with fatigue as his own, he’ll tug at the waistline of his pin-striped, ill-fitted trousers, hoisting them over a bony hip before he extends a hand to accept the offering, fixing his ( trembling, if you looked close enough ) fingers into the paper bag. his thumb skirts beneath the lettered pen ink caught beneath the crumpled grip and he’ll say “well, how about that” as a smile pulls the edge of his mouth like a hook, the sunken skin of his lower lash line swelling, “thanks, man.” 

it wasn’t if the whole not-talking thing wasn’t at least a little suspicious. he’d even save a glance for the security camera. “there’s not anything illegal tucked away inside here, is there?” he’d have to ask, to joke—but if there was, this kid’s probably been through a lot worse.

      feels good to do a GOOD DEED – go figure. even if the skinny lad doesn’t eat the sandwich out of suspicion, it still feels selfless, fortifying even, to think of someone else rather than put edible food to waste. the toothy traveller’s grin is contagious ( god forbid ) and callum can’t stop the softness of his character from faintly reflecting the expression. humans are sappy like that.  

     this brightness of character lasts for only a BRIEF second before dimming back into that monotone of countenance, gaze sinking down to the bag in question – illegal?    ❮❮ not this time, no... ❯❯    and immediately he shakes his head with one of those screwed up brow-over-the-eyes looks that say, ‘that’s absurd’. one swift glance upwards into this fella’s hollowed face and callum’s recognising that all too familiar question in his puffy lidded eyes. it’s never easy trying to explain yourself when you can’t even TALK; there aren’t any visible clues to suggest he’s hindered by such a disorder. to a passerby, callum looks like any ordinary english kid, maybe a little rough around the edges but you couldn’t point him out and say, ‘that one can’t talk.’  

      with one of his little thoughts kept to himself, callum breaks form to pull out the trusty notebook stowed in the deep pocket of his black chinos. the majority of the population, anywhere he goes, most often does NOT know sign language so written words are the next best communicator. he’s scribbling on this page for a good half a minute, soon passing it over to the stranger to have him read:  I’M MUTE. NOTHING ILLEGAL IN THE BAG, I’M JUST FULL. GOT A PLACE TO STAY? - JOHN.

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me: yeah i love writing nd having deep threads monky brain: give callum. boyfrend

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HEADCANONS.

   –REGARDING EMMA:  callum still sees (in passing) his ex girlfriend EMMA from time to time but only because her new boyfriend is a frequent client of his father’s. there are times he wants her to look after their kid but she doesn’t want anything to do with it – they avoid each other like the plague. just about everyone in the circle knows callum is gay because of her and god KNOWS what other untrue tales she’s spread with that little factoid. 

  –REGARDING DAD:  the only thing common between HARRY SHAW and his son is the fact they have a few of the same genes. their relationship is strained under the weight of callum’s employment as a mule and the fact harry is vehement in his belief that a gay, mute son is NO son of his.

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     NO  VOICE;  BUT   –OH!    THE   SILENCE   SANK...   LIKE   MUSIC   ON   MY   HEART.

     >>  ABOUT.               >>  RULES. 

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♟ STARTER. – ( @paperrcages )

      look, he’s only been at this job serving coffees at BREAD & BEAN for about a week and he’s gonna get fired within three days, but hey, keep it while it lasts. he’s just about to proficiently serve a coffee to some skinny bloke who looks like he’s got legs longer than the A1 highway. funny little cherry lips too. it all comes crashing down when a customer snaps at him from a table away, ‘ I SAY, WRONG ORDER HERE, BOY!’ – this sends a jolt through callum’s back – the climax is the paper cup coffee leaping into the air from his hand, plummeting to the table, resulting in a very hot and steamy mess – mostly on sir long legs’ legs. smells nice, at least. caught like a deer in headlights, he’s not sure who to answer to or if the twat behind him is just beholding the disaster like everyone else in the bloody place.    ❮❮ i’ve really dunnit now, haven’t i. ❯❯

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♟ STARTER. – (  @variousmethodsofescaape )

      out drinking again – till about 2:45am this time. irresponsible. the babysitter’s been paid, shouldn’t be a problem, should it? he smells like cigarettes and sadness. out the door he goes, stumbling, ruddy boots scuffing the pavement. been about twenty minutes and he hasn’t even lit his cigarette – lighter’s been left at home again, hasn’t it? irritation, drunkenness, disillusionment; he’s a right disaster in the making, isn’t he? spotting someone in the shadows, he’s drawn towards them seemingly by no other force than his own inebriated sway. a couple comfortable nudges and he’s tapping his cigarette, hoping this guy catches the hint.    ❮❮ c’mon luv, givvus a light, then! ❯❯