Every action's an act of creation

Hi all! I'm William Patrick Holmes (Will for short, we're all friends here) and I'm studying musical theatre and chemistry. I write my own songs! Hope to be on the West End someday!

[the-unofficial-force]

“Wha–me? You think I ate all the Christmas biscuit dough? No! ‘Course I didn’t, it was Dom! Not me!”

[multamusae-archive-blog]

texting sc. –– @the-unofficial-force / @singingsoftlytothedawn

          ( will holmes ) ⟶ This shoot is taking FOREVER.           ( will holmes ) ⟶ It’s like people can’t just stay in character for one scene.

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

[Oliver Turano] -- I KNOW, right?! - WH

[Oliver Turano] -- It’s the WORST. You leave them for three seconds and they fall completely to bits - WH

[Oliver Turano] -- They’re almost as bad as the one time I had to do a workshop at a school. Did I ever tell you about that? - WH

[Oliver Turano] -- Might help pass the time? ;) - WH

[Oliver Turano] -- Also, is there something you’d like for supper? I’ll have it ready and warming whenever you come back - WH

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

KISSES FROM OLIVER

Kiss my muse!(always accepting)

“You got the part?!” Will exclaims in a sort of hushed awe, looking to Oliver, eyes bright and twinkling. He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, looking almost more excited than Oliver himself was at the proposition. Racing forward, he hugs the other actor, nearly spinning the slightly taller man around with momentum, before beaming up at him. “Ol, that’s amazing! It’s brilliant, and, and stupendous, and every other adjective that exists that’s good! Congratulations, love, I knew you could do it, and I knew you knew you could do it!” Grinning, he cups Oliver’s face and presses kisses to every part of it, before being brought in for a proper kiss on the lips. He sinks into it gladly, holding Oliver close.

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

"I'm cold!" from oliver!

Send “I’m cold” to curl up under a blanket with mine.(always accepting)

“Well, there’s only one cure for that,” He disappears for a moment only to return with a bunch of blankets and two mugs of hot cocoa, the former of which he drapes over Oliver, tucking them in on the side nearest the arm of the couch. He then presses one of the mugs of cocoa into his love’s hands, setting the other on the coffee table, before sitting on his other side, drawing the blankets over the both of them. He wraps his arms around Oliver, pressing close. He smiles at the other actor, kissing his cheek, “Better? If not, we could always build a blanket fort...”

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

@multamusae liked this for a sick starter

“N-no, Ol, I’m fine, really!” Will began, looking up to him with a smile that seemed fainter than usual, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Just a wee case of the sniffles, that’s all!”

As if to demonstrate how absolutely, totally, completely fine he was, he then proceeded to trip over nothing, before catching himself at the last moment, stumbling to a halt and reaching a hand up to his head, swaying a little as he did so, leaning on the wall for support with his free hand. But his eyes were still bright, the smile still on his face, though it was sheepish now, and his cheeks were flushed pink. Or, well, pinker than they were before, sticking out against his freckles and paler-than-usual face. He gave a little laugh.

“See? Totally normal, just, just clumsy ol’ me! After all, the, the show must go on, and... and everything...”

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

@multamusae / [cont.]

“But...” Will began, trying a different approach, the puppy dog eyes and pout, “...it’s my bento... I earned this!”

He gave a lamenting sigh, his eyes twinkling a bit too much for him to be considered truly upset,

“...though... if you wanted... I suppose we could... share it...”

He pushed the box a little toward Oliver and winked.

[samaelnomcre]

rpmemesandasks :

Reblog this if your muse can play an instrument.

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

@multamusae / [cont.]

“This is what you must do,” Will continues to drone in his melodramatic voice, gesticulating grandly after giving out a small, exceptionally manly, mouse-like squeak at the unexpected poke.

“The only thing that can sustain my mortal soul has been depleted... go, go inside, to the air conditioning, whilst I expire here, and bring me another ice cream?” he asks hopefully, in his normal voice, looking to Oliver with puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll pay you back, and that’ll revive me in no time.”

He was currently sprawled out on one of the sets, arm over his forehead like the stereotypical picture of suffering. Being from England, the hot California heat always did have a peculiar way of affecting him.

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

@noliight​ / [cont.]

Even while being led away from it, Will kept glancing back at the railing. He did like heights, really, and loved thrills even more, but... the thought of jumping off a roof and falling straight down, face first into concrete of all things... all sense seemed to go out of his head and that jump seemed to be the only thing in the world.  Well, at least until Tristan’s terrible Scottish accent. And his even more terrible impression. That at least earned his boyfriend a pout for his trouble, and then a small, wary smile.

“Cheeky monkey,” he fired back lightly in return, not in his best form and still trembling a little beneath his boyfriend’s hand, but appreciative nonetheless of Tristan’s efforts, “was that payback for the time I impersonated you after you thought it was a brilliant idea to eat 14 habenero peppers in one go ‘cause Oliver and Dom dared you to?” That had been a memorable night.

He looked to Tristan as the man turned to face him, his eyes widening a bit as he winked. Tristan winking was never a good sign. Well, often times it was, as that meant he was being flirted at and joked with, but he knew that mischief in his eye.

“T-Tris?...” he said, slowly, “What are you doing--”

“--Tristan!” he exclaimed as the actor toppled over the edge, reaching out for him a moment too late. He tried to get his heart to stop pounding, watching hollowly as he sprung back up, smirked, and waved, just like the loveable git that he was and always would be.

It was okay, he tried to force into his brain. Tristan was okay, he was fine, he was safe, there was no crack on no pavement, no thud, no dead, lifeless eyes looking up at him from a blood streaked face-- oh God, no matter how many years it had been or how fake he knew it to be from the very beginning he could never and would never get that image out of his head-- he swallowed, thickly. He was not about to have a panic attack over a stunt so easy he’d probably done it seven times over throughout the course of his boyhood, and--

A pussy?

Oh, he’d show him.

Face set in determination, Will jumped, thinking at first how silly he was being and how this was actually fun and feeling the rush of exhilaration at the thrill of it. Then he looked down and saw the concrete coming closer and closer, and he realized halfway through that this was probably the worst idea he’d ever had. All he could picture was a black billowing coat and a blood stained scarf.

He hit the airbag and hardly felt the impact, feeling rather similar to a bounce house, actually, but that wasn’t enough to counteract the memory.

A hand reached for him; he couldn’t even be sure if it was Tristan’s or one of the crew, but he took it and gripped it tightly anyways, following where it led him off the edge of the airbag blindly.

“...You’re a sod...” he murmured somewhere in Tristan’s general direction and nodded when he was asked by one of the crew if he’d be ready to go back up and do it again in character in a few minutes. He had to be okay. The show must go on, after all.

[watsonofagun]

continued with @singingsoftlytothedawn​

The very first thing that John learned to watch out for whilst in Afghanistan, was any form of explosives.

He had seen the mangled legs of soldiers who walked onto landmines, the nasty facelift grenades offered, the sheer power of C-4 strapped to suicide bombers, whose pieces he’d rather not pick up. Bullets were a lot cleaner, both in killing and in actual cases of hygiene. Not that he should think about that right now.

But John had already decided that getting blown to nothing was a lot better than getting shot in the shoulder, which was why when the explosion reached his ears, his first instinct was to grab Will and protect him. Couldn’t possibly allow a child be involved in such catastrophe. Whether he succeeded or not, the force of the blast gave him no luxury to think over, knocking him back like a ragged doll. His shoulder ached when he found himself lying on the floor after, but it was simply pain from hitting the ground first. He turned himself onto his back, ignoring the debris showering over him as he tested his arm—–nothing broken. But with his clearing vision, he noticed the crisp of sleeve hanging on it; a quick tug, and he beheld angry red skin.

Well, could be worse.

It was worse. Suddenly, William came to his mind, and John was rolling onto all four, shaking his head to lose the ringing in it, and then squinted around him until he caught sight of the boy just a couple metres from him. Calling for him. Pleading for him. The instinct of an army doctor kicked in, and he was scrambling for him regardless of his stinging arm, collapsing to his knees once he was by his side. He swallowed—–but the lump remained in his throat.

         “Oh, God. Stay, stay calm, you’ll be alright.”

Must be shrapnel. John could see nothing stabbed through the boy, and as he tugged open the material for better gauge of the wound, he quickly decided that it was simply a cut. Simply, yet deep enough for it to still bleed. Trying to even his breath, he undid his jacket and shoved it off to press over William’s torso.

        “Press this, right here. You’ll live, but we need to get you to some         first-aid before it becomes infected. I’ll help you up, alright? Come         on, give me your arm, William.”

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

He was about to call out again when he felt a presence rushing toward him before sinking beside him, hardly needing to look up to see who it was, even in the haze of dust, dirt, and debris. His mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, or an attempt at one at the very least.

“Uncle John...” he whispered, somewhat choked. William would have sprung up and tackled the man in a hug if he could move properly, so great was his relief. His vision blurred, not from motion or dizziness-- at least, not entirely.

He took in a quick breath as his wound was exposed to the air. At hearing John’s almost shocked words, the fear crept back, sending a chill through him. Oh God. It must be really bad. The retired army captain didn’t seem to get rattled over much-- well, aside from Sherlock, but that was typical, regular as clockwork and just as comforting as the continual ticking of one (he could even have sworn he heard ticking now, or was that his heart?). He shakily exhaled, sure the terror was conveyed in his eyes, and nodded.

He could stay calm, and the simple action of breathing in and out was about the only thing preventing him from falling apart.

White hot, burning pain shot--brilliant choice of words, his inner twin thought dryly-- through his chest at the contact of jacket to wound. He keened, biting his lip to prevent the sound from becoming a full fledged cry. A brief flash of guilt shot through him; he would have to take it and get it cleaned properly, or better yet, get him a new one. Ruining the poor doctor’s jacket; he ought to be ashamed of himself.

“O-okay.” he managed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t sure if he could stand, to be completely honest, but he would try.

You must stand, Elijah’s voice once again rang through his mind. You have to, okay, Will? You have to get yourself and John to safety. Whoever rigged that explosion might still be around. And... even if they’re not... do you even remember where you are? It might be rough going trying to get out of here.

Gingerly, Will reached his left hand up to press against the jacket, already unpleasantly warm, reaching the other one, somewhat trembling and unsteady, up toward the doctor, trying to find purchase.

His eyes happened to glance to John’s arm, disapprovingly noting the absence of jacket-- and his eyes widened.

“...Your arm...”

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

@lcgaciies / [cont.]

Will bit his lip, eyes fixed on the movie, before realizing his sister was looking at him and laughing a little,

“I’m allowed t’hold your hand, aren’t I?” he asked, offering her a somewhat uneasy smile, “And no, no, no! It’s... it’s great! It’s brilliant, Gabby. Batman’s brilliant.” And he was. The Joker, not so much. He could do a lot of things, but...

He flinched at the cacophonous laugh, squeezing her hand just a bit more. But he couldn’t let Gabriela know that he was afraid of just a silly little... clown...

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

noliight:

 Teeth nervously bit at the inside of his own cheek in an attempt to distract himself from    the situation. NOT that kissing Will’s (character) was the worst thing in the world; quite   the opposite, really: he just would’ve preferred if it was under different circumstances.   “ Okay by whose standards? ” he questioned teasingly, trying to keep the edge out    of his voice. The prop ring box that rested in his pocket felt overwhelmingly heavy    at the moment, even though it couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces.

   “ Sorry, I’m just — I don’t know why this is freaking me out so much. ” 

Will gave a small little laugh, attempting to give Tristan the payoff he’d like in spite of his own anxiousness, but he then looked to the other and his forehead creased in concern.

“Aw, Tris,” he sympathized, going nearer to him and placing one of his-- no, they weren’t shaking, of course not-- hands on Tristan’s forearm, squeezing lightly.

“It’s okay,” he said comfortingly, but also nervously, “don’t be sorry! Everybody gets nervous, even you,” he tried to tease, smiling at him a little. He left out what usually followed his encouraging, rallying speech. You’re nervous ‘cause it matters! But it shouldn’t matter. Not to Will, and certainly not to Tristan. It was just... it was just a scene, that’s all it was. Tristan certainly wouldn’t ever want to kiss him, now would he? That would be just silly. He’d accepted that fate a while ago.

“I’m nervous too.” he confessed, before saying in a conspiratorial tone, “...Haven’t been kissed since uni, after all. And that was by a drunk bloke who thought I was Kate Middleton...” Sure he’d been on a few dates since then, all those years ago, but, none of them had really gone anywhere.

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

❝ it’s deep dish pizza. ❞ from oliver!

A Hundred Random Starters (always accepting)

“I-I mean,” Will began, looking at the food with a small amount of apprehension and a contemplative frown, “i-if it’s good, especially if it’s pizza, I’m willing to try anythin’, but…” He cut himself off, his eyes widening as he seemed to realize something as he inched away a bit from the pizza, as if it had committed treason.

“…Why’s it got the tomato on top?”

[the-unofficial-force]

♥ @ WILL FROM YOU KNOW WHO

Send in ♥to give my muse a smooch! (always accepting)

Will slid out the baking sheet from the oven and had just set it down on the counter when he felt familiar arms wind around his waist.

The gesture never failed to earn a smile from him, and he turned around to face Tristan, eyes sparkling. The smile only grew as their lips pressed together gently, Will resting one oven mitt clad hand on Tristan’s shoulder, before gently sliding the other oven mitt off to reach up and cup the other’s face properly.

Once they pulled away, somewhat reluctantly, Will’s smile evolved into a grin, fully aware of his somewhat ridiculous appearance. He was wearing an apron that he had gotten from God-knows-where, there was flour in his hair, and a dollop of batter on his nose.

“Made your favorite, Tris,” he said sweetly, before tilting his head and kissing his cheek.

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

"C’mon, Tris,” Will encouraged, looking to his castmate brightly, “it’ll be fine, I promise. I only ate... let’s see... twelve onions and eighteen cloves of garlic at lunch? That’s okay, yeah?”

The next scene they had to shoot was the romantic climax of the film, which, of course, had to involve a kiss. He laughed at his own joke, but it sounded a little nervous, and beneath his costume, his heart was pounding.

@noliight wanted dumb dorks in love

[the-unofficial-force]

☹ ☹ anyoneee

Well That Hurt (always accepting)

56 - long gash across their chest (Will)

16 - mild burn on arm (John)

The explosion had knocked both of them flat. It was unclear who had pulled out who first, or why exactly the building had decided to blow itself spontaneously to bits, but that was by far the least of their worries.

Will took a moment to return to reality; his head was spinning, his ears ringing with a residual boom in his ears, his body stunned by the sudden impact. He came to from his state of half-consciousness with blurred vision, which cleared once he closed and reopened his eyes, only to be irritated with the cloud of dirt and dust that surrounded them.

He managed to pull himself upward halfway, bracing himself on his forearms, before his entire chest flared with white-hot, searing, stinging agony. He bit back a cry of pain, terrified of looking down to see what had caused it.

Knowing he had to, though, he steeled himself, taking in a shaky breath and closing his eyes, before opening them and looking down. The jumper and the shirt he was wearing beneath it had a clean slice in it, as if cleaved by an expert to reveal the skin beneath it, which was cut jaggedly, warm, sticky wetness staining his front.

“…Oh God…” he whispered, eyes wide and unable to be trained on anything else. He swallowed thickly. Oh God.

Overcome by impulse, he reached a shaky hand up and touched the wound, pressing on it with feather-light fingers, noting the cut material with a morbid fascination and a frown.This was my favourite jumper, he thought sadly, and the somewhat odd observation was enough for tears to start pooling in his eyes and for his frame to start trembling.

Calm down, his inner voice suddenly interjected, sounding comfortingly like his oldest brother. Clothing can be mended and replaced, Will. You can’t be. The voice now took on the cadence of his twin, Don’t be a clot. Go find John. Seek him out.

John! The thought slammed into his mind immediately, and his eyes instantly begun to dart around, looking for any sign of the doctor, finding nothing. What if he was hurt worse than Will himself was? The notion made his stomach churn, his heart clench in all-consuming fear.

“John?!” he called out. He couldn’t hear himself, everything else was too loud; he could have screamed it, he could have whispered it, he didn’t know at all. What he should have said next swirled in his mind, Are you okay? Where are you? I think I’m hurt. I need help. Can you hear me? I can’t get up on my own. What he said, instead, was a slightly less rational, a good deal more childlike, “Uncle John?! Please!” What he was asking for, he didn’t know, but it may have been something like don’t leave me all alone.

[singingsoftlytothedawn]

"My scar looks like a bear, or a rabbit." from sherl!

Here, Here, And Here Starters (always accepting)

Will nodded his agreement, looking down at the scar.

“It’s big round the middle like a bear, but where the ears’d be is long,” he stated, “I think mine looks a bit like a dog,” He gestured to his arm where his jumper sleeve was rolled up and there was a small scar there, which did look a little like the animal.

He continued to wrap up his uncle’s hand with gauze, looking up at the older Holmes with a small smile,

“What d’you think these’ll turn out to be if they scar?”