#willmcadouche

     She's in the kind of soft half-sleep where she's not entirely there. It's so quiet she swears she can hear the rustle of the leaves outside, and normally this kind of silence makes her search her laptop for white noise, rain sounds - her thoughts deafening - but he's here and his voice is just barely pressing through the quiet, and it's enough. She's always slept best with WILL around; it makes her sense of self-sufficiency beat its imaginary fists against her ribs but she doesn't care. SLEEP has been far too elusive the past few years for her to even fathom denying herself this.

deep-ass starters || @willmcadouche || come at me guys

     Her cheeks colour immediately, a shock of hot and cold all at once flashing through her.  What had she expected, finding him in a bar after a day like they’d had? Well. Not that, certainly –– she’d imagined this conversation a thousand different ways but never like this.           “I don’t know WHAT you’ve had, but it’s too much. I’m going to call you a cab, alright?”

angsty starters || @willmcadouche​ || accepting

          “ NO! ”     Lungs fight desperately for air but all she can pull in is ragged, gasping sobs.  Knuckles white around the smooth wood handle of the knife, she backs into the wall and stares down –– whoever it is.  The looming male figure that tried to grab her, tried to keep her from getting away, is trying to stop her from defending herself.  It’s too dark it’s TOO DARK and the room is spinning away from her, vision tunnelled, and she’s sure she’s going to black out but she knows she has to hang on so her shaky hand clings to the knife the way she had a thousand times before. ( After NIGHTMARES just like this, in the time between waking and understanding that she’s in New York and she’s safe and it’s a DREAM. )

Acts of Affection Meme || @willmcadouche || Accepting

ℒ  PULLING THEM INTO A HALL/ALLEY TO KISS THEM PASSIONATELY.

               America thinks bin Laden’s alive. If I can make him dead                    one minute sooner, my entire life in journalism up                             until this point will have been worth it.

     It’s a responsibility, delivering this kind of news, but it’s never been one she’s wanted to give up.  She and Will did it together, his voice, with her in control.  A person was alive or dead from words she’d approved –– alive or dead to so many thousands of people, a million or more.

     Tonight it’s only one.

     She’s never particularly trusted her own voice.  Shrill. Posh.  The way it felt to deliver news in her own voice, to know that every breath was an extra moment before she had to deliver the blow she knew was inevitable, is a pressure she’d underestimated.  Mackenzie watches him from across the parking lot, the light dim enough where she stands that he can’t read her the way he always does.  Will’s steps are light, and she has no idea how long it’ll be before she sees them like that again.

     It’s over. For a moment, she lets him believe that. In her mind, it hangs in the air for days.