A C C E S S . G R A N T E D

i count my scars in ash-coated alleyways, behind metal stained copper by rust. they tell me i purse my lips like i've just swallowed the world. i breathe in more ash & mumble; "we all swallow the earth, sometimes. that makes it our duty to protect it."

[directorhills]

❝ state your case, but do so quickly. you have five minutes until my five minute lunch break is over. i suggest you make the time count. ❞

[directorhills]

@destroyrofworlds​

tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. 

late. daisy johnson is f@#$%& late. again. 

the director expected as much. this insolence, it tastes like warblood and black asphalt on her tongue. she’s been staring, observing the clock plastered atop the door left ajar. broken clock. she scribbles to herself, a reminder to scold the janitorial staff for their poor upkeep. 

tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. 

she’s long since learnt to repress the trembles of her fragile, porous bones. her motto has always been such: erasure. her veins run blue with the dye of shield logos and they blister at the back of her hand, a subtle indication of fingers coiled a little too tightly around her coffee mug. 

#1 mom. she had selected it herself. maria hill was many things. director. agent. asset. but not friend. not lover. and definitely not mother. not until brutus. 

tick. tick. tick. ti - 

“good. you made it.”

in typical circumstances, reprimand would be issued. time demands repayment, especially when disrespecting that of the director. with quake, such techniques were futile. she would only resist further. 

maria, therefore, opts for a more subtle approach. 

“i received word from the doctors. they were concerned about your health. agent johnson, have you been over working yourself? they mentioned you arrived disoriented, claiming to have seen a former asset, agent barbara morse. it seems you hallucinated for the better part of an hour, and refused further medical support when prompted. does any of this sound familiar?”