⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝓌hen ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ i ⠀⠀cu͟t ⠀⠀⠀ ⚚ ⠀ a⠀⠀ho͟le⠀⠀into⠀ ݁ ⠀⠀ 𝓂y ⠀⠀sk͟ull﹖

／ hi pittverse friends, i am taking a step back here. feel free to keep in touch on @R9DRIG3S, otherwise, olive is clocking out. 🤍

https://t.co/ejqdcbjv0h

santos threatening me????

／ can i write a solo about young samira and losing her dad— her mother’s grief.

／ they’re gonna get married in season thirty two and have a daughter

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ girl ／ friend core

realizes. it doesn’t sharpen it either. it just strips it bare. after dark, there’s less ceremony. fewer qualifiers. fewer apologies. a decision is allowed to stand on its own.

deliberate. familiar. she lets it breathe. she’s learned this pause over time. different shifts, same corridor. the walls don’t care who’s arriving or leaving; they’ve witnessed this choreography before. night doesn’t soften his judgment, she

“ or i can hand this off. ” she watches him say nothing. the faint set of his jaw. the way his eyes flick toward the hallway and back, already dividing the night into manageable pieces. the silence stretches; not awkward, not empty.

ache of having been useful for too long. her charts are closed, every box obediently checked. “ i can stay late, ” she says. her voice is even, deliberately neutral. the tone she uses when she wants the words to mean only what they say.

that have nowhere to settle yet. charts hover mid-air. sentences trail off unfinished. the fluorescent lights hum louder than necessary, like they’re eavesdropping. she’s still on days—— badge warm from a full shift, shoulders holding the slow

that look usually means a decision has been made, and there’s a drift caught. or not. samira catches it at shift change, that thin, unguarded seam in the day when the unit briefly forgets who belongs where. the hallways swell with bodies

／ mohabbot … RISE. RISE.

anyone. despite the invitation.

“ if you’re sure you want the company. ” she doesn’t frame it as a favor. she doesn’t move yet. she simply stands there; present, steady, letting the offer settle between them without pressure, without assumption. she doesn’t want to burden

it, ” she says, honest to a fault. “ but… i appreciate you asking. ” there’s a small pause. she considers it carefully, like she does everything. she lifts her gaze back to trinity. “ i could come, ” she says. measured, almost cautious.

habit. grounding. she doesn’t look away when trinity mentions the drinks, the attempt to outrun the quiet waiting at home. samira understands that kind of coping, the kind that feels temporary but necessary. “ i wasn’t really planning on

something heavier, something fraying. it’s familiar. too familiar. the hospital teaches you how to hide the worst of yourself behind efficiency, behind movement, behind not staying still. she shifts her bag again, not out of nerves so much as

samira listens without interrupting, the way she always does—— like she’s cataloging the weight of every word, every unsaid thing. she recognizes the posture trinity wears so well: the practiced lightness, the humor stretched thin over

https://t.co/pVJpmCeLNg