It's matter what you do today. | 21+ MDNI. NSFW.
Brooklyn, NY
Joined June 2023
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ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ 𝗥𝗲𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗰𝗮 𝗕𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀.
I won't give up, because I am proud of all my scars. They show us where we have been, but they don't dictate where we are going.
ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ
The last letter Rebecca sent to her brother was written the day before she boarded the train to see him.
In the letter itself, she didn’t mention the trip at all, because she knew he would be against her coming, would talk about her safety and the recklessness of her actions. +
Like a place filled with boys trying with all their might to become men before the world forces them to do so.
She had to come.
Because letters were no longer enough. Because hearing that someone is alive and seeing it with your own eyes are two completely different things. +
So when she saw him @bxckybxrncs from a distance, her heart tightened with a mix of sorrow and joy.
“Jimmy?” she whispered almost silently, and a second later, leaving her suitcase behind, she ran up to him and hugged him, unable to hold back.
Of course, but you have to trust him to take care of himself, too. He's doing much better these days.
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Good. Don't forget to take care of yourself ever. No mather what's going on around.
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And you promised me you'd come back in one piece, don't forget that!
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Rebecca huffs a quiet breath, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Exactly. Almost,” she says softly.
She doesn’t ask anything else. Just steps closer, reaches for the supplies without ceremony, familiar hands taking over as if this has happened before. Alcohol, gauze, +
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Rebecca only meant to get a glass of water. But she stops when she sees him at the counter.
For a heartbeat she just takes him in, the setup, the careful movements, the fact that he’s clearly trying to handle it alone. Her expression softens immediately. +
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ㅤ
She spends the day in the studio — moving between light stands and lenses, coffee going cold somewhere nearby.
Outside the window, the city keeps its own rhythm, but in here time stretches differently: measured in adjustments, quiet focus, and the soft click of equipment.
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Rebecca’s lips curve, just a touch — pleased by the question. She tilts her head, thinking for a beat, then says lightly.
“It Happened One Night, maybe? Or Roman Holiday. Simple story, sharp dialogue — the kind you don’t have to brace yourself for. What do you think?” +
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