𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐮𝐚𝐝'𝐃𝐢𝐛 "𝐌𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥," 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. "𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬."

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA (1962) + letterboxd reviews [insp]

Lily Cole photographed by Koto Bolofo for Vogue Deutschland, September 2006

ALICE IN BORDERLAND 今際の国のアリス (2020—)

Saint Sebastian, Ali Franco, 2022

Nicholas and Brady, Paris, 2023. Photography by Stéphane Gizard

A long black ribbon

Warnings: NSFW Mentioned

Pairing: Lee (BA)/gender neutral reader.

A/N: I wrote it a few days ago, but I couldn't finish it until now because I was quite sick. I did it at the request of several people, thank you all for reading and being here. It seems that we all want a little more of Lee.

Random idea here.

As I tell him my name, Lee already opens the bar and takes a bite. He's hungrier than he wants to appear. How long has it been since he ate something other than gum and cola? He is so thin that it looks like a draft could knock him over.

I would really like to be on a long road trip.

Arriving at a gas station, one of those where there is no one. Next to the pump, a boy who doesn't have money for gasoline, watching the hours and the people pass in front of his eyes almost closed He's just sitting,on the hood of his van, maybe waiting, maybe just thinking. Playing with the car key. He is dirty, it is evident that he lives on the road, that he sleeps on the margin of these,of his life itself. In his hand is a can of soda.

His breakfast, lunch and dinner.

People ignore him, who knows what he is doing because he is here or because he doesn't have money. Maybe I could go up to him and offer him some of my energy bars and maybe some dark chocolate that I always carry with me. My path is long, I must not entertain myself. But the gazes of disgust and fear that everyone gives him impacts me to the point of overcoming my fear.

I don't like talking to strangers, I'm in a hurry, maybe he's just a crazy person who could have a knife under his shirt. My head runs through the reasons why I should fill my car with gas and leave. But recklessly, I turn off my alarm. I just get a kicked and hurt puppy vibe.

His legs swing, knees out, barely contained in the torn pants. I hear the jingle of his nails against the can. The day's sun has not tanned his skin, stained with filth, white as porcelain. The sleeveless shirt looks old, half torn.Only his strange red hair would draw attention to his abandoned appearance.

His gaze is the gaze of those who are born in a state of alarm.I asked me how old he is and how many years he has lived in his van. His mouth twists, as his fox eyes scan me mercilessly.

"I have some extra bars. And I'm not going to finish them. Do you want some? Flavor apple."

He seems offended. Maybe I shouldn't have assumed he's a homeless. I hold the bag in front of his face, ready to turn away if he looks at me just one more second. But, to my relief, he smiles. And it seems that the sun shines brighter.

"Thank you. I love this flavor"

Handsome, that's the word.

"welcome", I whisper.

He is ravishingly handsome. Under the dirt, that has also been splashed on his face, there is a nose dotted with freckles and green eyes, big and sad. The strange red hair has some chocolate roots, its natural color.

And as he stirs in the bag, I notice that it doesn't smell bad. He smells like the forest, nature, rubber and salt. He sweats lightly in the sun, while he twists his keys in his hand and searches with the other in my bag, taking out a bar.He is thin but fibrous, robust, like a wild and healthy animal. He seems capable of licking blood.

"Thank you, traveler. My name is Lee.You?"