#The kid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elkian · 4 months

Text

In Stars And Time (and its predecessor Start Again to a degree) did something really impressive in a video game: making a non-combatant child character not only likeable, but critical to the fabric of the story. Notably, the Kid is not a primary story character. They represent the common folk of the endangered fantasy land; someone whose home and family was taken by the Big Bad, leaving them stranded.

In the core party, we have the Housemaiden, blessed, immune to the worst status effect, bearing a unique elemental type, etc. It's actually very amusing that she is blatantly The Main Character of this story, because she isn't the POV character.

With her we have the Fighter, a good-hearted tank who worked as a Defender in the homeland of the first three; the Researcher, a foreigner traveling the land, who's book-smart and has a wide array of spells, the wizard type.

And then we have the POV character, Siffrin, a classic Improbably Good-Natured Wandering Rogue archetype. You know, the classic shifty thief-type and troublemaker who nonetheless aids the party without thought of reward and isn't actually a criminal despite the vibes? That kind of rogue.

The Kid isn't a playable character. They can contribute to combat, but it's randomized. The most you can do is equip them with gear and skills that affect the frequency of their input, and ask them to feed the party heals (and possibly feed the final boss a bomb).

What the Kid is, what they represent, is in many ways the emotional core of the party (as the party knows it; Siffrin might develop different ideas, but, notably, still cares deeply for the Kid's wellbeing).

The Kid provides snacks, which is partly about their heals-carrying role, but it has a broader application. Between each level in the main dungeon, there's a snack break with three options. As you play the game, looping over and over, choosing different snacks can be the most you can break out at times. Snacktime also creates a narrative and gameplay break, a time to chat with the party one-on-one.

The Kid is the moral support and backbone of the party; it's possible to tell this story without them, but it would, frankly speaking, be a less emotional, less interesting story, with lower stakes. The Kid is at risk when you fight; the adults team up and agree to protect them no matter the cost, and this is not a throwaway line. This has consequences. This creates texture.

Late in the game, Siffrin develops the option to do Party Member Personal Quests, and despite being a noncombatant, the Kid is one of them. All of these Quests are meaningful and important in their way, but the things we learn in the Kid's Quest are extremely important to understanding Siffrin. The other Quests have personal elements that Siffrin relates to, but this one is about him in a very specific way, that could not be fully replicated by mirroring the events referenced onto one of the adults. This Quest pans out the way it does because the Kid is a kid.

It's hard for me to put into exact words, especially when I don't want to spoil things, but there's even more specific details that make them important to the narrative progression, again, without being an "important" person in the context of the game world. By being important to Siffrin and the rest of the party, by having their narrative wound in with the others, the Kid is as integral to the story as any other character.

Kid characters like this in video games aren't often well-respected, and that tends to be for good reason - they tend to represent ludonarrative dissonance, be annoying, or be the product of overcompensation and have their importance rubbed into the player's face. Many of them could be extracted from the narrative without having a significant effect on the outcome, or would destroy the narrative because they're the focus character, borderline Morality Pets for protagonists. The Kid in ISAT and SA fascinates me, because I came to care about them in a very natural manner, not just because their personality and interactions are endearing, but because the way they and the other party members relate to each other has a tangible impact on the story and emotional core of the game.

#elk text #elk plays in stars and time #in stars and time #minor spoilers?#the kid #go play ISAT #or go play SA and then ISAT really #the backbon of the party

242 notes · View notes

elliemir · 2 months

Text

My first test illustration based on the book "Blood Meridian or The Evening Redness in the West" by Cormac McCarthy.

#books & libraries #judge holden #cormac mccarthy #blood meridian #The Kid #The Judge #The Pandora's Box #art #digital art

171 notes · View notes

cherryblossom-enthusiast · 4 days

Text

Retribution (The Kidxf!Reader) - Monkey Man

A/N: I said I was writing it and it has been done lol If you haven’t watched this film yet, please do! I indulged and wrote a small fic about it lol (Don't mind the abyssmal pacing of this, I barely edited and added anything) I hope you all enjoy it and can someone please indulge me more by writing more fics about this man!? Dev Patel absolutely killed it! Put him in a rom-com! I tried to write the hijra with as much care as possible. Please let me know if there’s something I can be more educated on in terms of this!

Synopsis: A mysterious man arrives at the temple you call home and makes quite an impression.

Warnings/ Tags: Angst. Fluff. Allusions to sex work. Descriptions of violence and blood. Coarse language. Kissing.

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

The cheers of those around you interrupt the hanging of your laundry.

Peeking through the shoulders and the shadows, you sneak a glance at the subject of commotion, and it doesn’t surprise you.

The way he moves is equal parts graceful and aggressive. His punches are meticulously messy, a choreographed war drum thrumming to the beat of his own heart. This man is far removed from who you remember gazing upon a few days ago. His eyes were lost, sunken, like a child looking for guidance or divine judgement for all that’s led him to this point.

This was not that man.

This man was vengeance personified.

And through him, you felt hope.

You knew nothing about him. Alpha was able to garner all of your help, quietly and quickly instructing to pull the man out of the river. You were there when they cauterized his wounds. His screams were pure agony, making you cringe, and somehow you felt that his pain went deeper than physicality.

He walked like a ghost when he first came, aimlessly walking, like trying to just bump into something that would give him an answer.

Now, it seems he walks with purpose.

He throws his last punch and receives a mighty applause. The crowd recognizes the show’s over for the time being and they disperse as he keeps heaving, staring at the bag like he wants to hit it more. Like he never wants to stop.

You pick up a basket and walk over to him. Whether to strike up a proper conversation or feeling annoyed at the dirtied shirt on the ground you had just washed, you don’t exactly know. But something about him is magnetic, pulling you in, just like the first time you saw him that night, all bloody and bruised.

You nod at his white shirt. “I’ll take that.”

He breaks from his spell and turns to look at you.

His heaving slows, his breaths getting deeper by the second. For what you think is a few minutes, he just stares are you, and you at him, both of you taking each other in. You realize his physique really is something to awe over, but more importantly, that his eyes are far gentler than what you thought possible.

You tilt your head. “The shirt?”

He bends and picks up the white cloth, simply extending it to you as he continues to stare. You gesture for him to drop it into the basket. With an amused scoff, you start to turn away. “I’d appreciate it if you hung the next shirt you tore off on a wall.”

“Your name?”

His voice surprises you. You’ve only heard him speak a few times before. He sounds rough, and scratchy, like he doesn’t use his voice often.

You introduce yourself and after a few moments, he repeats your name back to you. Slowly, quietly, as if he’s scared of offending you in any way. Listening to it fall from his lips is like listening to dripping honey and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t make heat crawl up your neck.

To save face, you again start to walk away from him. “Widen your stance.” You advise, not waiting to hear a reply.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Several days pass until you have another full conversation.

You’re caught up with mundane chores. He’s caught up with punching that bag and doing god knows what else when he’s not at the temple.

Though there was that one time you almost slip and he catches you effortlessly by the waist and it definitely made your stomach flutter.

You smile the first time you depart to wash laundry and see his shirt hanging over a nearby wall.

He’s getting better. His posture looks strong, immovable. Sometimes you think with all that’s happened to him, that he must be invincible. Surely, no one can lose that much blood and still maintain their sanity.

But then you see his movements wain by the end of his exercise and it’s like something powerful overcomes him as he loses all finesse and he punches that rice-filled bag for all its worth with no rhyme or reason. You sense his frustration as he suddenly stops and puts his hand on his hips, breathing erratically.

You approach him cautiously. Pulling out a bottle of water from your laundry basket, you offer it to him. “Consider taking a break?”

He’s slow to take the bottle from you but he does so anyway. After almost draining the whole thing, he splashes the rest of the water over his head. Only as he shakes the droplets off his curly locks does he try to return it to you.

“An actual break.” You reiterate, stuffing the bottle of water back into your basket. “Your drummer needs one too. He might have built up his callouses, but he should eat something.”

The man turns to look where your eyes are directed and though you don’t have a clear view of his face, you can tell from the way that his eyebrows ease that he feels a sense of guilt. The drummer simply raises his palm and stands. “Take some time to clear your head, I’ll be here whenever you have.” He leaves the courtyard until it’s just the two of you left.

The weather is oddly cool today. There’s smoke and a mugginess that’s expected from being close to the heart of the city, but if you were to look around, it’d almost seem like you were transported decades into the past. The temple acts like a sanctuary, shielding you all from the outside world’s noise and it does a good job.

You walk towards a small wooden bench off to the far side and take a seat. You set your basket down and pat the space next to you. “Come,” You beckon “I’d appreciate some company while I fold all of these white shirts I’ve had to add to my load.”’

Something like embarrassment flashes on his face as he follows your command and sits right next to you. His posture is stiff like he wants to make an impression. It’s obvious your newfound companion doesn’t like to talk, or more accurately, isn’t very good at starting small conversation.

“I’m sorry for the bother.”

He has a tone of bashfulness, unable to turn in your direction. Your smile widens as you continue to fold “I didn’t say it was bothersome.” You refute. “In fact, I’d rather say I don’t mind you taking your shirt off.”

You try to make direct eye contact then, but he swallows thickly and doesn’t meet your eyes. It makes you giggle, but you decide to pull back on the joke, not wanting him to take offence or cause him more uneasiness. “Besides, each shirt is a testament to how much work you’ve put into bettering your skills here.”

That gets him to scoff and drop his head in disbelief “I’m still not where I need to be.”

“No,” you reply earnestly “but you will be.”

This earns you another bout of silence.

For a while, you both just enjoy each other’s quiet company. He stares blankly ahead and you give him the time to examine whatever it is he’s battling through in his own thoughts.

Eventually, he sighs and inclines his head towards the sky. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ever since I could remember.” You answer honestly. “Alpha says they opened the door and there I was, miraculously alive, left laying on a dirty blanket.”

“You’ve been here ever since?” He carefully asks.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else if that’s what you’re asking.” You pass an unfolded shirt to him and to your surprise he starts to fold it with no question. Bitter memories start to glaze your view. “And for someone as uneducated as me, there’s only a few jobs out there that I’d be considered for as a woman.”

A knowing silence passes through you both at the statement. Yatana was unforgiving. A real dog-eat-dog society with no time or need for those who couldn’t stomach it or keep up. Truth be told, most of the time you couldn’t. Very often would a prostitute or child be pounding on your doors for help or asylum. Hungry, beaten, thrown away like a speck of dust not worth anyone’s time.

“Doesn’t it make you angry?”

You’re unphased by the question. “Of course it does.”

And you mean it. There are days when you scream at the sky or dunk your head slightly longer underwater to try and get away from it all, try to release it in some way.

Eyes still trained to the sky; he confesses “Because that’s all I feel. Anger and pain, and I can’t-“ he struggles to finish his words. “I can’t-‘

“I know.”

That makes him look back down and finally turn in your direction. He patiently expects you to explain.

You swallow thickly but continue to talk anyway. “To feel helpless, like you can’t do anything no matter how hard you try.” Gritting your teeth, you realize your hands have stopped folding. “But it doesn’t matter, because there are people who need me more strongly than the pain I feel.”

He considers your words thoughtfully and waits for you to speak once more. “Amidst all this chaos, this temple stands. People need me here. Children, mothers, the beautiful hijra who gave me a home, and when they leave this place with the tiniest glimpse of hope on their faces, then I know I’ve done my job. I don’t fight as well as the hijra here, I don’t expect to get much better, but I want them to know that they have refuge with me.”

You pass him an unfolded sari and for the rest of the time you are sitting together, you both fold quietly, basking in the sun and each other’s presence.

He continues to train harder after that. Each step is quick, each punch as sharp as a bullet. When he isn’t training, he’s watching. The news, the protests, the speeches, like he’s reassuring himself, learning the best way to approach.

It’s obvious everyone here, including you is taken with this stranger. Though, you don’t really know if you could even call him that anymore.

It’s like he seeks you out. It doesn’t matter if it’s simply sitting together for dinner or him deliberately waiting for you to walk through the courtyard with your basket under your arm. Both of your eyes are trained on each other with an eager sheen.

Maybe it’s fear or maybe it's an understanding that your pairing would most likely never work out in the end. Either way, whatever it is, it disappoints you because you so badly want to believe he wants you the same way.

The mood becomes slightly flirtatious and you catch sight of a boyish grin here or there, especially when he’s surrounded by the hijra.

But anytime you think he might ask you something, or just when you’re on the cusp of telling him your interest, something stops you in your tracks, holding you back.

A recollection plays in your head of last night.

It’s just him and the drummer again today. You wait near a dark window before you pass so as to not to disturb his concentration.

He has a beat to the way he fights, a brutal rhythm, and it astounds you every time you watch him. If this is how he looks punching a bag, you wonder how he’d look fighting against others. You find the thought oddly attractive, and it makes you flush.

For all his skill in the ring, it seems that’s where all his artistry in footwork stops. Surrounded by laughing and beaming faces, with the sound of softer drumming in the air, everyone takes a turn dancing. No one cared about how sloppy anyone was. You sure weren’t the best dancer amongst the hijras, but this seemed unsubstantial when you were all drunk on each other’s company.

The children present that evening and you form a small circle. You’re swinging your arms around when you notice your mystery man with a smile of his own. It knocks the air out of your lungs. It’s one that gives him crinkles around his eyes and all at once he doesn’t look like a hardened killer, but someone you’d see on a billboard or a magazine cover.

You crook your finger at him, inviting him into your little dance number. He tries to politely decline, his once beaming face turning something sheepish, but Alpha bumps him shoulder to shoulder, and soon the rest of them urge and tease him to dance along. When he gets to the center begrudgingly, it’s already too late for him to back out. Two children start to pull him until he lands directly opposite of you.

The circle of your intertwined hands spins, it twirls here and there, and when you all raise your hands to shrink the circle, you land face-to-face with the most fascinating man you’ve ever seen. It lasts all of five seconds, but everything around you dims as you look at this man’s face illuminated by firelight.

His eyes are his most emotive feature and they always seem to twinkle. Right then, they almost looked like jewels from the way they glossed over.

You pick up on the way those eyes slowly dipped down towards your lips and suddenly you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are. If he really does want you the same way you do.

But before you can tumble into that path of thought, cheers and hoots pull you out of the little bubble of enchantment you’d created. You turn to reject the idea of it all, but when you glance back at the man in front of you, your breath catches.

He continues to stare intently at your visage, not minding or caring about the extra attention one bit.

And then a scream erupts in your ears.

Seeing him punch the bag until rice grains stick to his chest reminds you of what he’s capable of.

When he shares a nod with the drummer, you know that he’s finally achieved what he came here at the temple to do.

Dropping your basket, you immediately rush indoors, following the cries of the hijra around you. Lakshmi lays in the center of the temple room floor, blood dripping from them like a fountain. You crouch and gently put their head on your knees as the weeps continue all around you.

They explain that they put a notice on the door, Shakti’s men, and all you can see is an unbridled tint of red starting to form. Your heart is pounding, Lakshmi is struggling to fight for air, and in front of this statue, an indescribable wave of pain crashes into you.

It’s loud, far too loud. With your thoughts, the cries, the blood staining your shirt.

Your one hand on the floor clenches into a fist. You try to remind yourself that you can be better, that there must be something more to all of this than just pray, than to just keep taking what they serve like impotent little ants. The hopelessness starts to creep in, slowly etching itself into your thoughts.

But before it can take hold, you distinguish a face in the shadows. It’s observing as everything around you starts to crumble and in that moment you try to push all that anger onto him as you directly glare into his soul.

And when you see him break open the donation box much later during the humid night, you know you’ve put your faith into the right person.

He tries to leave as silently as he came, but you meet him at the entrance. He holds a crude, dirty children’s bag and you can only assume that’s where he’s keeping the money.

He tries to explain, but you start to approach him which stops his needless rambling. In an act of boldness, you grab his hand in yours and flip it to look clearly at his scars. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Alpha was right.” You agree. “You do have the hands of a warrior”

You enclose his hand between yours, putting it up against your lips. “I wonder how such gentle hands fight with such ferocity.”

He starts to twitch and as you loosen your grip, expecting him to pull back, he instead cups the side of your face and despite his scarred calloused hands, his touch is pure velvet. His thumb brushes the tears you didn’t notice were starting to fall freely down your cheek.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

“Fight for me.” You croak thickly. “Fight for all of us.”

He clenches his jaw. “I promise you.”

You pull him towards you by grasping his neck and your lips meet in the middle. The kiss is like him. Equal parts sweet as it is harsh. His lips were warm and soft, but the urgency in the way you both kissed each other was anything but. You bury your hand into his hair and feel his curls unmake themselves even further. His smell of soap and sage infiltrates your senses.

It was a dizzying feeling. It’s what you felt while you were dancing exploded ten-fold. It was the culmination of tension and grief exploding into something technicolour. As your noses bump against each other, you think you want to draw more of this kindness from this man.

Your breathing quickens and he groans into your mouth. It’s almost like you two are fighting. With each other, against each other, for each other. Exploring this hungry need has only made you more insatiable.

And that becomes particularly dangerous, especially when you know he has a job to do.

Reluctantly you pull back. His eyes stay closed and you press your foreheads together, listening to the crackles of the torches around you. “Your emotions are strong.” You quietly whisper. “But do not let them control you. Let them guide you.”

He blinks his eyes open, full of clarity.

Letting each other go hesitantly, you take one last look at him and he at you. “Come back to me,” you say with all the confidence you can muster.

You can tell you’re both skeptical about your claim, but he nods his head anyway. He walks around you and you don’t turn to look at him leave for fear of wanting to hold him back. You hear the creak of the door, but before he can take another step away from you, you mumble “Give them Hell.”

There’s a slight pause before you start to hear the crunching of the ground beneath him, each step lighter than the last until you can no longer hear him creeping into the night.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

- - - - - -

When you see the money-filled bag hanging on the statue the next day, it’s attached with a note.

His presence overflows through your every pore.

Alpha looks at you with a determined expression on their face, as do the other hijra around them.

It seems they don’t just want repayment, they want a reckoning.

They want retribution.

- - - - - -

A/N: Please let me know what you think by leaving a note, comment, or reblog! Or we can just geek out about Monkey Man lol I definitely won’t be opposed to that lol

#fanfic #x reader #smut #dev patel #fanfiction #fluff #monkey man #monkey man 2024 #monkey man spoilers #the kid #y/n #monkey man fanfiction #monkey man fanfic #the kid x reader #angst #retribution

142 notes · View notes

scoopdi-woop · 11 months

Text

No thoughts. Not one single thought besides Ethan Hawke in western films

#and his character is gay in almost all of them #ethan hawke and playing gay cowboys #is like pedro pascal playing a found father figure #Ethan Hawke cowboy #ethan hawke #strange way of life #a strange way of life #the magnificent seven #goodnight robicheaux #in a valley of violence #western #gay cowboys #the kid

497 notes · View notes

royalsunshinehotel · 27 days

Text

NSFW Alphabet (The Kid, 18+)

One more day until we bring him HOME!!!!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like the kid is properly touch-starved. He's caught in a cycle of violence with himself in the underground fighting ring, so he takes the opportunity to be soft with you while keeping as much physical contact as possible.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I feel like he's a fan of his arms. We see in the trailer how hard he works with those water buckets, he likes his arms. They're long, he's made them strong, they're great.

As for you, he's very into your hair. You're so soft and warm, and he will put his face in it whenever possible. How do you always smell good? He doesn't need to find out, he'll just enjoy it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This is hard to explain, but here we go. I think that Kid has never finished inside or on a partner. He doesn't really fuck a lot, but now that he's met you, he absolutely loves finishing on your stomach

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to fuck you while wearing the fucking Monkey mask. Maybe there's a kidnapping/beauty and the beast kink involved too.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I feel like he's a bit inexperienced. This throws you off because he's gorgeous, but you just need to up the communication. Initially, I feel like you need to break it down for him and say exactly what you want, eventually, he gets the hang of it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I feel like it depends on his mood. If he's heated and angry, he needs you on all fours, ass up. If he's feeling more somber, he needs you slowly, spoon-fucking.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think he gets a bit goofier when the two of you get out of the city. Until then, it's strict, serious, for stress release only. He doesn't care about you, at all (lie).

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I feel like things are minimally contained. He's been so focused on getting by, he doesn't take care of himself until things almost get out of hand.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It takes him a minute to really find his groove with intimacy/romance, but he does get there. Until then, prepare to be manhandled.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I fear it's minimal, but you do talk with him about it. When the two of you become 'official' (official what, you don't know), you tell him you want to watch, and he finds he likes jacking off way more when he's got an audience.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I feel like for kinks he can be into the following (1) getting slapped and having his hair pulled in the bedroom, (2) tying you up and having his way with you, and (3) anything in regards to blood. If you have a period, watch yourself, he can be a shark when he wants.

Also, overstimulation, see later.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I truly think he'll have you wherever he wants. If you're down, he's down, he doesn't care where. It could be in the bathroom at his work, in the shower in his shitty apartment, he could break into a hotel room at his other job and fuck you in a proper bed, or the two of you can go on the roof of a high rise. He's partial to the outside at night.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I think it's somewhat random. He's been trying to survive for so long it's not really something that comes to the front of his mind, that he is "turned on", he just knows he suddenly wants you in his lap. Maybe he wants your hands in his mouth. It doesn't matter why.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

I feel like he'd want to do what he could to keep you secret. Anyone else looking at you when you're compromised, with him, is going to be in a lot of pain very quickly. He's private above all.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Initially, I think he's a little confused about getting head. Like it's weird, and he likes it fine, but then he gets your legs around his head and he gets it. Giving for sure.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I feel like the Kid is initially fast and mean. He's rough, but the two of you initially are just hooking up. that's how he thinks it's supposed to go! He doesn't even know all of his options yet, and that makes you a little bit insane. It just means you have to show him...

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If it's likely that no one will see you in a state of undress, he'll take you wherever/whenever he can.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I'd have to say no. I don't have any evidence to back it up, but if you want to make a change, even if it's minimal, you have to ask nicely.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

I think it's criminal how long he can go. We know he's been training, we know he can fight, this can lead one to believe that, as an athlete, his stamina is way higher than it would be for a normal person.

This is how he figures out he really likes overstimulating you. It scratches an itch in his brain he didn't even know about. You're so sweet and vulnerable, crying that you've had enough, and trying to tell him he's mean.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I think it's a bit out of his depth. He gets the concept, he's been in situations where he's seen how they're used, but I think in his head, they're kind of an obstacle to you. He wants to be as close as possible, but that doesn't mean toys are banned forever...

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, it's totally foreign to him. He's here, you're here, why bother with posturing?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The Kid has gone through most of his life alone. It's just facts. He's not had many people to talk to, and has a reputation for being a bit of a 'spook'. This is different with you, obviously. You'll get a lot of gasps, some panting, and your favorite, growling.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character

Chew toy. I think you and the kid bite each other a lot. There's not much else to say about it other than sometimes when the two of you are lying together, either you or he will just have some flesh between your teeth. Usually from the shoulder, but sometimes from the side of your neck. t's comforting, and neither of you feel the need to explain, it just is what it is.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I plead the Fifth Amendment because I might black out if I try to answer this question. I'm seeing the movie tonight, and I'm really not mentally prepared.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I've mentioned in this alphabet that he's been in 'survival' mode for so long, that certain areas of his life have been lacking. This being said, I think his sex drive gets higher and higher the longer the two of you are seeing each other. It's something the two of you work on together :)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

The Kid strikes me as an insomniac. I feel like it takes him 30 minutes to an hour to wind down after fucking you. But when he finally does get to sleep, he'll be out cold, which is all you want really.

#the kid #monkey man #monkey man 2024 #dev patel #he's so WET and Sad EYED

105 notes · View notes