Tick. Tock. Feed The Croc.

"My name is Brutus, but the people will call me Rex!"

The Beast in a Manskin Coat; the liberator turned tyrant; the ends justify the means ; illusions of self-importance; might makes right ; a self-made man

Very Headcanon Based

Headcanon - About

Very OC friendly ❤️ // Dupe Cautious, but Open ⚠️ Crossover Friendly // Multiship

Est. March 2026

BR: @horroreverent (horror multi), @reverentlit (multi fandom multi) , @drculeeyed (dracule mihawk single muse)

Penned by The Reverend, aka Rev

DEAD DOVE; DON'T LOOK WILL BE PRESENT can include, but not limited to horror elements, body horror, cannibalism, gore, blood, smoking, drinking, abuse, suggestive material, and generally being a terrible person. Please Be Advised. You cannot Fix him. He will make you WORSE.

this is a trans!croc friendly blog!! I do write crocodad, but it is not a requirement for interaction! case by case basis!!

Rules Under Cut

but it just goes to show you've got some damn good taste in the muses you choose. and goddamn, I haven't even touched on what an unbelievably talented writer you are. any muse you pick up, you just have this uncanny ability of delving into their head and seeing what makes 'em tick. whether it's the songs you think best suit them, to the aesthetics you associate with each character you choose to write. (i think the lilacs are something i never thought of when it comes to crocodile, but you can bet your ass off that's changin' today.)

and i will always associate mihawks with you.

i guess what i'm tryin' to say is, thanks for being one of, if not, my favorite person to write with on tumblr.

(...that's enough with the sappy shit.)

“Sir Crocodile…” she murmured to the empty air, as she took her sweet time exhaling, her voice low and laced with that familiar, teasing lilt. “You built an empire on sand–literally–and yet there was something almost admirable in how you refused to bow, even when the world government tried to bury you.

You saw potential in me once, or at least potential betrayal material. I suppose I should thank you for the education… though I suspect you’d rather feed me to your overgrown reptilian pets than hear it.”

Her smile sharpened, eyes glinting with dark amusement as she regarded him.

“You’re a villain with style, I’ll give you that. Dangerous, petty when crossed, and strangely magnetic in your own ruined-prince sort of way. But lonely, too. All that power, and still you trust no one. Maybe that’s why I left. Or maybe I just got bored of inhaling your smog and pretending the rivers wouldn’t part for someone sharper.”

She let out a soft, demure chuckle, palm briefly covering her mouth as she took one final inhale before allowing the miasma of smoky haze to temporarily conceal her features. “All sharp edges and calculated power, yet I can’t help but find it… somewhat intoxicating.” Her grin turned subtly playful. “A shame you hide it behind that cold exterior. I wonder what it would take to make that sharp tongue of yours do something more useful than curse my name as you're so apt to do whenever we cross paths.”

With a graceful flick, she tossed the cigar aside. “Though it simply doesn’t suit with my refined sensibilities,” she murmured as an afterthought, “much like the man himself.”

Dead eyes locked on the woman who stood before him, lips pursed as they no longer held a cigar between them. Her arms had bloomed from his chest and plucked it so easily away. How often he had wondered if she would try that sometime. To bloom against him and try to stab a dagger in his heart.

No. It had simply been a hook in her back instead.

The former Warlord chuckled, a dry sound despite its distant rumble. It did not meet his eyes, which seemed to almost glare daggers into her. Just for a brief moment.

All is forgiven, Nico Robin.

No hard feelings. They had both known that it would inevitably come to that final conjuctive, met there at the foot of the poneglyph. One of them would surely be the death of the other. Yet, here they both were. Still very much alive, though on different pillars of the world.

Both under the leadership of an Emperor. It would seem fit that fate might once more clash them together.

"Do you recall that gala I had hosted at Rain Dinners? The soiree that was meant to bring in all those neighboring cities so they might see the splendor of my home and seek to draw them tighter into my grip? We did our point there, but if I recall, we danced."

He rested a hand on his hip as he shrugged his shoulder. As though trying to brush off the weight seeing her brought to him.

"I have never been much of a dancer, but if I recall, you stated it was a shame you could not do such with the patrons below."

Another chuckle as Crocodile shook his head.

"Were you already tired of me by that night? We both already knew what all of this was, but do not lie to yourself that for a brief few years, you had a purpose, Miss All Sunday. We both had our points. Our little caveats to our contract. The little bits of red lettering that would sever the agreement if it happened."

He looked down his nose at her as that inhuman, reptilian smile crept its way up his maw. A faint flicker of the beast underneath. Flexing in his mansuit.

"Do not pretend that you're more human than I ever was."

Woolf doesn't have the kindness in her to let him rest.

She's sitting at his feet, forehead resting on his knee and his hand on her head. The curtain of her hair straggles over his thigh and down his leg to tangle, seaweed-like, around his ankles and along the floor. Her eyes glint as she peers up at him.

He's reflected back in her pupils, wet and dark.

'I told you,' that look reminds him. Oh, Woolf is always watching now. 'I told you if you killed me, you were going to pay for it.' She presses her head against his palm as if seeking affection, the tilt of her neck almost demure.

As a section of dirty curls falls away from her face, she 'smiles' up at him--insofar as any woman can small when her jaw is missing. Her tongue dangles lewdly without its support, framed by the exposed roof of her mouth and top rows of teeth.

Her shoulders shake with laughter.

He wasn't sure if he understood a time where he had been without her, now.

He had tracked her down. He had pinned her against the floorboard, head pounding as he could hear his heart in his ears. He hadn't understood a word she said as she had clawed against him; a desperate prey animal attempting to kick free from his grip as he had done what he wanted to do this entire time. Take back what she had STOLEN from him. All he had seen was red, and then the next thing he knew, he was tearing her heart from her chest and devouring it.

Then, as he had laid there, on his knees with her unseeing eyes locked on him through the tendrils of her disheveled hair, neck bent in the way only a corpse might lay, he had realized far too late that it hadn't been what he had wanted. He didn't want this. No. He had crawled to clamber her into his grasp, hold her in his arms as her body bled out across him. He didn't bother to bury her. By the time he his subordinates had found the body, she had been mainly bone anyway.

Inside of him, entirely. Her heart beating alongside his own.

Now, she clambered over his body. As real to him as she had ever been in life, even without her jaw, tongue wagging in an inhuman way. He remembered. He had ripped that jaw off of her.

His massive palm reached upwards to cup alongside her face, feeling it lull against him, and he growled deep.

"Did I regret it?" He hissed through his teeth as he cradled her specter against his chest, making sure that their eyes were meeting in that ink-black void of witching hours. "Did I? Yet, here you are. With me. Forever."

He growled softly as he brough his hand upwards to rest against his chest.

"Do you feel it? Both of our hearts, beating together?"

He chuckled dryly as he tucked away some of her hair, though it fell loose and greasy along her skull. He still met her eyes, refusing to look away from her. For a brief moment, it felt as though his fingertips had intertwined with her very skin. His veins, merging with hers, until they were forged together into a singular, amorphous thing. Where he began and she couldn't end.

@trulyunflowergettable