#dynamic; crocwoolf

[sircrocodillian]

Spent my afternoon drawing more ship art woops

[sircrocodillian]

In power couple verse with @tessofbaterilla, Croc commissioned nude paintings of his wife that hang up in his private office. Part of it is cause he likes to look at her, but it's also a power move and an intimidation tactic because why you oggling his wife, Mr. Henchman? You got a death wish??

[sircrocodillian]

Sometimes ya gotta doodle ship art real quick

@tessofbaterilla

Inspired by X

[sircrocodillian]

"I don't do fake love." She considers his big, scarred face and the dead yellow eyes with their slit pupils.

Crocodile's mask is incredible. (Tess thinks. He's nothing like her father or even her granddad, and it was her family she judged all good relationships by--or used to). And they're gone. All of them. But no dwelling. Loss is fuel. Loss is fuel---) He reminds her more of Bege in moments like these, and having seen the way "Gang" Bege looks at the people he values, she reasons Crocodile must be good at faking. 

Something in him isn't wired to love, the way she's not wired to process pain the way she used to, but around all the blood and violence, they've hacked out their own little niche together. Woolf and Crocodile. Click click. Snap snap.

She wraps her finger around a little cowlick of dark hair that's fought its way free of the veritable shell of pomade, smirking absently at the sight of him tousled. A bit rumpled, even.

"But what you're able to give me is enough." [Paraphrased from the unconventional dynamics meme!]

He lets her settle into his lap as those dead, pale eyes locked onto her. His thumb absently rubbed against the underside of her skin and his eyes were unblinking as he noted her observing him.

Fake love.

Crocodile wondered if he had ever know the real thing. All his life, he had only ever been surrounded by those who found love in some absence of another. Even his time with Dragon, where once he might have thought to be real love, had been more a grasping for something to fill up the void inside of himself. Even then, all he had done was consume, consume, consume.

But she did make him....happy? Was that what this was? Happiness? He wasn't sure if that was the name he wanted to give the lightness that grew in his chest whenever she was near him. It made him feel good, though, and what made him feel good must mean that it was right. It must mean that it was what he had read happiness to be.

He let her play with the tussle of his hair and he gave a huff as he leaned in to bury his nose underneath her chin. A funny sight, he was sure, what with such a large, monstrous beast that he was seemingly hiding deep into the groove of his wife's neck.

"It is all I can give, but perhaps, in this world we're making for ourselves, that isn't so bad."