this is vriska/tavros, read this and it'll hopefully not be a bad thing

they live together, he's all nice and doing the chores and making breakfast and she just berates him and goes out and dominates people and hunts for treasure

and at night they just give into carnal desires without any real lasting passion on either side, just dominance for her and a desire to help a friend on his side

like it's not real romance, it's just
there

and like you know they have moments where they close their eyes and fantasize about kanaya or karkat or nepeta or terezi or gamzee or whomeverand it's really empty romantically but it can feel somewhat good

yeah it's just like, sometimes she'll be away and tavros has friends over and it's all "WHY DO YOU EVEN LET HER LIVE HERE IF SHE JUST GOING TO YELL AT YOU ALL THE TIME. YOU CAN GET THAT FOR FREE WITHOUT HAVING A MOOCHER." "She Is More Than Able Enough To Live In A Hive Under Her Ownership" and tavros just smiles and changes the subject

i actually kinda want to see a moment like
she tries to hit him and he just guards his face and she locks up and punches the wall or something

yeah, forcing him to do things and making fun of him and taking control but when it comes to actually hurting him physically that's when any twinge of guilt pops up

---

And it's just like this now.

She throws her head back, shaking out her long tangles of dark hair. He grabs her hips to steady her as she thrusts, her bony hips grinding against his, palms pressed against his chest as if to pin him to the bed. She always does this. Where does she think he's going to go?

It's just like this now.

Hot breath escaping in an angry rush, claws dragging down his torso, raising fine brown lines. She's close, so is he, both of them ascending with their eyes closed, imaginations running wild, pretending it's somewhere or someone else. The name on her lips isn't his, but that's okay. The face in his mind wasn't hers.

It's just... like this now.

There's a moment where she bends down and their foreheads nearly touch. He could tilt his face up, taste the fruity lip gloss she never grew out of. She'd probably reciprocate, too. But then she's off him, sitting on the edge of the bed, sliding her panties back up. He watches her leave and closes his eyes again.

He can think of worse places to be. A lot of them, actually.

It's the next morning. He's up before her as usual. He's usually up well before her so he has time to wash up and watch the first rays of sunlight reach over the hills. It's peaceful, beautiful even, and one of the few things in his daily life he really looks forward to. When he hears the alarm clock shatter against the wall to the sound of her infurated shrieks, he knows it's time to wheel himself back in and get breakfast going.

No, it's okay. A lot of the hive is custom-built to accommodate the wheelchair. No problem at all getting at what he needs. Cohabitation with a blue-blood definitely has its perks.

Nobody really gets why they moved in together. Kanaya expressed half-hearted concern for his wellbeing, but nobody was dumb enough to buy that, not even him. Terezi and Karkat had both been angry, then baffled, then angry again. Even Aradia, silent and neutral in most matters, had asked him if this was really the way he wanted to live. And what could he say? She needed companionship. Without him around she'd been like a rudderless boat, flipping and tilting helplessly in the current of her own powerful, irrational emotions. Wild and unpredictable, as liable to hurt herself as she was to hurt others. No one else could calm her as well as he could.

And really, he can think of worse places to be.

She's grumpy in the mornings. She hates them. They eat in silence, her staring blankly, him making a to-do list. There won't be a lot on it, but hivekeeping in a place this size would be an undertaking even if he weren't disabled.

"Why do you always have to do that?"

Oh, is it already time for her to be coherent? He looks up, keeping himself as calm as possible.

"...Do what?"
"That, tha-tha-that, fucking TAPPING on that thing. All morning. EVERY fucking morning. People are trying to wake up here and you're sitting there looking stupid and poking around on your handheld like a dumbfuck."
"It's just my system, you know. For keeping things organized. Gotta run a... a tight ship, right, captain?"

The last part was supposed to be a joke, but the smile on his face vanishes when she throws her half-finished breakfast at him and storms away. Yeah, he could have phrased that better.

---

Morning goes and afternoon comes, and she loves life again right now. Far from the hive and that loser, locked in the heat of combat. This is where she belongs, ruining people's shit and reaping the spoils. Arrested development, some say. That's why she still plays the game, that's why she's out here even though the lusus is gone and there are no more levels left to gain. But she has to spend that excess anger somewhere, and this is the best way she knows how. Killing is okay here. Everyone knows the consequences are real. The ground is already slick and multicolored with the blood of today's victims -- yellow, green, and hey, looks like she got a purple somewhere along the line. All right. She's hoping to spill richer blood next, if she can just figure out where the fuck he's shooting from. She [i]hates[/i] being put on the defensive. Hates it so much. This cave has too many levels and entrances, too many ledges to hide on.

"ERIDAN!" she screeches. "Stop playing games, you stupid douche!"

The projectile zings off the wall, far too close to her head for comfort, but that's not important anymore. Every good adventurer takes risks; she's been a lot closer to death than this in her short, strange life. And what really matters is that she knows where to throw the dice now, and there they go, arcing dramatically across the room, clicking one by one against the floor. It looks like it's going to be a pretty good roll, one that makes her duck for cover as the last die lands, spins, come [i]onnnn[/i] no weasels no weasels why does the last one always do this...

It's a fantastic roll. Storm of Swords does exactly as advertized, driving nasty blades into the stone where the jerk-ass aristocrat had been standing. Giggling to herself, Vriska comes out of hiding to retrieve her dice. Sure enough, there's violet blood on the ground, which stretches her smirk into a mad grin. The only bad part is the troll himself is nowhere in sight. She puts the dice away, pretending to take a moment longer than necessary so she can judge the proximity of the footsteps behind her. Never one for stealth, not that drama king. When she figures he's close enough she whirls on him, bringing her nasty hooked prosthetic around, aiming for the throat. He's good, though, nearly as good as she is; he blocks her swing with the barrel of that obnoxious weapon of his. Rage and resistance from both sides, arm and rifle shaking slightly under the pressure, their faces close together. The strain causes a fresh gout of blood from the wound in his side; she can smell it on him. Despite the pain, he graces her with a princely smile.

"Mindfang, I presume."
"Ugh, don't [i]call[/i] me that. So retarded."

And they separate. He sweeps his arm back, cape billowing behind him. She rolls her eyes. Always center stage with this one.

"You're playing the game, aren't you?"
"DUH, Eridumb, why else would I be here? I just play as Vriska now. Marquise Spinnerette Mindfang? Please. I was such a dork! ...Heeey, don't tell me you still go by Dualscar..."
"Of course I don't," he snaps, but only after the briefest pause indicating the contrary. She scoffs at him.
"SUCH a dork. Why are you even out here? You don't need any treasure or spoils of war."
"Neither do you, landhag."
"I-"

But he's right. They glare at each other through their respective pairs of stylish eyewear.

"So why ARE you out here?"
"It's fun!" she snaps, "It's fun, and it's what I'm good at, and it's like I'm in my element. No dumb adult shit to handle or assholes to be nice to or stupid nubhumping wigglers that just get in my way and meddle and make stupid jokes and--"

She pulls up short. Too much substance in that stream of consciousness.

"Yeah, nobody gets that."
"Gets what?"
"You know. Your thing with the shitblood."

Back to this again. Why does everyone have to fuss and poke and pry and generally be huge douches about this one fucking topic?

God, she hates being put on the defensive.

"We," she begins in a low snarl, "do not have a [i]thing[/i]. Not black or red or... or green or stripey polka-dotted fucking purple paisley either for that matter so all you shitheels can just STAY OUT OF IT ALREADY."
"Okay, okay. Goddamn." He looks a bit stung. She's not buying it for a second.
"Besides, you don't see me over here jumping at every chance to ask about you and the dumb princess, right?"
He finally drops the friendly pretenses and bares his teeth at her, which is fine. Better, even. Honest hatred is harder to come by than stupid fake friendship.

It becomes less fine when he shoots her.

---

"God... DAMMIT! Ahhhhh..."
"N-no, I'm sorry, but you have to hold still."
"Fuck you! It HURTS!"

Tavros frowns in concentration and holds her bleeding arm down this time. Vriska grits her teeth and presses her face into his shoulder. Fuck, [i]fuck[/i], what was she thinking, Eridan's a dead troll, this is so going to leave an ugly scar and mother grub knows she has enough of those already. He hits something sensitive by mistake and she bites down, growling in pain as fangs sink into flesh. Tavros grimaces, but the sting is nothing compared to what she's going through, he's sure. His first question, which nearly earned him a robo-slap, was if she's gotten the weasels again. Still, it's not as bad as it could have been. Should have been. He risks a quick glance at her.

"He... y-you said he did this with [i]rifle[/i]Kind? How, uhh. How do you still have an arm at all?"
"He was fucking with me," she hisses angrily, "At my level? With stats like these? He might as well have used some bullshit peashooter."

Tavros frowns. Bullshit peashooter or not, this is bad. She should have gotten real medical attention. There's no way he can possibly stitch the torn flesh back together, so he settles for cleaning the wound. And at least her sleeve will hide it, not that he plans to mention that where she can hear it.

"I'll kill him! Next time I see that smug prick I'm gonnAAARGH."

He'd been trying to explain over her ranting that it was going to sting. He loses the opportunity to explain anything as she rears back from the table and grabs him by the throat. Metallic fingers close on his neck, lift him bodily out of his chair. Eyes wide, he grapples uselessly at her wrist and tries to pull himself up, a hanged man's last-ditch effort. For one eternal moment they stand there, murder in her eye and fear in both of his, before sanity returns and she slowly lowers him back to his wheelchair with all the care of a new mother. He wheels himself back from her and pulls at the neckline of his shirt, the only sound in the room is his harsh gasping.

She sinks down into her own chair again and rests her robotic limb on her lap. After a pause, he wheels closer to her, takes her living arm, and begins to pat up the blood again. She's lost a lot, and raging like she is can't be helping.

But he knows better than to bring that up.

She's silent the entire time and only moves once, after he's done, to wipe up some of the brown blood she spilled earlier with her jacket. He manages a small smile before he absconds back into the kitchen and throws together something light. She's not going to want it, and in all honesty he's not hungry anymore either, but he's sure they'll both feel better if things go back to normal.

He's a little surprised to find that she still hasn't moved by the time he gets back. She stares at him, a weirdly curious gaze that makes him pause and look away.

"Why are you still here?"
"Uhhh. Just... I'm just here for a second. I left mine back in..."

He gestures toward the kitchen, then sets her plate and cup in front of her. She scowls.

"No, you [i]idiot[/i]..."

That glassy-eyed resignation again as he braces for more verbal abuse. No, no, that's not right. That isn't what she wants at all. She exhales, forcing some of the tension out of her shoulders.

"No. I meant with me. All the shit and you haven't left yet. Why are you still here with me?"

He shrugs, one-shouldered, non-committal.

"You saw what your arm looked like. You should have gone to a medical hive, but you came straight here."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well, you... turned to me for help, is what I'm getting at. I-if that makes any sense. Does it ma--"
"Oh would you CAN IT! I wasn't really thinking, there was a lot of blood..."
"And it... don't get mad, but the hive is kind of out of the way. As soon as things went bad, you came home."

She doesn't have an answer for this one.

"So... I guess... someone needs to be here when you do. Since... the spider's gone. And I figure... uhh, why not me?"

Someone needs to be here.

Someone...

Sudden nasty realization as it finally occurs to her that of all the trolls, he's the only one who would. Equius was too offended by their cohabitation and no longer speaks to her. Neither do Aradia or Terezi. She and Eridan had some good rivalry once, but these days it feels more like battle re-enactments, a futile attempt to bring back whatever it was they had in the past. Kanaya... well okay, there's always Kanaya, but Tavros doesn't meddle and tell her not to do things. Even when maybe he should. He's just there. Making her meals, cleaning the hive. Patching her up when she staggers in bleeding. And then there are the other benefits, the ones they never talk about. She's still not even sure how that happened.

She pushes the plate away and rests her forehead on the cool metal of her dead arm. He'll be disappointed she didn't eat, but she'll tell him to shut up, and he will.

She doesn't want to think about things right now. Her throbbing arm, the food she doesn't want, the dead-end turns her life always seems to take.

She glances up, catches him fingering his collar, pulling the material away from the deep brown marks on his neck. For one idiotic moment she's tempted to grab her own neck, give herself matching marks, then the urge passes and she despises herself just a little more.

She gets up, leaving her plate untouched, and suggests a movie. Something fun, anything to distract her right now. He's fine with that, of course. It's a funny flick, one of her favorites, and maybe their laughter's a bit strained, but at least they're enjoying themselves again.

Maybe it won't be this way forever, but it's like this now.