ok i don’t know if it’s just me who gets really giggly when it’s late at night but imagine laying in bed with lando and you’re just rambling about smth so stupid that it ends with you two just giggling at nothing. like getting full on stomach cramps from laughing but there wasn’t even anything funny to begin with
anon u and i are the SAME! once its past midnight i always end up becoming a victim of the late night sillies 💔
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1:30 am | ln4
you knew you were up too late when you nearly tripped over the loose edge of the blanket you and lando had been sharing on your way back to the couch, and when he had caught you before you could hit your head or anything, you started laughing.
“oh, no,” he’d groaned dramatically. “got the late night giggles already, huh?”
“uh-uh,” you shook your head, even though him saying the words “late night giggles” was enough to make laughter start bubbling up in your throat again.
something always shifted in you when the clock struck a certain hour at night, and lando had only been witness to it a handful of times before you moved in together.
now, you’d managed to get through the rest of the movie the two of you were watching without laughing, even if it meant biting your lip hard and refusing to make eye contact with your boyfriend. it was bad enough feeling his eyes on you every time he wanted to see your reaction to something that happened on the tv. making eye contact would just take you out entirely for no reason whatsoever.
which is why you think you’ve successfully avoided making a fool of yourself when you’re both finally laying in bed with the lights out at the fine hour of 1:30 in the morning.
“you’re so far away,” lando grumbles, dragging your body into his so his one arm is around your shoulders and your face is nestled in his neck.
“better?” you ask, smiling when he shivers as your lips brush his skin.
“mhmm.” he’s quiet for a moment, running his fingers up and down your arm. “you’re gonna come to miami, right?”
“yeah, if you want me to.”
“what kind of question is that, babe?” he cranes his neck in a way that tells you he’s fixing you with a judgy look even though you can’t see each other.
you shrug, feeling the giggles building up again for no reason whatsoever. “i dunno.”
“obviously i want you there, why wouldn’t i?”
“i dunno,” you repeat. “it’s miami. maybe you just wanna party with all your homies.” and just like that, you’re laughing again.
“oh dear god, here we go,” he sighs, pressing his lips together to repress his own laughter as your body shakes against his. “my homies? when have i ever referred to any of my mates as my ‘homie’?”
he sounds so incredulous that you laugh even harder. “oh, you’re so british! i can’t call them your mates, lan. it sounds too weird.”
“so homies is the word you went with? why can’t you be normal and just say my friends?”
“why can’t you be normal and say your friends?” you shoot back, and that does lando in.
“it’s not funny,” he tries to admonish, and it’s entirely true, but it’s a moot point when you can barely understand him through his laughter.
“stop laughing then!”
“you stop!”
naturally, that makes you both laugh harder still, to the point where you have to roll away from him, clutching your stomach from how badly all the laughing is making it hurt.
“i can’t breathe,” lando gasps from behind you.
“stop laughing,” you repeat. “you’re killing me.”
“i think i’m dying,” he continues like he didn’t hear you, and he honestly might not have because your face is half shoved into your pillow in your attempts to stifle yourself.
a few more minutes go by of the two of you absolutely losing your minds before you’re finally able to catch your breath.
“ow,” you whine, holding your stomach. “i think i just grew a six pack.”
“i think mine just became ten times more defined,” lando says, voice raspy from all the exertion on his vocal chords.
“ooh, lemme feel.”
“absolutely not, because you’re going to tickle me,” he grabs your wrist out of thin air. “i know your tricks, baby. i’ve laughed more than enough tonight thanks to you.”
“not my fault you’re weird and british.”
“i love you,” he says sweetly, pulling you back towards him and kissing your forehead. “now’s where you say, ‘i love you too.’”
“i love you too,” you reply dutifully, blindly reaching for his face so you can kiss him properly. “even though you’re weird and british.”
he kisses you again. “i thought it was especially because i’m weird and british.”
you snuggle into his side, now thoroughly exhausted. “please don’t make me laugh more, lan.”
you both know he’s right, of course, but you usually need to have the last word, so he lets you get away with it. he does love you, after all, even though you had him in stitches over nothing at 1:30 in the morning.
word count: 790
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note: this was sooo self indulgent, like i was laughing as i wrote this because the term “homies” is so silly to me for some reason. also helped me test my dialogue skills!! n e wayz…
requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation!
reblogs are greatly appreciated <33
dividers by @/saradika
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Reinvent Love
♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader
Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?
CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, lil smutty, reader has hair long enough to tie up, season 3 of my flatmate!joe
Author’s note: oohhh big changes! we are TALKING! with our MOUTHS! what a time. This is the last part of flatmate!Joe - for real this time. I truly hope you've enjoyed what is still my most plotless (imo) bit of writing, lmk your thoughts <3
Wordcount: 4.4K
part one - part two - part three - part four - part five
There was something living inside of your chest.
It was only small, but definitely there. Soft. Vulnerable. Silently shrinking. It had gotten hurt and was wearing its bruises on the outside. When it got poked, you could feel the shooting pains as it curled in on itself more. It would find the safest spots to squeeze its eyes shut and you’d mentally tell it, it’s okay. You’re okay.
It wasn’t okay.
Maybe therapy wasn’t an insane suggestion, anymore, at this point. You felt like you were protecting a child to the point where you couldn’t let it see the light of day. Couldn’t let it go outside and play. Couldn’t let it have friends – let it meet Joe. Couldn’t let it experience anything joyful, because if you did, it’d probably experience more hurt too.
But it was hurting anyway.
And now it was only pain it got to feel. Never joy. Just bruises and cuts. Scrapes that slowly formed thick drops of blood that hardened into scabs which pulled at your skin and eventually turned into scars.
You wished you’d known that before you locked it up inside.
There was something living inside of your chest, and it carefully wished it could speak up and be heard.
When you’d walked out of your bedroom and into the living room, a surprised Josh raised his eyebrows at you. He was leaning back into the sofa and had an acoustic guitar in his lap that he was absentmindedly playing whilst he was watching TV on a low volume. The guitar playing stopped when he saw you and didn’t pick back up as he watched you walk over, pillow in hand, facial expression drained.
“Hey, what’s up?” the guitar got moved onto the floor.
You didn’t answer when you put your pillow down on the opposite end of the sofa and took the blanket you’d slept under before. You curled up, ignored Josh who tried to ask if you were okay a couple of times as you stared at the TV. He asked if you wanted to talk about it. Said you probably should talk about it if you didn’t want Josh to think about this all night.
“It’s going to keep me up if I don’t know if you’re okay.”
You ignored it all, didn’t give a shit if Josh was going to get a good night’s sleep, and eventually turned over and faced the back of the sofa. It sent the message it needed to. It took just another moment before Josh turned off the TV, and then the lights as he left you alone.
This was stupid.
But you were stubborn.
You were stubborn and were going to go to sleep on your sofa, even though you were the one that lived here, and maybe Joe should be the one to sleep on the sofa.
Or actually, he could go home. To his own flat. Where all things were his, and the only things that felt like they were yours were the plants you’d brought in and the toothbrush you’d left by his sink.
Yea.
Joe could just leave.
You didn’t care that he was still paying rent.
But you didn’t actually get up to go and tell him that. Of course not. You just wallowed in thought. In all the would-dos and would-says. Shivered because this new stupid blanket Josh got wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm throughout the night.
You made yourself cry inside of that soup of goopy misery. Felt what lived inside of your chest as it drowned and mentally apologised to it when, after three hours of not being able to actually go to sleep, after three hours of anger that turned into fragile neediness, you decided to get up and make your way back.
Find Joe.
Because, and fuck him for this, Joe always knew how to fucking fix it.
And there was something so silly about walking down the hallway of your flat with tears staining your cheeks to sneak into Joe’s old bedroom. To find Joe inside of the bed there, the lay-out of the room still the same. Joe’s side of the bed still the same.
The click of the door closing made Joe lift his head up in an attempt to see into the dark.
He hadn’t expected you at all, so for a second, he thought that maybe you’d just walked in to get something. Your phone. Or your charger. But then you walked around to your side of the bed and got under the covers. It was too dark to see your face, but you found Joe’s warm body and snuggled up. Pressed your forehead to his jaw and hummed through a sigh and Joe didn’t need to see your face to hug you closer. Didn’t need to see if you’d been crying to wrap arms around, and to tangle legs, and to press a small kiss into your hair.
You wiggled as you settled and sighed as you sunk deeper into the mattress. You could deal with the disappointment within yourself in the morning.
“I’m sorry.” Joe whispered into the dark, and you decided you could also deal with your disappointment in Joe in the morning, so you softly whined and said, “Pause.”
“Pause?”
“Mhm.”
Everything could just be paused. Postponed. Just for a few hours. You just needed to get some sleep.
Joe wasn’t in a position to not accept that. His heart felt full with the nostalgia he unexpectedly found with you sneaking into this room in order to get some sleep. It used to be like this. He was in the same location. In the exact same spot. Just, everything was yours now.
Me too, Joe thought.
Everything was yours now, including Joe. Whether you wanted him or not.
He squeezed you tighter and saw that you got to sleep. Traced finger tips across skin that warmed under the covers, and tickled into your hair by the nape of your neck, and he could feel how you were drifting off and, fuck off, he was yours.
He’d tell you in the morning.
Joe was going to tell you in the morning.
He would.
When Joe woke up, you were gone.
Fucking figures, Joe thought.
The private moment of waking up together that would’ve granted him the security and comfortability to say whatever needed saying was gone now.
Joe rubbed both hands over his face and scolded himself for not waking up as you had gotten out.
But it was fine.
There’d be another moment for it, he’d make sure.
Venturing out of your bedroom, you weren’t in the bathroom. Nor in the living area. He did, however, find Josh in the kitchen.
After awkward but polite good mornings shared, there was some uncomfortable shuffling around. Joe had made breakfast thousands of times in this kitchen, and he was already reaching to open the fridge when he realised that, actually, that was a weird thing to do. He no longer lived there. He couldn’t just go into cupboards and find the food that he knew was there – he knew exactly where the oatmeal went. He knew exactly where to find the cinnamon to sprinkle on top. How the coffee machine worked. Which cupboard to open to find the mugs.
Joe opted to busy himself making a coffee first. The machine was right there on the counter – less weird to reach for it and prepare himself a morning brew.
And Josh was cool about it. Opened a cupboard for him to fetch him a mug. It was a bit of an awkward dance, but a friendly one, tight smiles shared as Josh prepared his own breakfast.
It wasn’t until the loud noise of coffee beans being ground up that Joe decided to just… ask.
Might as well act like last night actually happened.
“Sorry about last night, mate,”
“Oh yea, no worries, I didn’t…” Josh frowned and shook his head as he scraped some butter onto his toast. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to. Took a bite before buttering the second piece.
“Have you seen her?” Joe tried sounding as casual as he could, but failed miserably.
It was as honest and vulnerable of a question he was ever going to ask Josh. It revealed he had no idea where the fuck you’d gone, which in and of itself revealed that there was probably a reason you hadn’t told him.
But Josh was relaxed about it.
“Yea. Morning run. You just missed her, I think.”
And it took all within Joe to pretend that didn’t surprise him as much as it did. He just nodded. Pretended like that was a normal thing to hear about. Morning run. Sure. Miss be-useful-first-thing, what the fuck? When had you picked up that habit?
The coffee machine stopped whirring, and Joe took his coffee. Went for a sip immediately and instantly burnt his tongue. Rookie move.
“Is um… is everything okay? I don’t want to pry, but,” Josh asked as Joe moved around the island to sit down.
“Ah, well… you know,”
No, actually, Josh didn’t know.
Which was good.
Joe didn’t really want him to know.
Joe didn’t really want to explain.
Couldn’t really explain.
Where the fuck would he even begin?
“Hmm, yea,” Josh accepted the non-answer easily. “She seemed upset, but wouldn’t really say anything.”
Joe had to suppress a smile.
Of course you hadn’t fucking said anything.
“I asked like fifty times if she was okay, but she… I don’t know, she fully ignored me I guess. Kind of went catatonic on me a little.”
Joe drank his coffee and nodded.
“To be fair though,” Josh made big eyes at himself, “I was being really fucking annoying. I would’ve rolled over and ignored me too, I think.”
Both men let huffs of air escape them in silent laughter.
Then a moment of silence followed where Joe drank his coffee and Josh ate his toast. Joe realised he didn’t like how Josh knew things about you that he didn’t, but the upside was that it was incredibly useful, actually.
Josh talked where you... well, you did not.
“Did she cry?”
He wanted to know.
“No, she just… watched TV for a bit. I don’t know, she seemed tired so I went to bed shortly after to make sure she could get some sleep.”
That meant that, if you’d cried, you had waited for Josh to leave the room. Joe didn’t know if that was a comforting thought or not.
It didn’t take much longer for Josh to finish his toast and to casually suggest for Joe to make his own breakfast. Mentioned that everything on the bottom shelves of the fridge was yours before he walked out, and this morning was just full of surprises.
You split the fridge?!
What kind of sensible flatmate behaviour was this?!
When it was you and Joe, your stuff would just be thrown in wherever. None of it sorted. Joe would end up having your oatmilk in his coffee and you’d end up using his cheese in your omelettes.
Actually, he remembered how this had been the source of bickering for more than once. More than a couple of times. You would fall out over Joe having your food all the time, if he really thought about it. But it was always playful. Always something fun about it. A reason to swear at him until you made yourself laugh, and a reason for him to shut you up with poking fingers in your sides. The back and forth had never prompted you to split the fridge.
Had you and Joe ever been normal flatmates?
Probably not, he guessed.
Joe decided against breakfast in the end and just finished his coffee. Waited until you got back from your morning run, which he still had a hard time wrapping his head around, and when he eventually heard the front door open, he got up to make you a drink.
You knew Joe was still there by his coat that was hung up by the front door.
Fine.
Fine.
It was fine.
You were sweaty and sticky and hot and you could feel your heartbeat in your face, but it was fine.
Walking into the kitchen, you were welcomed by Joe in jeans and a T-shirt, bare feet, hair stupid, already holding out a glass of juice for you.
You took it and refrained from talking as you had a sip. Looked at him over the glass though, and you hoped that what Joe would see was determination. Strength. That he saw someone who wasn’t going to take bullshit, because you weren’t.
You’d just gone for your very first morning run for fuck’s sake.
For a moment Joe just looked right back at you. Watched you have the drink he poured for you. You had bits of hair stuck to your flushed neck and had to breathe through flared nostrils. It was wildly attractive, if you asked him.
“Morning run?”
You caught a small smirk from Joe that you turned away from. Couldn’t look at him be cute when you were supposed to be mad at him still.
Then, in a rogue move, Joe opened the freezer and took a single look inside to find a frozen pizza he took out and tossed onto the counter.
That was meant to mean something.
You gave it a blank stare as Joe looked at you and you sighed.
“Hey,” Joe tried getting your attention back on him, but instead, you put the glass down and turned around. Walked out. Went to your bedroom.
Joe followed.
“Hey,” Joe tried again, stood in your doorway, watching you collect an outfit. “Talk to me.”
It went ignored.
This was the worst part of not having an ensuite; having to take just enough clothes into the bathroom to change in there. You and Josh weren’t exactly on a just-a-towel level yet. Bathrobe felt scandalous too, somehow, even for the five steps it took to get from your bedroom into the bathroom.
Josh could see you in clothes or not see you at all.
Joe easily moved aside when you walked past him, out of your room, and you looked at him as you did.
“Come on. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joe tried again.
It didn’t feel like you were fully ignoring him, but you weren’t answering him either.
You were thinking Joe was being an idiot.
You were trying, had been trying really hard to meet him where he wanted to be met, and then he just went and let you know he didn’t trust… you? Your flatmate? The situation he’d created with his own two hands?
Felt unfair.
You didn’t say any of that though. Just walked into the bathroom, and then left the door open.
Joe would get the hint, you thought.
He did, but only when you started peeling off your sweat-soaked top with the door wide open, still.
Joe moved quick. Sort of scrambled to get into the bathroom, to lock the door behind him, and then to help you get your top over your head as you struggled with the damp fabric around your shoulders.
You undressed, and Joe helped, and you made eye-contact the whole time.
You could see how he was searching. Trying to find whatever you weren’t saying in your eyes, his chin tucked in, his eyes pleading, all soft and rounded.
Joe tried.
He really tried.
You were getting naked right in front of him, body flushed and glistening with sweat and he got a good look as you stretched your body over the bath to turn the shower on and then you kept staring right at him as you removed more clothes and you were doing something with your eyes and Jesus fucking Christ, Joe was trying.
Trying to not grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake.
Trying not to let his eyes skirt downward because you’d just removed your sports bra and, oof, man, that was a lot of skin on show.
Joe was trying not to hold you by the face and trying not to get real close and trying not to whisper words into your mouth in hopes of coaxing out some of your own. Which… he failed. Because he did get your face into both his hands just after you’d reached up to untie your hair. He did get real close. And he did ask you once more to just talk to him, please.
You handled the close eye-contact fine.
Handled the cupping of your face fine.
And Joe couldn’t stop searching your face.
Was there truly no budging?
Was this… was this it?
Had he just gone and fucked it all up for himself? Had the big plan behind his move imploded because he couldn’t deal with the fact that you were now… no longer in his flat with him? Joe’s mind tried to make sense of it, but all he could really come up with, was that you probably didn’t even consider the two of you to be together.
You’d never talked about that.
Had never mentioned it.
Hadn’t labeled it.
You were just close flatmates that weren’t actually flatmates anymore, and… and now what?
He just wanted you to talk.
You were just in your underwear now, stood in a small bathroom and Joe ticked off all boxes in his mind: you were alone, check. You were close, check. You were in your safe space, check.
The shower was hot now, slowly filling the room with warm steam and, fuck, if you would just fucking talk.
Joe was about to repeat himself. Was about to say it again. But then he saw it.
Something changed.
Your eyes softened and your mouth tightened as you tried to keep your lips wobbling. As you tried to not let what was living inside of your chest get out. When you started blinking more rapidly as your eyes stung with tears, you also began avoiding eye-contact and, good. This was good. Joe let you go then, and watched as you got out of your last piece of clothing before you stepped into the shower.
You left the shower curtain open, and Joe thought he’d never undressed quite so fast.
You’d never shared a shower before.
Something about it felt really momentous, but you didn’t have the opportunity to think about it for too long. The thought vanished just as quickly as it had crossed your mind, because when Joe stepped into the bath behind you and held you by the shoulders before curling his arms around to hold you close, you decided that, actually, you were going to talk.
“You left,” you started, voice far thinner than you wanted it to be.
“I know.”
“You left and you’re making me feel bad about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not fair. It’s not my fault you moved out,” you reached up to hold onto Joe’s arm across your front and you felt how your eyebrows knitted together when you softly followed with, “Is it?”
And, fuck.
Something snapped into Joe’s chest.
Something swelled and popped.
He didn’t know what that was, all he knew was that it hurt.
“No!” Joe tightened his arms before he let you go enough to turn around. “No, baby, of course not, is that– do you think I left because of you?”
You looked at each other, and for a moment, Joe didn’t know if he was looking at shower water or tears that were running down your face.
You gave a small shrug before Joe lifted his hands to your face to wipe at your cheeks. If they were tears, they had no business being there, so he needed them gone.
“I didn’t leave this place because of you. Hey,” you avoided eye-contact, so he grabbed hold of you by the face again where both your of your hands found his wrists. “Look at me. Look– I did not move out because of you, all right?”
Well, he did… but, it was nuanced. He moved out for the both of you. He had to be careful. He couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin what already felt ruined enough.
You gave a tiny nod that he could feel more than he could see, and you looked so fucking sad, Joe couldn’t help but move in to try and kiss some of it from your face.
He hoped you believed him.
You were naked in a shower together, of which Joe was getting none of the stream, and you were trembling because of things Joe had said and done and all he could think to do was hold you.
So he did.
It was a terrible waste of water, but it felt so incredibly necessary for him to not pull back until you did. Let you take the lead. Curl an arm around your head, the other around your waist, and follow your pace.
Joe felt how you were trying to control your breathing, and, you were right. He wasn’t allowed to be the cause.
He was the reason why you were feeling the way you were feeling and he realised he had been, for a while, probably.
Joe pushed you.
Joe had been pushing you.
He shouldn’t have.
He shouldn’t have left and he shouldn’t have tried with all his might to keep you as close to him as you had been before and he shouldn’t have taken his jealousy out on you and he shouldn’t have repeatedly asked you to talk to him because look! Look what all of it had lead to?
Your lead.
Your time.
Your pace.
No more making you meet him halfway.
Joe was going to wait for you.
He would.
It didn’t fucking matter how long it was going to take you, or if you’d even get there at all. He was going to wait. If that meant actually befriending Josh like a normal person, then he was just going to have to befriend Josh like a normal person.
Joe held you close until your finger tips stopped digging into his skin so much, and then he softly said, “I’ll wait.”
That made you look up at him.
“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”
And, you frowned. Because what the fuck was Joe talking about.
“But…” you started, and you felt it then. You could feel whatever was inside of your chest collect every little speck of bravery it could find within your body. It pulled it from the muscles in your legs and from the bones in your arms. Found some hidden inside the beating of your heart and then some more in the humid shower air inside your lungs. And then, it said it.
“I’m right here.”
Joe blinked at you. Didn’t get it.
“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait. Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…” you furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you. All bravery gone.
Joe saw.
Heard what you were saying and, before you even fucking knew what was happening, Joe had both his arms around your waist and lifted you up, effectively pressing his face right into your tits as he scared the living daylights out of you because you were in the bath.
“Joe–” you shrieked, but were quickly shut up by his mouth that pressed to yours before your feet had even properly touched down again.
“I love you.” Joe squeezed it from his own mouth right into yours. Barely got the words out normal as he didn’t want to stop kissing. Didn’t want to break contact, lips and hands doing the most.
“Joe,” you laughed, giving his shoulders a light push before you felt something against your hip, and– oh.
“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you. I said I love–”
“I love you too.”
Joe froze before he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut, and you looked down to see how hard that had made him.
“I love you too,” you repeated yourself and saw it jump, leaking already, and Jesus, that was quick. This was a fun game actually. Talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him.
You took your shot and bit right into his fingers.
“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”
And, yea, you could actually. You shut Joe up with kisses of your own this time.
You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.
It felt momentous because you’d shared words that had been stuck in the back of your throat for a while now.
It felt momentous because Joe just told you that he loved you.
It felt momentous because you said it right back and everything about it felt right.
It felt momentous because you were going to have loud shower sex and Josh was likely going to hear you and you actually didn’t care about it. You cared more about the pizza that was slowly defrosting on the kitchen counter which actually sounded like the perfect breakfast food, if you were being honest.
You and Joe were just flatmates, but not.
Were just close, but more.
Were in love. Had said the words now, for the other to hear with their ears, and wasn’t that a shocking turn of events after last night?
Joe couldn’t explain it if he tried.
Didn’t really want to either.
As long as you knew. As long as you understood.
And you did. The proof was in the pudding.
Something felt alive in Joe’s chest. And in yours too.
Maybe someday, they could meet.
Have a chat.
Talk things through.
Or not.
They could also just look at each other. Sit on the sofa. Curl into each other and eat pizza. Watch the first ten minutes of films before they’d doze off together. Make fun of plants that got overwatered in a desperate attempt to keep them alive because they were buddies with yours and Joe could never be responsible for the death of plants that had friends, were you joking?
They’d call you idiots.
And, yea you were.
But it was fine.
You were just close. In love. Together. And that didn’t need explaining. As long as you knew and understood, that was all that mattered.
You were all that mattered.
Your lead.
Your time.
Your pace.
Your love.
the end
---
The Taglisted
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Fun Fact: Goku fights smarter. Vegeta fights harder.
As a martial artist, Goku's developed and cultivated his skills over the course of his life, mastering a variety of creative techniques and, more importantly, honing his mind. A quick-thinking and analytical counter-fighter, Goku prides himself on a creative and clever dismantling of his adversary's capabilities.
This is where Goku excels as a fighter. He's a formidable martial artist in his own right but when pressured, he falls back on a generally high understanding of violence and a creative mind for opening solutions. He reads his opponent's style and abilities, finds its weaknesses, and exploits them.
This, incidentally, is part of what what made Majin Buu such an insurmountable hurdle for him.
Majin Buu is a taffy monster made of magic who defies even this universe's conventional physics. He has no fighting style; He just does things, and his infinitely regenerative body and supreme liquid flexibility leaves no weaknesses to exploit.
He cannot be fought the way Goku fights.
For his own style, Goku has one particular signature technique and a couple other moves he's picked up from others. His mainstay is the Kamehameha. But he's innovated a wide variety of ways in which the Kamehameha can be used, based on the needs of his situation.
Goku's used the technique in a variety of ways, such as using it for propulsion instead of as an attack.
Bending it around the opponent's defense for a surprise attack.
Making stationary torpedos that he can fire at will to startle and disorient his adversary.
The coolest attack in Dragon Ball history YES I SAID IT. Learning to teleport? Cool. Kamehameha? Cool. Teleporting in while charging the Kamehameha in order to throw it directly under your opponent's guard before he even has an instant to react? Top-tier.
Point is, this is who Goku is as a fighter. Brilliant and innovative, bringing a great deal of cleverness and creativity to his fights. He breaks down his opponent's technique and adapts himself to the needs of the situation at hand.
Vegeta is also highly observant and analytical. Do not mistake me for calling him stupid. He makes plans of his own, and his greatest asset is his ability to follow everything happening on the field at once. It is next to impossible to get the drop on this man.
Vegeta pays attention.
Vegeta is always paying attention. He splits his focus incredibly well and quickly interprets what he's seeing and hearing with a critical eye. He misses nothing.
He is. Always. Paying attention. The one time someone actually managed to get the drop on him - and I cannot stress this enough - it was a person Vegeta did not know existed because he had not been a part of this battle up to this point.
Am I saying that Yajirobe's cowardice saved the world by not revealing his presence to Vegeta until this fateful moment? Yes. Yes, I am saying that. We literally have a counter-example from someone Vegeta did know and account for to contrast it with.
Vegeta is always paying attention. Unless he doesn't know you exist.
So. Yeah. Vegeta is incredibly brilliant and observant. But what he's not is a martial artist. Vegeta, instead, is a soldier. He's comfortable in the realm that overwhelming power creates.
Vegeta hits hard.
He hits very hard.
He hits very, very, VERY hard.
In fact, Vegeta hits harder than Goku does. That's not to say that Vegeta is stronger than Goku; Vegeta and Goku go back and forth on who's stronger in the given moment over the course of the series. But Vegeta's attacks are stronger than Goku's.
To understand what that means, you need to understand that certain kinds of ki attacks have a multiplying effects on their user's strength. Attacks such as the Kamehameha or the Makankosappo, which concentrate ki before firing it, produce a much greater level of ki than their user's standard power output.
When charging a Kamehameha, Goku's battle power reading on the Scouter rises dramatically. This is the secret of techniques like the Kamehameha: they concentrate ki into a point before releasing it all at once, like pulling the pin on a grenade.
As concentration moves go, the Kamehameha isn't actually that great. The versatility and creativity that Goku brings to it is what makes it so formidable. Pound for pound, it kinda sucks. Piccolo's Makankosappo here makes the Kamehameha look like noob shit.
This kind of ability is non-standard among ki attacks, which are typically like throwing long-range punches. In fact, it's super-rare among the Planet Trade to be able to do this. Raditz had never even heard of a move like this.
Vegeta had. He knew of exactly one.
I am so sorry to do this to you but we're going to have to talk about battle power numbers here for a moment. Vegeta's clocked at 18,000 BP as of his battle with Goku on Earth; it's brought up a few times in the Namek arc.
Goku, iconically, is OVER 9000 8000!!!
At the moment Vegeta and Goku's attacks meet, Goku is channeling the Kaio-ken x3 which is exactly what it sounds like. He's inflated the ki inside his body to 300% capacity. The drawback is that his body is now an overinflated balloon ready to pop at any moment from all this swelled and bloated ki inside of him. But the gain is that he's outputting 300% power.
At this point in time, Vegeta has a battle power of 18,000. Goku, formerly >8,000 is now >>>24,000. Goku, further, is using the Super Kamehameha rather than the regular one he used against Raditz, which brings with it a higher level of power multiplication.
Nonetheless, the Galick Gun is winning against the Super Kamehameha. Goku is forced to resort to a x4 Kaio-ken - which does leave his body utterly destroyed and incapable of continuing the fight - in order to have enough power to overcome a superior magnification from a weaker opponent.
We see another direct comparison between the two in the Cell arc. That killer Warp Kamehameha fired point-blank into Cell when he least suspects it, which hits him dead-on and unloads its absolute maximum power into him? It does this.
Brutal. If Cell didn't have both Frieza's ability to survive ludicrous levels of harm and Piccolo's regeneration, it would have been over right here. Meanwhile, a glancing blow from Vegeta's Final Flash left him looking like this.
Despite Vegeta being far less powerful than Goku was when he fired that move, the effect is about the same - With implication that if Vegeta hadn't pulled the Final Flash back at the last second to avoid destroying the Earth, he would have erased Cell completely.
Goku's shot hit Cell point-blank and full-on to do about as much damage, albeit with deadlier aim in terms of killing a humanoid being.
This is the distinction between Goku and Vegeta as fighters. Vegeta is very smart, and Goku is very strong. Neither of them is lacking in intelligence or power. But they are philosophically very different fighters.
Pound for pound, Vegeta's moves hit harder than Goku's. He is the unparalleled master in taking the power he has and channeling it into as much destructive force as humanly possible.
On the flipside of that coin, when backed into a corner, Vegeta falls back on outputting as much direct force as he can. Goku gets to thinking his way around the problem at hand and devising a creative answer.
Goku is a surgical scalpel. Vegeta is a warhammer.
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