it's a cheap wig

2

nobody realises anythings different but ritsu

shou might but nobody knows if thats the case either

Father's Day

This one shot was written for @glitzthings by request (Sorry it’s late my friend!). I hope this is okay, I’ve been having the worst case of writer’s block lately.

oooOOOooo

Vegeta folds his arms tighter around his chest, sinking further down into his seat. An impatient groan escapes his lips, as soft as a sleeping breath, but still earns him a scowl from his wife. Her sapphire eyes burn the color of gasoline fire and say all of the words hidden behind the confines of her lips, making him turn his head away. He gets it; she doesn’t need to look at him like that anymore. He clicks his teeth loud enough to tell her so, but he can still feel her heated stare  shredding the skin on his neck.  He ignores her, and instead decides to make a mental list of the worst moments in his life.

1) Frieza. Enough said.
2) Kakarot. A tolerable ending, but their beginnings will always stain his tongue with acid.
3) Any combination of 1 and 2.
4) What he’s doing at this exact moment.

He feels a palm on his thigh and he whips his head back to his left, expecting to meet the cooling eyes of his hot tempered spouse. She’s gotten bored of his tantrum apparently as her eyes are glued to the stage, smiling widely with excitement. Instead, he catches the stare of his son, who’s sporting the same goofy grin as his mother, his  lavender hair hanging loosely in his eyes.

“Papa,” he tries to whisper, his voice cracking with manhood, “She’s coming on now!”

Vegeta nods, thankful that  Trunks can read him so easily. Bulma expects him to be dutiful and pay attention, but Vegeta knows the boy is just as bored as he is. In fact, if a certain doppelganger of Kakarot were not keeping him company right now, he is sure that Trunks would be playing away on the noisy game he likes to carry around. Or even better, causing some sort of mischief.

“Do it like we practiced, Bra!” Bulma whispers, raising her fists with anticipation. Vegeta cocks an eyebrow to this, wondering exactly the woman has planned. If it’s anything like he’s become used to for the past decade and some change, he knows it’ll be interesting. Chaotic, undoubtedly, but interesting.

Vegeta turns his attention to the stage finally, peering over the heads of rows of parents and children alike. No matter how much it pains him to admit it, he’s short. And short people, no matter how powerful, struggle to see past taller men who refuse to take better seats. Especially when Bulma insists they sit towards the back so Bra doesn’t get nervous when she sees them. He grunts louder this time, even letting a curse slip from his dirty lips. Several parents turn around in their seats and glare at him. Vegeta lets out a warning growl that’s similar to a bark and they change their minds in their judgment. Their faces go whiter than his tense knuckles and they turn around with no further complaints. He’s earned himself a heavy slap on the knee from Bulma. He grins wickedly as he sits with no regret. He never tires of putting inferiors in their places.

A miniature Bulma walks across the stage past her peers, her chin aimed pointedly high in the air. She oozes confidences and the children don’t like it. Vegeta has heard Bra complain about then to Bulma at bed time before. “They’re so boring, Mama,” she says in her five year old sleepy voice, “And they don’t want to talk to me.” Bulma asks her how she feels about it. Bra pulls the thick blanket to her chest and says truthfully, “I can beat them up so I don’t care.”

Vegeta has never been more proud.

Her actions prove her words true as she glides to the microphone, earning attentive eyes from the audience and her peers. A bright yellow banner hangs over her head, Father’s Day Assembly sprawled across the fabric. An arrogant smile —his arrogant smile— steals her face as she looks over the crowd. Her eyes land on his and she smiles and waves, a look of sincere glee coming over her features. He feels  the immediate embarrassment, but puts up two fingers in this air as a salute so she won’t cry about it later. He ignores Bulma’s yelping about how ‘cute’ the situation is.

“My name is Bra Briefs,” she says into the microphone, a little too low for Vegeta’s tastes, and he wants to tell her to talk louder, “And this is the story of my papa, Vegeta.” She extends a tiny palm in his direction. The stage lights hover over him and he grits his teeth. The parents don’t bother to turn and look, having already been bitten with his venom. He sits with patience until the light is back on Bra and then finally grumbles under his breath.

“In order to tell this story, my friends said they would help me out. So I hope you enjoy this play! Me and my Mama worked real hard on it!” She turns to the curtain, the red of her ponytail ribbon matching the fabric perfectly. “Guys?”

Vegeta is interested now, but the curiosity turns to vile as he watches Kakarot, Gohan, Piccolo and Krillin take center stage. They all seem embarrassed to be here, especially Piccolo. He hears a few parents wonder if he’s feeling sick. Vegeta questions what sort of manipulation Bulma’s used to get them to be here.
“My Papa was a proud prince,” she starts, and an exact mirror of Vegeta walks smoothly on stage. He does a double take at first. Tarble? He’s about to question it further until he spots the tail and how wrong it is. It’s pink and curly where it should be long and brown. Of course Oolong would agree; he’s caught the Sunday dinner staring at his wife’s breasts a little too long on multiple occasions.

“He was the strongest prince of everyone in his kingdom, and no one could beat him, not even giant refrigerators and freezers!” Oolong-Vegeta flexes his muscles in a dramatic fashion, while kicking over a fridge prop, cleverly painter with specks of purple. This elicits a laugh out of Vegeta, but he keeps it low so Bulma doesn’t hear.

“One day, my Papa got too strong and he got bored. So he flew to Earth to rule over the people there.” Oolong is pretending to fly in a circle, getting closer to the four men to Bra’s right. “And when he came, a group of men who were…umm…Mama, what’s that word again?”

“Naïve!” Bulma yells, and Bra smiles widely.

“That’s right, naïve. The group of men were naïve and thought they could beat him up.” A flash of anger rolls over Piccolo’s face. Vegeta hopes Bulma’s brought a camera.

“Aarrghh, I am Vegeta! Prince of all Saiyans! And I will whoop your butt!” Oolong is a bad actor and his voice is too squeaky to rival Vegeta’s. And  most important, Vegeta thinks, is that he would never use the words, “Whoop your butt.” Obliterate you? Sure. Send you the fiery pits of hell? Absolutely. But never, “I’m going to whoop your butt.” It sounds like a parent chastising a child, but he listens on anyways.

“No, Vegeta, we can’t let you do that,” Gohan is trying to act, but he’s too serious about it, “So please leave here at once.”

“I’m going to whoop your butt first, Goha—err — stranger!” Oolong produces some sort of contraption and confetti sprays in Gohan’s direction. Gohan dramatically falls to the stage, claiming he has been defeated. Goku starts laughing wildly, and Vegeta declares he will kill the man if he messes up his daughter’s stage play.

“One by one, the men come to fight my papa, but they are too weak and pathetic so they die,” Bra says this with such pride that Vegeta’s heart swells. Piccolo and Krillin fall to the ground, yelling  how strong Vegeta is. He turns to look at Bulma briefly, unable to believe that she would agree to help Bra with this inaccurate play.  She shrugs, as if indicating that this was all Bra’s idea.

“But one man didn’t seem to get it, so Papa had to put him in his place.” Goku grins and crouches down into his fighting stance, looking too seriously at Oolong-Vegeta. The buffoon. He can’t even pretend to fight without getting a hard on. Vegeta scoffs at his pathetic mannerisms.

“Even though you’re so much stronger than me, and I could never  ever beat you, I will fight you Vegeta!” Strangely enough, Goku isn’t bad at reciting his lines. Vegeta swallows away the compliment, mildly upset it penetrated his mind in the first place.

“Bring it on, Goku! “ Oolng pretends to fight Goku, once again disappointing Vegeta with his misrepresentation. He watches the two prance about and shoot fake lasers at each other. Goku is losing on purpose, and Vegeta relishes in how satisfactory the feeling is.

“After a long battle, the man does a horrible, miserable death—“

“Oh no! I’m dying so miserably!”

“—Ending any defiance against my Papa. So he became the prince, no, the king of Earth. And he even found his queen in the audience!” Another person emerges from the curtain, wearing one of Bulma’s old dresses with a cheap blue wig on their head. Its Yamcha, Vegeta notices with disdain, and he’s tried a little too hard to dress like Bulma. She’s having several fits of laughter at his side, unable to even look at the stage anymore. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. Bulma is a devious genius.

“Oh Vegeta,” Yamcha has his hands resting at his cheek and his voice is higher in range, “Even though I’ve got a totally awesome boyfriend who’s the best thing that ever happened to me, I just can’t resist the Prince of Darkness!”

“Hmph,” Oolong-Vegeta folds his arms and closes his eyes, “Your boyfriend sucks. Drop that zero and get with a real man, pathetic woman.” Finally Oolong has gotten Vegeta correctly.

Yamcha runs daintly towards Oolong and they hug, although Yamcha has to bend down to embrace him. Vegeta grits his teeth and wants to yell out that he’s not  that short, and how the only time Bulma’s bending over is in the bedroom, but their children are present. He’s sure he’s scarred then enough already.

“And then my Mama and Papa got married and had me and brother Trunks! He’s still the strongest man on the planet,” he watches as her eyebrows mesh together in an angry fashion and her entire mood changes, “And if any of you ever disagree with me or him, he’ll make you all die a miserable and scary de—“

“Okay and thank you Ms. Briefs!” The principal of Bra’s school intervenes, her face a cloudy mix of disbelief and shock. She tries to laugh off her nerves by complimenting Bra on her creative imagination. The adults in the audience have covered their children’s ears and look toward the stage in fright. Vegeta lets out a heartfelt laugh, focusing unwanted attention on him. He’s clutching his belly as he bends over, not remembering the last time he was this entertained. The Briefs women have definitely outdone themselves.

Bra doesn’t bother to sit with her peers, instead walking off stage and heading directly to them. Her face is beaming as she approaches, running straight to Vegeta and hopping in his lap. She throws her arms around his neck and he lets her, feeling like she’s more than earned public affection.

“How did I do Papa?” she whispers in his ear, tossing a thumbs up to Trunks, Goten and Bulma.

Vegeta smiles and stands, seeing no reason to stay for the rest of this catastrophe. He gets it; these children like their inadequate fathers and their boring jobs of teachers and salesmen. But had their fathers ever saved the world? Ever brought them back to life? No? Then he has no interest in praising them.

He cradles Bra in his arms as they exit, and leans in close to her ear so that only she can hear. “It’s the best Father’s Day gift I’ve ever received,” he says and means it. “Just don’t tell your brother.”

I haven’t edited this, so please forgive any errors

also I may or may not have written this while I’m drunk soooo
He [Samuel Adams] had a good voice for the Sunday meeting and joined in singing the psalms. But the rest of the week he wasn’t a bore or a scold, the men were glad to have him at their table. In his middle years, Adams was still solidly built, with pale skin and light-blue eyes. Settling in at a tavern, drinking little, talking well, he wore the same red suit and cheap gray wig, its hair pulled back and tied in a bow. When the weather turned cold, he added a shabby red cloak.
—  Patriots: The Men Who Started the American Revolution by A.J. Langguth

anonymous asked:

Got inspired to do a Matt the radar technician cosplay from all your Star Wars cosplays. But my problem is that I have no idea where to buy the vest or get a personalized name tag. Cries in a corner. My eyes will bleed if I HAVE to sew ALL that ORANGE!!!!

Matt the Technician COSPLAY Buy Guide

Wig (Ver 2) I don’t recommend spending a ton on a wig, its supposed to look cheap and unconvincing

Name Tag (you can order hthem here and email your desired name)

Glasses (Clear Aviatars)  (These have no perscription)

Coveralls  (Ver 2

Patches (You need 2. Theres rubber versions and embroidered versions)

After the Rain I’m Sorry Card.

Optional Saber. (This is the cheap light up extendable. The 30$ disney and bladebuilders are great too.) 

VEST. This is the hard one. Its a ‘South African Style Rhodesian Tactical Orange Vest.’  Right now the main seller is out of stock and most Tactical vests don’t come in orange.  If you don’t care about accuracy you can grab a hunting vest or a construction vest and it should be passable. You could buy a load carrier vest and fabric paint the whole thing neon orange. It would be annoying, but it would work. Otherwise you can try creating a tactical vest pattern to make it but HWUAHAHHSHHHSH HAVE FUN. I tried finding one to link everyone but it did not exist. 

I hope thats helpful!