Fifty drabbles after the anime ending. Mostly Haruhi-centric, and I ship the OT7.
For a girl who's job had been to put on pretty things for a living, Haruhi had very little experience in skirts. Or dresses. She dismissed them as irritating and impractical, especially the long mustard uniforms at Ouran. But apparently girls had a thing for guys in drag. (Why? She'd never know.)
He quickly pulled on the offensively lime-green fabric, and then froze. She had slipped up again and referred to herself by the wrong gender on accident.
A quick glance in the mirror assured her that she was as feminine as ever, if rather awkwardly flat-chested.
It felt wrong.