Dedicated to my favorite fanfic author/person I've never met, but am sure would be one of my best friends.
I do not own the host club, thank gawdzlolz, because I don't have teh patience to deal with Tama-chan.
The girl, short haired and hazel eyed and clad in a double-breasted, sky blue suit jacket, dark-grey and black pinstriped pants, button-up shirt and black and purple tie, swished her hips as she paraded herself up the aisle in that 'Don't-mess-with-me-bitch' way that demanded attention. And attention it received- her many {female} fans and bestfriendtwins stared up at her (some thinking less prudent thoughts than others- *coughHikarucough*) as she took her place behind the podium. Her background was chalk board, fancy wallpaper, and an expectant sensei-san.
The assignment? Poetry. The student? Less than willing. The grade? More than worth it.
'Your poem, Fujioka-san?'
'Yes, sensei.'
Here, the mangirlthinglolz cleared her throat and shuffled the paper. Tightened her tie and loosened it again. Pushed her bangs out of her eyes, raked through them with her hands. Then put them back over her glowing spheres. Tugged on her cuff links.
Then dropped one, stooped to pick it up, and made a final quirk- she laughed one quick, hard laugh.
The student body and teacher used to be stupefied by this long sequence of events. Now, though, it was an endearing trait- they enjoyed the show, even though the magician was unaware of her tricks.
The poem begins:
'His roses are red
His roses are blue
High school sucks
Host club too.
I'm sick of working
Sick of chores
Sick of dealing
With said man-whores
Guess what world?
I'm not a boy.
Nor your idol
Nor a toy.
Deal with it, bitches
And just listen well.
If Ken-chan won't update
She's going to hell.'
*****
I never wrote that and you never read it. Srsly. Shhh. Secret. Kay? Kay.
Dedicated to awesomeness of WWBI, whom I owe lots. Reviews. Stories.
A picture that I never could get to scan in, but have had done for ages. So sorry, Julia-chan.
So.
So.
Sorry.
