The Right Kind of Help
Title: The Right Kind of Help
Rating: G
Words: 758
Summary: It was only out of his affection for Inoue that he was here, in a dress, and hanging off of Chizuru’s arm with the promise of her newest cookie recipe before him.
Notes: Some working knowledge of Ibsen's Dollhouse would be nice, but just know that its about men treating women like a plaything and not to be taken seriously.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or anything affiliated.
It was only out of his affection for Inoue that he was here, in a dress, and hanging off of Chizuru’s arm with the promise of her newest cookie recipe before him.
Their class had been put in charge of the spring play that year, and Orihime had won the lead part in a landslide victory (thus prompting Chizuru to try for the male lead. She too one making the play ‘edgy and fresh’.) He should have known something was wrong with her but she had been fine with her part once she learned it- until the dress rehearsal.
He prided himself on being well learned, but Western Dramas had never really interested him. Knowing the truth behind lines for Ibsen’s Dollhouse might have told him that this was a disaster in the making.
Only an hour before the small stage was set to open for the Cultural Festival and Orihime wasn’t anywhere near it. Instead Uryu found her huddled into herself and crying in their classroom, her dress fitted only on the mannequin. In nothing but long underwear and her bra.
“Inoue? Is there something wrong?” He hoped it wasn’t his fault. He knew the dress would be her size after all it was-
It was like the one she’d worn during her stay at Las Noches. A tighter weave, a little more off white, and more patterns than abstract with black lines, but the paleness of it all and the poofed sleeves that were the fashion of the play mostly likely didn’t say what he meant it too. It was the dress of a princess and more than ever he wanted to watch Aizen’s soul die; he’d taken that away too.
“I apologize Inoue. It will only take a moment to make some alterations to the dress.” He watches her wipe the tears away and give a shaky smile.
“No, its not your fault Ishida-kun. It was...it was just too much at the same time. Acting like her made me realize what I fool I was and how much trouble I brought on you all. And then the dress and the lights hit me... it was all white again and I got scared. I know I shouldn’t be but I start shaking. Mahana should be able to fit in, right?” Inoue had always been a princess, though some people were trying to force her into a mold that was not her own. Nothing would ever make her a battle warrior nor would she appreciate being glanced at from a distant tower.
“She might have been the understudy but she’s out sick today. But maybe it we bring some more material back across the shoulders it should fit Kunieda...” He started mumbling more to himself then to Inoue.
“No she’s a part of the track. Plus she might scold me if I tell her I can’t do it...” Brave as Inoue was there was no way she’d ever be able to stand up against that girl. It was almost ironic how much easier it was to deal with monsters then with people. When she started smiling he breathed easier- it was hard to keep her down for long. Then it was almost magical. Uryu blushed when she took his wrist gently into her hand. Uryu wonder if she realized how undressed she was and what that was doing to him. If she came any closer she just might. Inoue’s soft finger gripped his wrist like a lifeline and-
And promptly pull it across the mannequin, throwing him off balance as well.
“Ah, Ishida-kun, It would fit you easily! Your arms are thin enough to fight in.” Uryu nodded and felt the heat rising on his face. Did she really have to hug him wearing only that?
Quincy pride wouldn’t allow him to leave a woman in distress. The tight collar barely hide his blush at being paraded around in a dress for people (like Abarai) to see. Chizuru’s not-to-subtle hits weren’t helping his dignity either.
But Inoue was there, leaning against the side of the stage and in his clothes, looking at no one but him.
If he was going to be in the fairy tail he wasn’t going to be the kindly giant, the good witch, or the knight in shining armor. He was there for her and nothing would ever be able to shake that.
Even if that meant mortification and having his father call at two am after just having seen his son cross dress, bringing him to a level of awkward he’d never even imagined.
Rating: G
Words: 758
Summary: It was only out of his affection for Inoue that he was here, in a dress, and hanging off of Chizuru’s arm with the promise of her newest cookie recipe before him.
Notes: Some working knowledge of Ibsen's Dollhouse would be nice, but just know that its about men treating women like a plaything and not to be taken seriously.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or anything affiliated.
It was only out of his affection for Inoue that he was here, in a dress, and hanging off of Chizuru’s arm with the promise of her newest cookie recipe before him.
Their class had been put in charge of the spring play that year, and Orihime had won the lead part in a landslide victory (thus prompting Chizuru to try for the male lead. She too one making the play ‘edgy and fresh’.) He should have known something was wrong with her but she had been fine with her part once she learned it- until the dress rehearsal.
He prided himself on being well learned, but Western Dramas had never really interested him. Knowing the truth behind lines for Ibsen’s Dollhouse might have told him that this was a disaster in the making.
Only an hour before the small stage was set to open for the Cultural Festival and Orihime wasn’t anywhere near it. Instead Uryu found her huddled into herself and crying in their classroom, her dress fitted only on the mannequin. In nothing but long underwear and her bra.
“Inoue? Is there something wrong?” He hoped it wasn’t his fault. He knew the dress would be her size after all it was-
It was like the one she’d worn during her stay at Las Noches. A tighter weave, a little more off white, and more patterns than abstract with black lines, but the paleness of it all and the poofed sleeves that were the fashion of the play mostly likely didn’t say what he meant it too. It was the dress of a princess and more than ever he wanted to watch Aizen’s soul die; he’d taken that away too.
“I apologize Inoue. It will only take a moment to make some alterations to the dress.” He watches her wipe the tears away and give a shaky smile.
“No, its not your fault Ishida-kun. It was...it was just too much at the same time. Acting like her made me realize what I fool I was and how much trouble I brought on you all. And then the dress and the lights hit me... it was all white again and I got scared. I know I shouldn’t be but I start shaking. Mahana should be able to fit in, right?” Inoue had always been a princess, though some people were trying to force her into a mold that was not her own. Nothing would ever make her a battle warrior nor would she appreciate being glanced at from a distant tower.
“She might have been the understudy but she’s out sick today. But maybe it we bring some more material back across the shoulders it should fit Kunieda...” He started mumbling more to himself then to Inoue.
“No she’s a part of the track. Plus she might scold me if I tell her I can’t do it...” Brave as Inoue was there was no way she’d ever be able to stand up against that girl. It was almost ironic how much easier it was to deal with monsters then with people. When she started smiling he breathed easier- it was hard to keep her down for long. Then it was almost magical. Uryu blushed when she took his wrist gently into her hand. Uryu wonder if she realized how undressed she was and what that was doing to him. If she came any closer she just might. Inoue’s soft finger gripped his wrist like a lifeline and-
And promptly pull it across the mannequin, throwing him off balance as well.
“Ah, Ishida-kun, It would fit you easily! Your arms are thin enough to fight in.” Uryu nodded and felt the heat rising on his face. Did she really have to hug him wearing only that?
Quincy pride wouldn’t allow him to leave a woman in distress. The tight collar barely hide his blush at being paraded around in a dress for people (like Abarai) to see. Chizuru’s not-to-subtle hits weren’t helping his dignity either.
But Inoue was there, leaning against the side of the stage and in his clothes, looking at no one but him.
If he was going to be in the fairy tail he wasn’t going to be the kindly giant, the good witch, or the knight in shining armor. He was there for her and nothing would ever be able to shake that.
Even if that meant mortification and having his father call at two am after just having seen his son cross dress, bringing him to a level of awkward he’d never even imagined.