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Dec. 27th, 2004 08:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenI like Ukitake. Of course, the same could be said about the vast majority of the cast in Bleach, but out of the 13 Captains somehow he's one of my favorites. (but again, could say that about all the others. Except Mayuri. Die Mayuri, die. Not that I don't find the guy horribly fascinating and would love to have an excuse to write Nemu fic...) Figure I kinda owed the guy after having Byakuya bitch him down. Anyway.
He’d never been an eldest son. This was true. He never denied it: he’d never been an eldest, or a second eldest, or even a third. His father had been very old, and had remarried again, and presumably by the time he got to Jyuushiro he’d given up finding a name of great creativity. Fourteenth, then. Fourteenth and of little consequence, for there were thirteen before him all healthy and accomplished, and the boy never really held a grudge about it. The life of a youngest son was nothing he could find fault with—much to the annoyance of his brothers, some of whom felt he should at least show a little bit of contention. If they scowled at him, he smiled it off very easily. If in his later years he couldn’t for the life of him remember the names of all of his nieces and nephews, he would at least remember all of his brothers. Every single one—it would be a feat he’d laugh about and make some comment on the continued brave dodging of senility.
Besides the useful trick of being able to write perfectly with both hands, there was little defining about him in his childhood. He was pleasant and patient, which earned him a small bit of his father’s attention, and a great deal of his more hotheaded sibling’s challenges upon this patience. He had a love for kendo, for archery, for things that a youngest son wasn’t expected to take too much interest in. He drank an inordinate amount of tea. He liked reading long novels as opposed to poetry. He kept his hair short. He always told people his true, honest opinions. Consequently no one was quite sure what to make of him, besides a vague irritation at his presence, when his presence was noticed at all. He didn’t do very much to stand out otherwise.
His brothers all found themselves high ranking, high paying, high in prestige positions as appointed officials in the regular city governance. Otherwise they made names for themselves by other means: by their affairs, by their fashions, by their names in the main stream gossip. Jyuushiro, understanding not everyone could aspire to greatness—youngest sons especially—made a nod to higher wisdoms and became a shinigami instead.
Some might say he did fairly well for himself.
He’d never been an eldest son. This was true. He never denied it: he’d never been an eldest, or a second eldest, or even a third. His father had been very old, and had remarried again, and presumably by the time he got to Jyuushiro he’d given up finding a name of great creativity. Fourteenth, then. Fourteenth and of little consequence, for there were thirteen before him all healthy and accomplished, and the boy never really held a grudge about it. The life of a youngest son was nothing he could find fault with—much to the annoyance of his brothers, some of whom felt he should at least show a little bit of contention. If they scowled at him, he smiled it off very easily. If in his later years he couldn’t for the life of him remember the names of all of his nieces and nephews, he would at least remember all of his brothers. Every single one—it would be a feat he’d laugh about and make some comment on the continued brave dodging of senility.
Besides the useful trick of being able to write perfectly with both hands, there was little defining about him in his childhood. He was pleasant and patient, which earned him a small bit of his father’s attention, and a great deal of his more hotheaded sibling’s challenges upon this patience. He had a love for kendo, for archery, for things that a youngest son wasn’t expected to take too much interest in. He drank an inordinate amount of tea. He liked reading long novels as opposed to poetry. He kept his hair short. He always told people his true, honest opinions. Consequently no one was quite sure what to make of him, besides a vague irritation at his presence, when his presence was noticed at all. He didn’t do very much to stand out otherwise.
His brothers all found themselves high ranking, high paying, high in prestige positions as appointed officials in the regular city governance. Otherwise they made names for themselves by other means: by their affairs, by their fashions, by their names in the main stream gossip. Jyuushiro, understanding not everyone could aspire to greatness—youngest sons especially—made a nod to higher wisdoms and became a shinigami instead.
Some might say he did fairly well for himself.
