#he did venture to hueco mundo after it happened

[solitariusdeluna]

Former Espada living under the radar. Even with his immense reiatsu, he still managed to remain inconspicuous.

[ksaru]

PRE ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP WITH CANON CHARACTERS.

These relationships are canon for Ashitaka’s story, however - if you write one of these characters ( or if you’re just uncomfortable with this canon ), don’t hesitate to tell me and I’ll remove the ones you want from our interactions!

KUROTSUCHI MAYURI.

Ashitaka has always had a soft spot for Mayuri. A young Shinigami who came from the Maggot’s Nest, and whose social skills are not the best? Ashitaka was one of the only people to be friendly towards Mayuri. He showed interest for his ideas, and he quickly understood how important it was for the other to be allowed to “show off”. Ashitaka considers him a friend ( though he’s not sure if Mayuri returns that sentiment ). Ashitaka helped Mayuri out with work the other considered “boring” ( mostly work relating to gotei 13 ), and was supportive of him when he became captain. Mayuri was the one who made Ashitaka’s special gloves, that he always wears.

Mayuri was the one who warned Ashitaka that he was about to be arrested. His surveilliance bacteria had picked up the information. Ashitaka was not going to run away or fight, but he asked Mayuri to please take care of his Zanpakuto, and hide it. Mayuri had always had a fascination with Ashitaka’s powers, so he agreed to keep it and hide it. Mayuri later returned Ashitaka’s Zanpakuto to him, before Ashitaka left with Aizen to Hueco Mundo.

ZARAKI KENPACHI.

In many ways, Kenpachi is Ashitaka’s “nemesis”. They absolutely do not get along, because Kenpachi loves fighting, and Ashitaka hates it. Kenpachi would constantly challenge him to a fight, which Ashitaka would decline.

The prophecy that was foretold, and the reason why Ashitaka was sentenced to jail, was a prophecy about Ashitaka fighting Kenpachi. A fight between them had to be prevented at all cost. The prophecy believed that Ashitaka’s powers VS Kenpachi would lead to the fall of Soul Society. ( It is not specified how this would happen, but - Ashitaka releasing his powers on Kenpachi would erase Kenpachi’s Zanpakuto from existence, and tip the scales in the TYBW ). Nobody, not even Ashitaka, knows about this. 

Kenpachi has always just wanted to fight Ashitaka for that simple reason that Ashitaka carries two Zanpakuto.

HITSUGAYA TOSHIRO.

Ashitaka is very protective of Toshiro. When he came to the 10th division, Ashitaka did not approve. He didn’t place any blame on Toshiro, but he will forever be of the opinion that children should not serve in Gotei 13. As long as the two of them served together, Ashitaka tried to shield him. He tried to keep him away from getting responsibility, and from participating in battle. He always tried to be kind and gentle with him, and encouraged him to “have a childhood”. How fast the other was forced to grow up greatly pained him.

When Kurosaki Isshin left Soul Society, and Hitsugaya was considered one of the candidates to take over the Captain’s position, Ashitaka felt it was his duty to step forward. He had never wanted to become a captain himself, but he felt he couldn’t allow an actual CHILD to carry that burden. He revealed that he had mastered Bankai, and soon after became captain of the 10th.

One of Ashitaka’s biggest regrets is how he is now seen as an enemy by Toshiro ( because Ashitaka left with Aizen ). Ashitaka acts like somewhat of a fatherly figure towards Toshiro.

AIZEN SOSUKE.

Aizen learned of Ashitaka’s powers ( which Ashitaka has always wanted to keep as secret as possible ), and found them interesting. Most of all, he did not wish to have this power oppose him during the Winter War. Ashitaka was in the Great Underground Prison when Aizen betrayed Soul Society. He ventured down and talked to Ashitaka, inviting him to come along and create a new Soul Society. Ashitaka wanted to believe in him - and think that they actually would make a new Soul Society. However, the number 1 reason why he wanted to come with Aizen, was that he thought that was the best way to prevent bloodshed. He thought that perhaps this was the reason for his powers. Maybe he was meant to stop his friends ( gotei 13 ) from getting killed. Ashitaka has never seen Aizen as an enemy, or an evil person. He always thinks the best of everyone, and he always wants the best for everyone - this includes Aizen. He sees Aizen as a revolutionary who, somewhere along the way, lost too much of his compassion. 

Upon reaching Hueco Mundo and Las Noches, Aizen appoints Ashitaka to the same position as Ichimaru and Tousen. A commander in the Arrancar Army.

[thelandswemadeofpaper]

The 'Mystical Vibe'

This kinda happens when its just...described in a unnatural and cryptid way? And its more than just 'people with power', the...aura? existence? thing? is taken as something eldritch-like and gives the impression of something-creepy-and- untouchable, similar to old tales of fair folk and Lovecraft, or legendary-holy-and-ancient-as -your-grandma, like Silmarillion and Fate, not like Lord Zeno straight up blowing universes up to show that he-is-OP, but more subtle and maybe philosophical?

A good example is The Road Goes Ever On by Chauntlucet:

On other worlds, where they were remembered -- even on this world, in the regions beyond the sea and Grinding Ice, where the Powers’ might were not so focused, were the protection the Elder King placed over the Children of this realm was as naught -- none would venture out on this night. Here there were signs written on the air itself, a singing silence, a taste of wild herbs and distant mountainsides stirring in the cold. A sense of Magic that was as much a warning as the ringing of the Hunt’s horns. This was a night for the Oromandi, for the Tavari and the Orrosi. A night for those born before the world and older than its oldest. A night for those who were not of the world, but laughed at it much, and saw it as for the most part a play and a game for their own amusement.

And Young Wizards by Diane Duane, Kubo and the Strings.

And one of my favorites: Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart

In this one, the guy as born with an weak heart, so his mother switch it with an clock of all things - and no one bats an eyelash at that - its a beautiful romantic tragedy.

Also another thing I call...

World Shock

...is pretty much what the it sounds like:

Yet it was the sudden appearance of what would eventually be called Hueco Mundo that changed everything.

It was a world unlike anything the Soul King had ever seen in his youth, and it had appeared just as suddenly. A world of its own that inherently switched the Self and the World while keeping the Soul King's set boundary at the same standard. As such, it was integrated with the natural order of things as if it had always been there.

The world Hueco Mundo formed radiated with an innate aura of solitude and desolation, a muffled feeling of emptiness derived from a bitter sentiment of loss permeating endlessly.

To the Soul King's surprise, he could not understand a single thing about Hueco Mundo. His very existence which was tied into the fabrics of reality unable to link itself with the rules and standards that comprised it. Perturbed as he had been on the matter then, it didn't matter as much as the fact that like moths to a flame, the Hollows formed from the Human World were drawn to it.

Practically all Hollows that had once inhabited the earth vanished in a single moment as they migrated towards a single destination and inadvertently escaped annihilation; the world they now lived in allowing them to visit and torment the Human world at a whim.

No one knew Hueco Mundo's history and only the Soul King could barely understand it after a millennium of interaction, but that wasn't the point.

Vasto of White has a lot of both.

Shirou turned his attention to the wall of flame surrounding him and stretched out his hands into the fire. Immediately, tongues of flame crawled up his arms, intent on burning him to ashes.

"The first fire gave warmth to the world. A remnant flame that did not burn for the annihilation of all, but for the heat of new life," Shirou spoke softly, watching the flames dance around him.

"You are Ryujin Jakka. A sacred sword of flame not meant to be used for the mundane."

Shirou tapped his chest, willing away the natural spiritual energy that protected his body. The sheer heat around him swiftly engulfed him in an infernal scorching wave.

No fear was reflected in his eyes.

No uncertainty.

He was steel in its truest form, unmarred, and untouched.

If not for the fact that he was a hollow, he would have been more akin with a Zanpakuto spirit.

"Can you not feel it for yourself? You are a flame meant to incinerate evil," Shirou pushed away the hollow facets of his soul and laid bare the presence of his inner world of steel and fire, the truest aspect of who he was.

"I am steel," he said. Strong. Hard.

A weapon neither evil nor good, simply meant to be wielded by a sense of purpose.

"Your fires will not melt me, will not harm me, for you as the will of a sword can already comprehend why," Shirou stared vacantly at the flames surrounding him. "I am not evil."

I really want to see more of the second in Star Wars: Arda Unleashed by Lord Exar Kun

[scornfulsilverlining-blog]

@heavenxpiercing asked for a starter

Time. Time was his worst enemy. It followed him around like an ominous melody, screeching and cackling at sporadic moments, letting him know that it was always there, always taking from him. In the beginning, he believed time to be a blessing. He was one of the oldest Arrancars, his centuries of life only adding to his experience, his intellect. He knew far too much, and yet, not enough at the same time. Time. Sometimes things that seem like gift are a curse in disguise. Years never truly fazed him, passing him by like grains of sand fluttering down in an hourglass, until he barged the Soul Society.

He thought all his time spent out in Hueco Mundo, preparing and calculating, would be all he needed to overcome something as tremendous as them. Time had fooled him, pulling the wool over his eyes, so that he blindly forged ahead in his own nightmare. He tried not to think back to his isolation, all those centuries spent in captivity, the souls that once knew the name Arturo Plateado fading away with the morning sun. Those eons trapped underneath the Central 46 had shown him what a cruel mistress time could be, how she wasn’t working for him, but against him. He never thought he would escape that tiny room of nothingness. He believed he would gouge out his own eyes before he ever saw the light of day again.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that, though the true outcome sometimes seemed worse to him. That fool, Ichigo Kurosaki, a name he would never forget, carved into his temporal lobe, had inadvertently allowed him to crawl out of his own personal hell when he shattered the Sōkyoku. The spiritual pressure contained within those angelic shards had rejuvenated him. He had been bursting with power, pressure flickering at his fingertips. All that time spent in confinement had rattled his soul, made him thirsty for Shinigami blood. With a power far greater than what he wielded before, he believed himself to be u n s t o p p a b l e.

Time. It ebbed and flowed like crashing waves against the beach. At times, it would cascade over him, shimmering down on him. And, on different occasions, it would plow him over, knocking the breath out of him so hard that when he recovered he didn’t even realize what had happened. It didn’t take long for the Shinigami to find some new way to get rid of him. It was as if they hadn’t forgotten about him, even though he k n e w they did, and had bided their time until he broke free in order to test their prowess against him. The Shisuikyō was something he never could have anticipated. It zapped him completely dry, his reiryoku withered away; it was a miracle that he hadn’t perished. Maybe it would have been easier if he had.

Frequently, he would look back on that day and wonder what he could have done differently, if he could have done anything differently. His thoughts never resulted in any mind-numbing epiphany. What had happened to him was destined. Time had been madly cackling at him this whole time, watching him slave away at an unattainable dream, knowing he was setting himself up for failure.

When he had awoken back in that endless desert, he believed his days to be numbered. He was cheating death, cheating time, and there was no way he was going to survive another brush with it. But back then, he had still been hopeful, optimistic. He vowed to grow stronger, regain his reiryoku, and come back swinging. No one defeated Arturo Plateado! What sweet nothings he had told himself back then when he really did believe. He swallowed his pride, shacked up with the worthless Espada and their ragtag leader, and bided his own time. But, he should have known that she wasn’t on his side still, patiently waiting to strike again.

It came in the form of the approaching war between Aizen and the Shinigami. He only had a few months to put back the pieces of his life, hastily shove them together as if he was born anew. It was impossible, but back then he still had the drive to try. Slowly, it came to him, his powers always just hidden within the deepest reaches of himself, wiggling free tendril at a time.

It wasn’t enough.

The war hit them faster than any of them would have liked. What was months turned into mere days. He hadn’t even thought he stood a chance when he had time on his side, but now he definitely a goner. There was no way for him to fight back. He could barely handle the scavenging hollows that flocked around Los Noches. He couldn’t wipe out a Shinigami nor a ferocious Espada at that. There was no hope for him. Time mocked him. She gave him a bit of faith only to rip it out of his hands at the last second.

With no power and no allies, he had fled. It was the cowardly thing to do, but what choice did he have? It was either run or die. He still believed he had a chance. If he could just last a bit longer, if he just had a bit more time…

But, time was cruel. He evaded the war, every conflict, every combatant, as he wandered about the outskirts of Hueco Mundo close to the Rukongai District. He managed to build up the tiniest morsel of strength, enough to defend himself against the adjuchas lurking around every corner at least. After a while, he chose to go back, to see what had become of his so-called comrades. What he found was dust. Los Noches was in ruins, the only trace of beings was the lingering spiritual pressure of souls he once knew. He felt the Espada’s and Aizen’s naturally along with some that he didn’t recognize, most likely Shinigami invaders. The most potent of all he knew: Ichigo Kurosaki’s. In the time he had spent away from the boy, it seemed he had only grown stronger. Funny since he had grown weaker.  He assumed the Shinigami had won since Aizen and his army were no longer around, none of them, a total massacre.

And with them, he realized, his memory was lost from this world. The Shinigami believed him to be dead. The only ones who had known of his existence were the inhabitants of Los Noches, and they were all gone. The only one left who knew of the name Arturo Plateado was himself. Without purpose, with his reiryoku still missing, he plunged headfirst into despair.

He made the crumbled remains of Los Noches his home. He sometimes ventured out to the very edges of the Rukongai District or made his way to the Human World just for a quiet change of pace, but there was nothing left for him. Time had even forgotten about him, no longer deceiving him or giving him a guide, something to look forward to. He stood still as the world went on without him. Changing times amongst a never-changing presence. As the days turned into months, he gave up on hoping for his power to return. It would be eons before it happened, if it happened. He was lost, a single soul wandering the three planes of existence, hanging by a measly thread.

He contemplated all of this as he gazed out towards the lapping ripples of the river before him. The only thing that ever occupied his mind now was the past and where he had gone wrong. The past was all that he was. There was no Arturo Plateado in the present. How could he even exist if no one knew of him? The gentle breeze passing through his hair comforted him slightly, forcing his eyes to look up at the golden orange hue of the setting sun. He was back in the Human World, in a town he didn’t know, just another place that considered him a stranger, a walking anomaly. But, he often found himself here by this river as it seemed to be a place of solace for him. Something drew him to it whenever he was wrestling within the pits of his own anguish. It was as if the water and quiet wind could wash away his centuries’ worth of sins.

And he wondered, as he stood on the bank, edging closer to the lull of the water, if anyone cared to remember a name as old as time itself: Arturo Plateado.

[scornfulsilverlining-blog]

@regiapardus asked for a starter

He had been expecting the Winter War, but he had not been prepared for it. He was sure that by the time the first blood was shed that his reiryoku would have returned, possibly stronger than before, but how wrong he was. That godforsaken mirror had truly tarnished him, leaving him with nothing, a former shell of who he once was. Because his power was diminished, he was forced to act out of character; instead of partaking in the war as he had planned, he hid like the coward he was. He had weighed the pros and cons numerous times after the fact. No, when word of the impending war at their doorstep hit him he didn’t hesitate. He had fled Las Noches a few hours later, not wanting to get swept up in the fighting. He had barely enough power to defend himself much less pit himself against any of the possible opponents he would have had to have gone against. But, deep down, he knew. He knew why he had fled. He had been afraid. Afraid of Aizen? No. Afraid of the Soul Society. Never. He had been afraid of failure.

Without his almighty power, what was he? From the moment he forced apart his own mask, he had been engulfed with reiatsu. All he knew was strength. He had never been so weak. It was a strange new feeling, to be helpless. He would never say it out loud, but that’s exactly what he was. HELPLESS. Nobody cared enough about him to protect him. He didn’t have the might to take down anyone who dared cross his path. The facts were loud and clear, and he had admitted to them. While it was probably for the best that he ran off, he still knew that it was a decision powered by raw emotion: fear. He prided himself on his stoicness, and yet, he had chosen to flee because his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of all the possible outcomes, all the ways he could have been struck, maimed, or killed. It had awakened something in him, an entirely new sense of feeling. He didn’t like it. He was forced to live with it.

So, live he did. He stayed far far away from Las Noches and the malicious reiatsus flaring up all over the place. He didn’t even try to identify them. All he knew was that he needed to run. The fear he felt spurred his feet, made him retreat as swiftly as he could. And, once he had made it the far recesses of Hueco Mundo, where the sand seemingly touched the horizon, he doubled over to catch his breath. His heart had been beating erratically, vision darkening around the edges. He didn’t realize he had been using sonido the whole time until he stopped. He didn’t have the strength to endure that, and so, like a true coward, he collapsed into the sand as shudders racked his frame. He didn’t know how long he had stayed there, curled up into himself. He half expected someone to come along and kill him on the spot for acting so helpless. But, there he laid for a good amount of time, watching the grains of sand blow by. Not even a single hollow disturbed him, probably afraid of having his fear rub off on them. Pathetic.

Eventually, he had found his footing. His body was no longer sore. What little reiryoku he had returned. It still wasn’t enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t enough to give him hope or motivate him. In fact, he was now more AFRAID to go back to Las Noches. He feared the war wasn’t over and he would stumble his way right onto the battlefield. He had run so far that he no longer felt any reiatsus other than his own weak pulsing. He contemplated going back for a long time. Then, he realized he was stalling himself even more. At last, he decided not to travel back to Las Noches, but instead remain along the outskirts for a while, recuperating and preparing himself for a fight; at least, that’s what he told himself. He stood on shaky legs and brushed the sand off his uniform. He couldn’t take this anymore. Arturo Plateado was NOT this weak. He could hold his own and fight for himself. He just needed to bide his time and slowly make his way back to Las Noches. Hopefully by the time he returned, the war would either be over or his reiryoku would return; he didn’t know which he hoped for more.

More time passed. His sense of time was so off from his imprisonment that he didn’t know how long he stayed out there tearing down hollow after hollow. Some were harder to fight than others. He tried his best, resting when he was too overworked. He didn’t seem to be gaining any reiryoku though. He had honestly forgotten where Las Noches was. He didn’t remember the way there since Gin had been the one to lead him. He had been in such a panic when he fled that he couldn’t recall anything but the dunes. There was nothing to guide him, so he simply walked on, figuring he would find it eventually. The landscape didn’t seem to change, but the enemies did. The hollows he encountered grew stronger as he headed towards the horizon. He figured this was a good sign. Maybe it meant he was close to Las Noches? He couldn’t be sure, but he had nothing else to go off of anyways. He had to stop more now, but he noticed that he was getting better at evading. Though he didn’t have the offensive strength to take out the hollows quickly, he had the defensive capabilities and the endurance to drag on their fights until he could smite them.

It seemed his theory had been right as he trudged on. Soon enough he felt the lingering presences of others. He recognized a few, but he knew the signatures were left over from a while ago. They weren’t as potent as they should have been. Was he drawing near the war zone? Had it been long forgotten? How long had he stayed out there by himself? The swirling questions that filled his head made him want to press on. Gingerly, he used sonido, but wanting to strain his body in case the others were still around. He doubted it, but one could never be too careful. Finally, along the horizon, he saw the white towers of Las Noches. He gulped slightly, but still he didn’t feel any threatening reiatsus. A stupid thought took hold of him: what if they were all concealing their power just waiting for him to return, so they could kill him for his cowardice? Fear was deadly to one’s mind.

As he ventured closer, however, he noticed something was different. His eyes widened slightly as he saw the first of many downed towers. There was rubble everywhere, littering the sand with its bright white color. He slowed his pace, eyes scanning what appeared to be the ruins of Las Noches. So, the war was over, then? Aizen had lost? The thought made him smirk though he had nothing to be proud of. At least Aizen had fought. The area was ripe with reiatsu, but again no one was around. Had this been abandoned recently? It would explain the trail of reiatsu they left behind. He wondered what happened here, but the thought of staying behind to witness it made a chill run down his spine. He could conclude all he needed from the debris.

He saw another wrecked palace ahead. Something about it seemed eerie. The reiatsu he felt from it was stronger than all the rest, but still faint. He was wary of the ruined tower, his heart pounding once more. NO. He would not panic. He refused to act cowardly. Not anymore. Whoever was up there was going to face his wrath. He was set on it. No longer hesitating, he marched up to the palace, a blue dot drawing his attention. He blinked. Could it be? Walking closer towards the wreckage, towards that faint reiatsu, he could make out the silhouette of whoever it belonged to, though he had a good hunch as to who it was. He only remembered one person whose hair was as bright as the sky.

He had only ever spoken to the other solemnly, but he no longer cared about maintaining his poker face. The situation didn’t call for it. Blue eyes flickered towards him.

“Grimmjow, you’re...alive?”