#white--moon

Whitewing

Name meaning: White, forbearance

Small, soft-furred, snowy-white molly (she/her) with green eyes, and broad shoulders.

Voice Claim: Kelli Cousins

Family and Education

Mother: Brightheart

Father: Cloudtail

Brothers: Dewnose, Snowbush

Sister: Ambermoon

Mate: Birchfall

Daughters: Dovewing, Ivypool

Mentor: Brackenfur

Apprentice: Cherryfall, Dewnose

Nature

ISFP

Lawful Good

Social

Platonic Love: Brackenfur, Brightheart, Cherryfall, Cloudtail, Dewnose, Dovewing, Ivypool

Romantic Love: Birchfall

Friend(s): Shrewpaw, Spiderleg, Squirrelflight

Prompt from here 

⁂ - grab my muse by the front of their shirt, possibly shoving them back

“Hey!”

The touch immediately gets Rose’s back up. It’s late into the evening, the bar is crowded and the band he was here to see have long since packed up. It’s been a good evening, and while everyone’s had a bit to drink, this feels more than an accidental bump from someone trying to get through the same scrum to the entrance that Rose is. It’s the way hands fist against his clothes. There’s a real deliberateness - like whoever did it’s spoiling for a fight. That’s unusual for a place like this, it’s usually lively but safe enough. People don’t come here looking to start something, especially not with a regular like Rose. 

What’s his problem?

Once released, he takes a step back, not caring that he bumps against a few unsuspecting concert goers. He’s far more interesting in getting to the bottom of this and making sure his assailant doesn’t get away scot-free. Skimming through the crowd, he spots a shock of bright white hair that stands out a mile, leaving Rose in no doubt, this is the guy he’s after. He reaches out to tap his shoulder, grabbing at the other man’s jacket as he does so. 

Yes or no: do you think I'd be a more fun fight than Ichigo? 😏

"Should'a said something sooner, I've been dyin' to know what you taste like."

“Haaa? Then how come you been such a pussyfoot about it?”

Starter for || @black--sun​ & @white--moon​

Grimmjow makes a bee-line for the Kurosaki den the second he sets foot in

Blue eyes narrow when he catches sight of the Kurosaki’s through the window. He could feel their reiatsu even half way across the territory, the tell-tale rise and fall and flutter of their power giving them away. Or it gives Ichigo away - Grimmjow’s still new with Shiro, still figuring out how he moves and flows.

They’re connected at nearly every exposed point of skin, arms wrapped around each other, fingers twisted in hair, bloodied tongues passing between ivory sharp teeth. Bloody kisses that Grimmjow is not involved in. The scent of crimson is warm in the air, a sharp twang of power and life intertwined with arousal that waters Grimmjow’s mouth and drags him closer. His gaze rakes over the pair once again searching for the larger scratch marks that the scent speaks of.

Ichigo hasn’t even caught on to the fact that Grimmjow is outside - it’s the exact kind of error that would usually piss Grimmjow right the fuck off. Totally oblivious and he isn’t even fucking yet. It’s what kept Grimmjow from doing anything for so long. (Now he can’t think of doing anything else. And he’s standing outside like an idiot.)

His lip curls as he steps inside, dragging his incorporeal body through the human constructed walls and drops heavy onto the bed next to them, unconcerned by his sandy boots or the way Pantera smacks Shiro’s shoulder when he leers over them.

What is he supposed to do with this angry cat man....? The shouting doesn't particularly feel aggressive, just agitated, but that could mean any number of things. If there is one thing he knows about Grimmjow, though, it's that he likes a good fight.

So he....just sort of... tentatively lifts a hand to the handle of his sword jutting over his shoulder and arches a questioning brow. Except if Grimmjow wanted a fight, he'd just start one. His attention does a quick sweep of the area, hoping to find context clues that don't exist, before his hand drops to his side again.

"Gonna have to be more specific..."

Blue eyes flinch towards the motion of Shiro’s hand, but when Grimmjow’s own hand doesn’t veer towards Pantera, he lets go. The confusion on his face does not inspire confidence in Grimmjow. Not even a little bit.

He sets his jaw and squares his shoulder, anchors his feet (totally so he looks bigger and more solid, rather than to keep him from climbing back into the Garganta) sucks a fortifying breath in through his nose and jabs a finger accusingly in Shiro’s direction.

Szayel isn’t fully sure how the Vasto Lord who stands before him has separated from his host, but it’s something that draws him quickly, like a lightening rod.  He recognizes the energy signatures in his notes, though he’s never met him in the flesh.  He will not let this opportunity go to waste.

Golden eyes dilate as his instincts measure the beast before him, the lusty placement of his own hole guiding the way that his mind garden-paths through its analysis.  Hunger--for flesh and blood.  Hunger for the touch of skin.  Hunger for merger, whether through eating or sensuality.  

Yes..this being before him is worthy of the title that marks his level of power.

He lets his own magenta energy spill off of his body, a tacit show of his own power.  He may not be an aggressive, coursing hunter...but for those he can ensnare, he’s intoxicating.  

“Welcome, stranger,” he says.  “May I welcome you to these lands?”

Eye teeth glint as he grins, feral nature easily seen.