10-19-2009, 11:34 PM
Name: Gambit.
Birthdate: December 27th 06
Gender: Stud.
Alliance: Regular dog [non luperci ]
Species: Canis lupus familiaris [ Kuvasz. ]
Appearance:
To sum up the beast in one word would be easy, as anyone with an eye for the breed could tell you. Most would choose the word “perfect”, or perhaps “flawless”, to describe the brute. Standing in at the exact height of thirty-one inches, and boasting a healthy weight of one hundred fifteen pounds, Gambit is a monster to say the least. The stud is medium boned, soundly muscled, and lacks the bulkiness or lethargy that one would expect from a dog his size. While he is sufficiently equipped with muscle, very little of it can be seen due to his thick pelt. He has a very solid look about him, and is an impressive figure to say the least. Shoulders are muscular and elongated –withers stand higher than his back. The brute’s medium length back is straight, firm and quite broad.
A pure white double coat flows in loose waves across his entire body, ranging in lengths of three to six inches, depending on its placement on his body. From the thick “lions mane” around his neck, which extends to and covers the chest, to the plume of six inch hair that covers his tail, the male has plenty of hair to go around. The waviness varies depending on the area, but when wet his fur has the tendency to twist quite a bit. The coarseness of his outer “guard” coat is of a medium density, while the much finer undercoat is plush and soft to the touch. While this pelt enables him to withstand cold tempters, during the summer he is more susceptible to heat-stroke, despite the fact that he will lose much of this pelt at that time.
Medium bones legs are straight, well muscled and carry him with a fluid, elastic gate. Feet –which are rounded and tightened into “cat” feet– travel close to the ground when Gambit is in motion. Back feet will meet where the front have left off, or sometimes overshoot the mark by a small amount. The segment behind the hip joint is fairly long, producing thick, elongated and strong muscles of the upper thigh –lower thigh is equipped with a reasonable amount of muscle as well. Rear feet are longer than his forefeet, and all toes are tipped with swarthy claws and have a significant amount of jet black padding. Legs and paws are covered in short, sleek hair that is soft to the touch, however there is a fair amount of feathering on the backs of his legs, varying in length depending on where it sits.
Gambit’s head is probably his best feature –he is a handsome male, no doubt, and his facial features only amplify this. His eyes are an almond shape, and are hued the color of a dark, dark chocolate brown. This males the pupil almost indistinguishable from the iris, and gives him a very soulless look, only added to by his nearly constant blank stare. Eye are somewhat slanted, lids are tight and haws do not show. His thick, V shaped ears are slightly rounded at the tip and covered with a fine, silky hair that is relatively short in comparison to the rest of the beasts fur. In the relaxed position, his ears hold their set and do not cast backward. Ears do not protrude above his skull, but rather rest flush or below skull line, depending on his mood.
The skull is elongated but not pointed, and the stop is defined, not abrupt, raising the forehead gently above the plane of the muzzle. Lips have a strong obsidian pigment, without a trace of other color, and completely cover his fangs, without any excess handing over in the form of jowls. His teeth are a dingy, off-white color and snap together in a scissor bite. Unless he is excited or acting in a dominant fashion, his skull is almost always carried at or below shoulder level. Gambit has an odd habit of tilting his head to the side when listening intently or paying close attention to something. Not a wet mouthed dog, by far, the only time he will produce excess drool is when eating or has caught scent of something that is appealing to him. Gambit’s own scent is a strange mixture of the metallic tang of blood, the smell of dry grass.
Accessories aren’t something that he is known for, but he does have a metal spiked collar that rests around his throat, something that was given to him to prevent any would-be flock raiders from killing him by ripping out his throat. It doesn’t cover his entire neck, thus making it easy for him to stoop to drink, but it does cover a significant portion of it the tender flesh.
[ 788. ]
Personality:
Welcome to the nightmare world, where everything is about one thing, and one thing only: Gambit. Nothing in his world of dreams and illusion is more important than him –nothing else matters, or ever will for that matter. Everyone else is unimportant, insignificant and immaterial –literally not real to him. Their only use is to entertain him and provide him with a way to pass the time in this bothersome place. He uses others like an addict uses needles, tossing them aside once their presence no longer needed in his world. There are a wide variety of things that he will use a dog for, depending on age, sex and personality. These things include, but are not limited to: sex, ego stroking, food, companionship, a target of his dominance, aggression or general sadism, as a means to get something he wants, and to have “fun” with. Anyone who comes in contact with the beast should never doubt the fact that he will only hang around them is he wishes to use him for something. If they aren’t useful, aren’t able to fulfill his needs at that moment he will, most of the time, simply ignore them, acting as if they don’t exist. Which is true, mind you.
Because, you see male is afflicted with the notion that he is trapped within a dream world of his own creation; that everything that happens to him is really happening within his mind. No one is real; therefore no one matters but him. He often talks to other dogs as if talking to himself and doesn’t worry about being rude, asinine, outlandish or simply sadistic in his speech. Gambit will talk to them about his plans, what he wishes to do to them, what he thinks of them, and rarely takes anything they have to say into consideration. Why should he listen to a phantasm, a simple figment of his imagination? Because he views life this way, the male is completely without empathy. The thought that the other canines meandering through his mind have feelings and thoughts of their own has never once occurred to him. If told this he wouldn’t believe or grasp this concept, but instead shrug the notion off with relative ease and the thought that they only act realistic because his imagination is controlling them.
Gambit is the definition of dishonest. He will lie to anyone about anything and often lies for the simple fun of it. Gambit often exaggerates or makes up things that he has done to get attention or admiration from other canines. Believing that he should be admired for his greatness, perfection and general, all-around awesomeness, the male is pushed into a spell of violent anger when this expectation of those around him is not met. Temper runs on a short fuse, one that is easily lit and near impossible to put out. Once he is angered he will not likely calm down until the one who caused his anger has been punished in a manner that he considers suitable. Remorse is an alien concept to him, one that he doesn’t comprehend in the slightest. Everything he does to those around him is usually forgotten by the time he finds someone else to use as amusement, though those rare times he keeps a specific event in mind, it is not done out of guilt. Reliving the events gives him a sick pleasure, and he will often think back to acts of brutality he has committed when he is bored. While the pleasure he experiences during recollection isn’t as strong as the initial rush of ecstasy the male experiences when committing the act, it does good to tide him over in between acts of atrocity.
When he wants something, Gambit expects it to be given to him immediately. No ifs, ands or buts about it. He expects the best treatment and automatic compliance with his wishes because he is, in his mind, far superior to any other canine. There is no excuse, in his mind, for him not getting what he deserves. Outbursts of violent anger or cold, calm sadism will occur if his wants –his needs – aren’t met. He is a savage and brutal killer, someone who enjoys toying with his victims, rather than just killing them quickly. The more pain, the more reaction he can get out of them before they die, the more pleasure he gets out of the situation. Even when not killing, the male enjoys causing others pain and discomfort whenever possible. Sexually, the male is rough as possible, and has been known to leave gashes and jagged claw marks on the canines he breeds. Some may label his mannerisms when it comes to sexual things as disgusting, but Gambit finds nothing wrong with the way he acts. In the bisexual persuasion, the male isn’t above raping or sexually assaulting canines of both genders. Personal space means nothing to him, and the male never learns from past mistakes, even the ones that have left him scarred. Even lips being curled or a low growl doesn’t send off warning bells that would warn him of an upcoming attack.
None of the normal warning signs of attack are displayed before the Kuvasz strikes. Lips will not curl, fur will not bristle –nay, not even a growl will form in his throat. Gambit is relatively silent when he attacks, and generally gives absolutely no warning that he is about to do such. A lingering stare may be all the warning you get, while other times his eyes will only lock onto you as he is flinging his bulk at you. Fear is another thing this male lacks and Gambit cares little about what happens to him in a fight. Pain is something that can be easily ignored, or marked off as a pleasurable thing, and it should be known that it would take a horrendous injury to get him to actually cry out. He is attracted to things that bring him pleasure, such as particular tastes, smells and touches, and will seek out such things with reckless abandon. If you have something he wants, consider it his. Even your own body is not really yours, as far as he’s concerned. It is his to do with it what he pleases. Gambit has absolutely no impulse control, none what so ever, and will do anything that pops to mind in the exact moment it does so. This behavior is what makes him toss aside his need to keep himself clean, uninjured and such in favor of a good time. Afterwards he will obsessively groom himself, making sure that he is as well kempt as possible, all things considered.
When it comes down to it, Gambit views himself as a god, no, the god of this world. He believes that his mind is responsible for the creation of everything, even the canines and lupines that roam the world with him, and will happily tell them that he is their creator.
1,164.
History:
The male was born one cold december night, to a pack of dogs who devoted their lives to protecting the now wild herds of sheep that now roamed the wilderness in the absense of humans. From birth Gambit's enemy was the wolf,
--- AIM: Operativepsycho
--- found this place on google
--- RP SAMPLES:
1. The howl was chilling to the bone, enough to make one shudder as the mutilated cry rose into the night sky. It was like some strangely morbid tune, as if calling the devil himself. The nights air was thick, cold; each breath stung not only the nasal passages but the lungs too as if needles pricked them. Blackness surrounded the male as he lifted his head skyward once again, howling to the blood red moon. Rarely had the male seen such a site, but it was one he was not willing to let pass him by without a fight. No, Wrecker would sing his praises to the mood goddess whether it kept up all of Sidewalk or not. If they had a real problem with it the vermin could come take it up with him in the morning, when he was in a bad mood again. Tonight, however, he was in a peaceful mood –or as peaceful as Wrecker could actually get without being a corpse. This king of terror and all things dark and foreboding knew very well the power he had behind his howl, and honestly didn’t give a rat’s ass. If it brought some form of trouble, so be it. He would meet the challenge with a flash of fangs and a snarl enough to make the grim reaper himself flinch.
Icy orbs rested on the moon as the last of his feral cries drifted into the sky. He shifted his weight, causing the old car he had sat on to shift and creak. Thoughts wondered around in his mind until they settled on one topic, specifically the one about his pack. So far he had one female in his gang, Arianna, though that could change as a moments notice. The scent of Ari still lingered on his coat from when he had gone after her for her disrespect. The one thing he would NOT tolerate was disrespect, but some how he let it slide with that female more than he had with any other fae. Wrecker shook his head, sending dust and debris from his coat and into the cool air while tight muscles rippled under his flesh. Coolly he turned around, a large yawn escaping his jaws as he walked along the roof of his truck. With a large bang he leapt to the hood of the car, denting in the metal as a scowl flashed across his face.
Being alpha wasn’t an easy thing; there were so many things to worry about, though the pitbull rarely showed his concern if he felt any at all. His stony heart did not feel normal emotions. Hurt, sadness, love; these things meant nothing to the male. Lust was the closest he got to love, and he rarely felt even that. He was not some sex crazed beast, though he would breed several females for the sake of sex. This is also why breeding wasn’t allowed in his pack unless you had express permission from him. The way he saw it was that all the females were his as soon as he joined the pack. If he wanted to breed with a female he liked, he couldn’t have her being mated to another male now could he? Yes, a selfish bastard was he. Though his heart would never beat for any female in particular, one day he might find a female that he would show kindness to, momentary kindness at best. A simple word, unimportant to most, can show a female he cares about her; though most will miss the kindness he puts forth. And then, like a cool breeze in the middle of a sweltering summer, the humanity is gone, leaving only that gruff exterior for the fae to deal with.
As soon as his paws hit the ground –mud splashing up around his legs- he took off at a brisk walk. His strong, stocky limbs combined with coiled muscles made him better for launching himself at enemies than walking through this thick mud that clung desperately to his coat -still thick from keeping him warm through the winter’s cold. His best feature had to be his eyes, which were a startling, almost alarming blue. Because there was rarely any warmth behind these eyes and because they always focused on their objective with an unblinking intensity, Wreck’s blue eyes seemed to repel more people then they attracted. This was fine for him though, he could care less what people though about his looks. If anything he would use it to his advantage.
Wrecker rarely slept. His reasons for this had never been vocalized to a single living soul, and there for remain unknown. Some say the murder of his father haunts his dreams, along with the few females he had raped. Others he had murdered brutally could be the cause of his nocturnal habits, but he had never once shown regret for these crimes. He simple dismissed the thoughts with a shake of the head. Wreck swung his limbs almost robotically now, his mind elsewhere. Just where was Arianna? Why he was so curious about her whereabouts was unknown to him; she was probably asleep somewhere in the junk anyways. Perhaps it was because she was his only subject at that moment in time. Could it be that he was lonely? He scoffed at the notion. Why did he need the company of a smart mouthed bitch anyway? What he needed was more pack members. Conceivably a like minded male; a guy pal could do the brute some good. But, for now, he had one female. And not even one that he could have some fun with. Well, he could have some ‘fun’ with the female; but the thought really hadn’t occurred to him.
With a large grunt of effort he launched himself onto a pole of junk, climbing to the top and placing himself on top of an old couch; the only other thing in the whole junk yard he was over protective of. Its red surface had long ago been faded by the sun; its cushions molded from the prolonged exposure to the elements. But he really didn’t care you see, for it had a great view of the junkyard despite the fact that it was only about seven feet off the ground. He lay down on the old cushion with a deep sigh of contentment, allowing his fore paws to drape over the edge. Wrecker stared unblinking at the red moon, slowly turning a lighter color as the eclipse started to end.
2.
Funk.
I hope I love you all my life…
Emotion coursed through him like the very crimson blood that ebbed and flowed through his veins. It ran with the gusto of a wolf in pursuit of prey; surged throughout his massive form, from head to toe, like fast-acting venom. He literally buzzed with it –his every nerve ending was alive with what seemed to literally be hundreds of emotions. Panic as the most prominent of these feelings; it made his entire body tremble as if a sudden bout of hypothermia had been thrust upon him due to sub-zero tempters. Ears lay against his skull perfectly, as if attempting to become one with the smooth surface, while his tail took to hanging limply between his quaking limbs. Whilst there was still some form of proud composition about his stance, there was an overly apparent exhaustion that weighted upon him. It was evident in the way his eyes remained half lidded, the way his head wavered from its normally high position and dipped every so often, as if the male was about to fall asleep. Superlative paws were braced apart so as to steady him against the harsh tremors, while overgrown nails bit into the wood floor to the best of their abilities at that time in an attempt to root him further in place. He felt as if a strong gust of wind would be enough to blow him away –as if a steady shove from the weakest of men would break him. Funk had never felt more utterly broken than he had in that exact moment. It was as if his soul had been shredded, literally torn in two by some brutal force of nature. Swallowing hard, he found that he could not force the tightness in his throat to cease. It felt like something was slowly asphyxiating him, tightening around his airways in attempts to stem off the flow of precious oxygen to his lungs. Tears slid down his cheeks, soaking into his alabaster fur and leaving noticeable stains on his coat.
In the pain he was feeling he couldn’t help but feel a sudden welling of joy at the sight of his lover. It mingled with the fear and aches, caressed them with soft, feathery kisses and whispered sweet things in attempts to quell its flame. The burn of the fear was still strong, but this joy, this incommunicable jubilance, was an overpowering thing. Cerulean eyes watched with a deep-set amount of apprehension in their depths as his mirror image rose to his feet, limbs shaking in a precarious manner. He seemed just as frail as Funk was, and the thought caused a pang of guilt to spread across his entire body. Sickness spread through his body, knotting his stomach and forcing him to consider vomiting onto the cold floor that rested to invitingly underneath his paws. He did this; there was no getting around it. From the dark look of despair that was etched onto his lovers face, to the deep crevasse between his ribs –even the tear stains on his muzzle were because of Funk, and he alone. Guilt seemed to swamp him, and his solid stance wavered in a windblown way as his love began to speak. His heart leapt, unceremoniously, into a brisk beat at the sound of Punk’s voice. Ears crept forward from their oppressed state and eagerly began to soak up beautiful lyrics while his entire body gave a shudder of pleasure at the harmonious sound. He met his love’s gaze –stare full of nothing but the adoration he felt for the colossal male. Funk loved this male more than he loved life itself. Gladly he would die for him –merrily plunge off a cliff if it meant that his lover would love to see another day. Feet began to move him forward at a graceless shuffle, but Funk, for once, couldn’t bring himself to care.
Funk always found words easily, but for the first time in his life he was finding that he could not find proper ones to describe what was on his mind. Though various thoughts swam through his brain, he couldn’t seem to catch any of them. They swam through his grasp like fish through a tattered net, and with a soft sigh he gave up the fight and simply let words spill forth, no matter how foolish he sounded. ”Why does it have to be so hard? Why with love must there come pain? Even when I try my hardest not to wound you, irrepressible forces that seem to be the price of my love afflict you. From the brutal hatred the world throws at you, to the moments of pain you experience in my absence, I cause you pain constantly and it breaks me each and every time. Is it worth it, dearest brother? Is my love worth the pain that you undergo? If I could take out all the anguish that this love brings, I would. You know this, correct? If I was able to I would steal all of your hurt, past, present and future, and placed it upon myself instead. I do not wish for you to hurt like this again. But it is inevitable, is it not?” He paused, eyes brimming with tears. “I do not… I do not know that I’m worth that pain, Punk. It hurts me to see the pain that I have either directly or indirectly caused you. I can’t say how sorry I am –even if I apologized every single minute of every single day I would still have vast amounts of immeasurable remorse resting upon my chest. I love you so desperately, as fish love the sodden, foam-capped sea, so why is this not enough to keep away the pain?”
A soft gasp, accompanied by a sob managed to break through his words as he met the gaze of his love. This time tears of relief filled his cobalt-hued gaze. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest, allowing him to breath freely for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Oxygen whooshed in and out of his body, and each easy breath caused his soul to feel considerably lighter. An expression of light-hearted jollity slipped into place upon his façade, seeming to mirror the expression worn by his twin in a flawless manner. Soft worry shadowed his features at the look of concern his brother gave him. Here again was a moment of pain that he had caused his brother. He mulled over this with a frown, expressing wavering between sadness and unease as his sibling slipped forward. Somehow he found humor spilling from his charcoal-hued lips in response to his brother’s statement. ”You should see the other guy,” A lighthearted laugh accompanied this statement, as well as a reassuring smile that tugged at his lips gently. He wanted to let his lover know that he was okay, to reassure him somehow and make the worry recede as quickly as possible. Nostrils flared as Punk pressed his sodden nose against him. Inhaling his sibling’s breath, the male shivered with delight at both the sensation and the look of blatant adoration that swam through Punk’s gaze. ”God, I love you so much.” The lightly breathed words came after a few moments of prolonged silence, and were tinted with love and reverence.
Heavy lids drooped closed as his brother’s cerebrum eased higher than his own. Automatically his skull was allowed to sink to a lower height, giving his brother easy access to the embedded shards of glass that littered the wounds inflicted by the window. Furrowing against the sudden pain, his brow formed deep creases between his eyes. His ears laced smoothly back against his skull and a soft whimper was expelled from his larynx. These moments of weakness were only allowed to be seen by his brother, his saving grace. To others in the world, he was a tough, strong and dominant presence; the very epitome of a street dog. As a leader of the toughest street gang in all of SW, the male was quite literally unable to show such displays of weakness. He trusted his brother completely, though. Trusted him to not take advantage of the moments that he dropped his guard and laid his soul bare. Punk was the one creature on the planet that he had complete and utter faith in. There was a time when he wondered if this faith was blind –if it would wound him in the future. But that was when they were young, foolish, and most certainly not prepared to handle the fear that comes with love. Now he was completely prepared for it. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that his brother would never be to him what the rest of the world was –something to be kept at a distance, something to be feared. Within the safety of the sanctuary that their love had created, tucked away from the rest of the world, no true harm could come to them.
With the finesse of a cat, the male leaned into the touch of his brother’s tongue. Taking a step forward, the male shifted his cerebrum until his muzzle was twisted beneath Punk’s throat, allowing his tongue to lavish the sensitive flesh with tender care. He took a moment to breathe in his twin’s scent, allowing it to fill his lungs before reluctantly pulling his muzzle away. Pain mingled with love would be the theme today, or so it seemed as the male thought as his brother began to carefully eradicate the unwelcome shards that were imbedded into his muzzle. It took a fair amount of willpower to keep his lips from twitching into a grimace of pain, but Funk managed to keep his face carefully void of hurt this time around. Adrenalin spread by his fiercely pumping heart made the pain lessened to a dull ache that slowly weaved its way throughout his body. How gentle Punk could be with him never ceased to amaze the husky mix. While with other dogs he was rough, and often times violent, in the trademark manner of a street thug, with Funk he was as gentle as a lamb. He supposed that this was how the both of them worked –saving the best of themselves for one another and forcing the rest of the world to deal with the leftovers. And while some may view it as a bad thing, Funk found that this was one of the things that kept their relationship and bond strong. You’d be hard pressed to find a pair closer than the two that stood within the confines of the execution room, their bodies pressed close and mouths working over each other with delicate care.
As Punk’s tongue slid along his muzzle Funk ventured to become more playful, allowing his own tongue to dart out and slide against the appendage as it lingered along his lips. Whining complainingly at the loss of contact, Funk watched as his brother stepped back and then pressed his muzzle to the hollow of his throat. The sensation of his breath fanning out against the flesh that resided beneath his obsidian coat caused a tremor to sprint down his spine. Growling throatily, the male twisted his cranium slightly to the side and began nibbling softly on his lover’s neck and shoulder region. He paused only as the sensation of pain in his chest grew sharply –his breath hitched into Punk’s pelt, and he allowed his jaws to fall slack in fear of biting his love too hard. Moving in sync with his brother, the male took a step back, giving him room to life his skull higher and press their cheeks together. The words that slipped into his ear made him tremble with delight. All worry that he had felt upon returning was now completely washed away, leaving only love and want in its wake. ”We were made for each other, my love. Do not ever let the world tell you any different.” Breathing out soft, short breaths brought on by his racing heart, the male watched as the hair along his sibling’s neck ruffled in response. As a smile crept onto Punk’s muzzle, a matching one slowly slid onto Funk’s façade, giving the duo matching looks of mirth as Punk twisted to press his ear against his sibling’s throat. Standing very still, Funk felt tears of euphoria pricking at his eyes. Blinking gently, he leaned into the touch of his sibling with slight pressure.
Loss of contact was not something that the male could handle at that moment. He felt that Punk was the only thing holding him together, and removing him from the equation would cause him to break. That being said, Funk was careful to push himself against Punk as he slid around to his flank so as to make sure that contact with his love was not broken. The location of the laceration was dangerously close to vital areas, and as the soothing tongue of his sibling skid across the afflicted area he found himself thinking of just how lucky he was. What if he hadn’t made it through the window alive? What if a shard of glass had sliced open something vital, causing him to bleed out in the parking lot or on the way home? Would Punk have been able to survive without him? Casting a glance at his love, he swallowed hard as the answer flitted through his mind. ”Thank whatever god, He thought with a sigh, eyes latching onto the contours of his sibling’s body. ”That, for his sake, no harm came to me. God I love him…” Ears pricked softly at the whimpers that were produced by Punk, but slid to full attention at the softly murmured words that escaped from his powerful jaws. The statement, quite frankly, caused the male to melt, and immediately sent his thoughts spiraling back to when they had first made the promise to one another.
Too often had he felt this raw pain in his chest –too often had he felt as if he was going to die. Trembling the nearly six month old padded through the back streets of Sidewalk, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He was trying to be strong, trying not to fall apart. Because falling apart meant that he would not be able to support Punk. Carrying around shattered pieces of him would only burden his sibling further than he already was. He had seen changes in his brother recently; with their bond, how could he not? And while the other male tried to shrug it off as nothing, Funk couldn’t help but think that something may have been wrong. So when his brother had disappeared the day before he began to fear the worse. Lips peeled back in a disgusted grimace as the words of his father rang through his head once more. “Finally ran off on ya’, Funk. What else didja’ expect from ‘em?” It couldn’t be true. His Punk –the very reason why he drew breath each day– would never leave him. Not then, not ever. Blinking hard to clear his vision, the male continued onward, searching for his brother and squinting into the rising sun. Ears laced back against his skull, and his tail dipped to brush against his hind legs as his posture took over a more submissive look. He had been searching for hours, and was exhausted already. What if his brother didn’t come back? Would he really be able to live without his other half?
Just as he was beginning to give up hope a fresh scent came to him on the wind, causing his head to snap up. Glancing around, the young male found himself moving faster. His gate took on more animation than the previous dull shuffle that he had been drudging around with and his eyes seemed to lose their dreary haze as he sprinted off the beaten path and into the tall grass. Height was an advantage here, and in the distance he could see the bobbing form of another black and white canine, its blue eyes fixated upon his racing form. Nearer they drew, looks of elation plastered across their matching muzzles. Funk couldn’t help but notice the thing that was clenched in his twin’s jaws, but didn’t have much time to think about exactly what it was or why it was there. The other canine picked up its pace as well, and, after dropping the contents of his jaws into the grass below him, slammed directly into Funk, sending him tumbling through the tall grass. A jubilant whimper tumbled from his maw as his tongue darted out across the flesh of his brothers throat. Laughing, he shoved his brother back slightly, nipping at his muzzle and barking softly. ”Where have you been!?” Breathless, Punk tilted his head to the side, allowing the full weight of his body to sag onto his sibling’s lithe form. ”Places?” Was the reply to his question. A frown formed on Funk’s features, and he strained to peek past his siblings hulking form. Deliberately, and with a smirk I might add, Punk leaned directly into the line of Funk’s vision, causing the pinned male’s gaze to lock directly onto him. ”Aye, Funk.”
Snorting, Funk wiggled and kicked, attempting to get free and see just what his sibling was carrying. Resistance was half-hearted though, for Funk didn’t really want to break free of his sibling’s touch. Leaning down, Punk licked and nibbled along his throat, pausing here and there to let his gaze shift up to Funk’s face, judging him for reaction. Instantaneously, the trapped canine was giggling and squirming beneath the weight of his brother, causing the male who at that time topped to laugh softly against his skin. The feeling enticed more laughter from Funk, who squealed and nipped at his brother’s face playfully after a few more moments. They played like this from some time, enjoying each other’s company after their night of separation. Finally the play died down somewhat, and through hilarity he managed to spit out a question at his sibling. ”What were you carrying, Punk?” A look of embarrassment flashed across Punk’s features, causing his twin to stare at him in a thoroughly puzzled manner. ”What’s wrong?” Removing himself from Funk, the husky mix turned and dashed briskly towards where he had come from, using his body to shield the thing from view. Tugging himself to his feet, Funk took a few steps forward, and then canted his cranium to the side, façade livid with curiosity. His mirror image even went so far as to walk backwards until he was nearer before turning around and shoving a brown and white thing into his face. Blinking and taking a step back, Funk took a few moments to examine it. It was cute, mostly brown with a white chin and face, a bow around it’s neck and a pair of black eyes that stared back at him soullessly.
”It is adorable, Punk. What is it?” Shuffling slightly, Punk cast his gaze towards the ground and began to examine it as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. ”An otter, I believe.” He grumbled softly, placing it on the ground before his twin. His ears slicked back against his skull in awkwardness, and he took a step back, not daring to meet Funk’s gaze just yet. ”If you don’t like it, I won’t mind, I promise. I was just thinkin’ that, well, because it’s Valentines Day and all, that you would maybe consider…” He paused, struggling for words beneath the carefully blank stare of Funk. ”You know, being my valentine?” Finally their eyes met, and Punk offered his sibling a weak smile in attempts to appear somewhat dignified. After a moment realization hit Funk, and he realized what he was being asked. ”Oh,” Other words escaped him at that moment as he examined the little otter. He had only heard of Valentines Day, and knew relatively little about it. Only that you asked the one you loved to be your valentine, and it was appropriate to give them a gift. Punk’s features fell, and he began to step back, hurt sliding across his features before he brought his emotions in check. His heart sinking, Funk quickly began to speak, his eyes locking onto his sibling’s own stare to convey the truthfulness of his words to him. ”Oh, Punk. Do not be sad, please. I would love, more than anything, to be your valentine. Really I would. I just did not get you anything, and therefore I believe that I am not the best choice for a valentine.”
Growling, Punk slipped forward, pressing his nose against his siblings and staring harshly. ”Don’t you be spittin’ that shit at me, Funk. You ain’t nothin’ but perfect, you hear?” Dropping his gaze, Funk took to staring at Punk’s muzzle, eyeing the colors and the way the fine hairs rested along its length. Nodding in response to the statement, he allowed his tongue to slip out and swipe over the tip of Punk’s nose in an apologetic manner. He hated making Punk cross with him, and found that, at that moment, he felt very small. Punk had always been good to him, and despite how young they were the two of them were closer than most canines that had been together for years. Feeling compelled to give his brother something, even if it wasn’t something he could have physically, Funk began to attempt to build up his courage. Swallowing hard, he forced words to spill from his mouth, despite how tight his throat felt. ”Punk? If I asked you to stay with me forever, would you?” Disarmed by the question, Punk simply stared at him for a moment, before nodding briskly. ”Of course, Funk.” He whispered, slipping forward and pressing his mass against his twins. ”So, together forever?” Whispered Funk, his body trembling faintly. Nodding, his sibling licked his muzzle softly, before replying with softly murmured words of his own. ”Together forever.”
”I will be with you until the end of time, my brother. When the stars begin to fade and the sun goes out in a blaze of glory, no matter what I will still be by your side.” A firm nod bobbed his skull as his brother came around to face him once more. A faint smile slipped into place on his maw as their noses were pressed against each other. Staring lovingly into his eyes, Funk couldn’t help but think that he was the luckiest dog in the world. He had the most amazing mate, whether the world liked to admit it or not, and that mate loved him with all his heart. Head tilted curiously as Punk dropped to the ground and began licking up his forelimb. A soft whine fell from his muzzle, and the Dane mix found himself dipping his skull lower to as to brush his tongue across his lover’s skull. Anticipation knotted his stomach as Punk skidded beneath him, his tongue and mouth working along the sensitive flesh of his belly. A tingle ran along his spine, delicately licking at his nerves with the heat of fire and the gentle passion of a soft caress. His legs trembled, seeming to turn to gelatinous goo beneath him in a manner that made his stance waver. Back arched slightly, an involuntary response that was accompanied by a short jerking of his hips. A rasping pant was expelled from his jaws, which were only unclenched to allow the harsh puffs of air to be expelled. The sounds of Punk’s soft whimpering echoed throughout the empty room, assaulting his senses and further making his brains turn to mush. He couldn’t think straight, let alone get up the sense to do anything but what instinct told him to do. His tongue darted out as his skull dipped low and ran along his love’s hips, smoothing out the fur with a delicate touch.
Lifting a forepaw, he teased it along Punk’s flank, allowing his nails to scrape lightly against the flesh and giving a low growl of pleasure at the attention his twin was paying to his underbelly. He moved suddenly, stepping away from his position on top of his twin and turning around so that he faced him. Gazing down at his lover, Funk allowed a grin to sweep across his maw, twisting his lips at the edges in a way that signaled good times to come. Nose moved downwards along the rivets of Punk’s spine until Funk’s muzzle was directly on his scruff. Tongue caressed the area affectionately, but the male made no motions to grasp it within his jaws. Not yet at least. Instead he drew back a step, nudging his lover with his nose and taking the opportunity to draw in his scent once more. It was a thing he could never get enough of –an addiction for which there was no escape from. Applying slight pressure, he waited until his brother had rolled over to continue with his affections. He began at his muzzle, licking softly down the length of it while allowing his tongue to linger upon the blackened lips of his soul-mate. Nibbling softly along his jaw line, Funk stopped at the hollow of his throat, inhaling for a moment before parting his jaws and biting on the flesh in a manner that was sure to leave a red mark beneath his fur. Growling, he then smoothed over the affected area with a soft lick before continuing down his chest. Nibbling and licking, the Husky mix worked his way along slowly until he reached Punk’s belly.
Biting gently down one side and up the inside of his hind leg, Funk was careful to avoid what would soon become the main focus of his affections. He paused, turning his skull slightly to as to judge Punk’s reaction thus far, and then moved his mouth over what resided directly in the middle of his sibling’s stomach. Jaws slid open, allowing his hot breath to fan directly across the sensitive flesh before he lowered his mouth to it. Tongue slid lightly along the length of it, before slipping around the tip, attempting to tease a reaction out of his brother, audible or not. Without moving his mouth from the designated area of assault, Funk’s teeth moved tenderly down towards his hind end, allowing his tongue to swipe out here and there in an attempt to smooth out the fur and sooth the area that he was likely bothering with his concentrated attention. Working back up towards his rib cage once more, the male paused and took in the scent of his brother, shuddering slightly as a haze of want overcame him. Whining and trembling, the male withdrew enough to pace up towards his siblings front end, where he would meet his gaze and fix him with a questioning stare. Muzzle slipped to his ear, whispering softly into it, a hint of a devious smile touching his lips. ”I am yours. Care to prove it?”
4,518
3.
Funk.
this is our ungodly hour
”Come on, boy. You gotta eat.” The voice was nothing more than a dull hum in his ears, something that registered no more than the sound of his own, wheezing breath as it slowly slipped in and out of his nostrils. Pulsating and all-consuming, the pain that gripped his entire body was not one brought on by physical ailment, but by the absence of his other half, his brother, Punk. He had long ago given up attempting to escape; after days of wailing and hurling his massive form against the glass door that stood between him and his freedom, his lover, he found that, no matter what he did, escape from this captivity was an impossible thing. Lying limply against the cold cement, eyes staring listlessly out past the human that stood just outside the door, the male seemed to be lifeless at best. His sides –which at that time flaunted profound groves between each of his ribs – barely moved as he robotically drew in puffs of air and then expelled them in a timely fashion, causing the glass that rested against his chafed nostrils to cloud slightly. ”Look, you’ll die if you keep this up.” An ebonite ear flicked slightly at the statement. It was an automatic response, as if the male was dismissing a fly that had nothing better to do than buzz around his ear. Could the human simply not let him die in peace?
Wearily, Funk let his black lids slip closed, shielding his beautiful, cerulean eyes from the bright lights and the sight of other canines and humans as they came and went. A deep sough slipped from his chest and the male found himself wishing that it could be his last breath, the one that allowed him to pass onto the next life. Perhaps there he could await his arrival, and, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have found another to love. A whimper clawed out of his throat and echoed off the barren walls. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Punk as the sound assaulted his ears in triplicate. It reminded him, for some odd reason, of the day that Jasper joined the SSG. ”Please do not be cross with me,” He flinched harshly as the voice echoed through his skull. It resonated around through the various nooks and crannies, causing his sorrow to intensify with each painful repetition. Scrunching his features in a pained manner, he began to concentrate on the frenzied beating of his heart in a feeble attempt to slow it with his mind. The steady drum of it beat against his rib cage, something that it had hardly stopped doing since his incarceration, and Funk couldn’t help but wish it would just be still. Each beat gave his head an anguishing throb, just as each breath that was sucked into his chest caused a burning sensation within his diaphragm. It hurt so much, this existing without his other half. He would rather have all of his limbs cut off, have his tongue carved out of his maw, than have to face this pain for another day.
Sleep attempted to take a hold on him, to shove him down into the abysmal confines of his mind, but a sudden whoosh of air brought him to full consciousness. The door had began to swing open slightly, bumping into his nose and causing him jerk awake. He shuffled up onto his haunches, bleary eyed and dazed by the sudden contact. Aside from the occasional duo of men that showed up to clean his cage, none were brave enough to enter the monstrous mutt’s lair. Closing his eyes against the sudden blackness that consumed his vision, the male felt himself wobbling precariously on unsteady legs –when was the last time he had moved? Putting serious thought into the question, Funk found himself thinking that it had to have been at least twelve hours. By that time the human had stepped in awkwardly, stooping low and offering his hand for him to sniff. ”Listen, I don’t wanna hurt you, Buddy.” A low grumble vibrated his throat, though it was mutilated and raw from the near constant barking he had been doing over the past six days. Buddy. It was the stupid name he had been christened with by some blonde with a bad perm. Someone who clearly was as dumb as she looked. All at once something seemed to snap inside the dog, as he sat there trembling and fighting back nausea. His pelt began to bristle dangerously along his spine, but this fact went unnoticed by the inexperienced handler.
Eyes snapped open, directing a hateful stare towards the human as a snarl was purged from the Dane mix’s larynx. ”Easy, B-“ The biped had no time to finish the sentence before Funk was lunging at him, jaws snapping at his face with a loud clap. Screaming as teeth sank into the bridge of his nose and lower lip, the human stumbled backwards, his back hitting the door frame with a solid thunk. Once blood had been drawn Funk released his grip and skittered forward. The human left enough space between him and the door for Funk to force his way through, and the Dane intended on taking full advantage of this. Vaulting forward, he ended up slamming his shoulder into the human’s, knocking him out into the hall half way in his attempt at escape. Overgrown nails clacked on the floor while oversized paws fought for grip. For a few moments the male quite resembled the more famous “Scooby Doo” as he scrambled in one place for quite some time. Slipping, he slammed into a wall head first, and couldn’t help but think that the floors were made to thwart large escapees. Finally he got his legs beneath him and barreled down the hall, earning barks of both encouragement and resentment from the surrounding mongrels. Reaching the slightly ajar door at the end, he crashed into it, causing it to fling open into yet another room.
The waiting room
Eyes glanced around at the people in the room, who seemed to be staring at him just as intently at him as he was at them. ”Fuck.” He rasped softly, ears pinning back against his skull. There seemed to be no real escape from this place. No doors that would open for him, no people that would willingly allow him to leave. He could see the street clearly through the window that sat behind the small row of chairs, and stared longingly at it for a moment before an idea struck him. ”Mommy, look at the dog!” Sprinting forward at top speed, the male used what strength he had left to leap at the window. His head slammed into it first, followed by the full weight of his body, and shattered out one of the frames, sending him tumbling out into the bushes below. Screams from inside were nothing more than background noise to the steady thrumming of his pulse in his ears. Though he only remained still for a few moments, the male found himself lost in a world of complete and utter blackness. Had he taken out his sight by mistake? Would he never be able to lay eyes on his beloved Punk again? Blinking hard, he found that, after a few seconds, dots and splashes of color allowed him partial view of the world, and that after more blinking and a good shake of his head, more vision was returning to him.
The scent of blood was heavy on the air but it took the ebonite male a few moments of laying there to realize that the blood was his own. Glass shredded his chest, cut up his muzzle and forehead, and left a nasty gash on his hind leg. Pain ripped through his body in an agonizing wave, but it was overcome shortly there after by the startling conclusion that he was almost completely free. Struggling to right himself, Funk lurched onto all fours and then took off at a slinking and slightly offset gate, just as the office door was thrown open and a group of humans piled out. His head was dipped to the side, an ear cocked at an awkward angle that made it look as if he was listening intently to the ground as he ran. Truth be told he had knocked himself for a loop, and was struggling to see straight as he ran, instinctively, towards home. He was far into the Uptown, and this fact alone made him nervous. Out of his element, his ghetto, the Hardcore felt venerable and lost, especially without his lover. Cars buzzed past as he hit the streets, horns honking in an attempt to steer him clear of the road. Ducking his head, Funk continued his scramble across the haphazard motorway, completely disregarding what may happen to him if one of the cars were to collide with his massive form. One truck narrowly missed him and just clipped his tail as he desperately scrambled onto the sidewalk.
It was going to be a long day.
Some odd hours later, the male was back on his home turf. His paws pressed against the blacktop in a heavy, downtrodden tune that only seemed to emphasize his exhaustion. While his tail hung limply between his rear legs, his head was just above his shoulders –even when broken, the male refused to let his “family” see him in a submissive state. His pace picked up to a trudging trot, a little more pep entering his step as the Asylum came into view. Perhaps his Punk would forgive him for his absence, if he hadn’t already moved on. A painful though struck him: what if that was for the best? Many times he had thought that he was keeping his love from leading a normal life, one where he could live openly with the one he loved, raise a family and just be free from all this mess. Was it really fair to keep him in something like this, something that the rest of the world saw as wrong? Whimpering softly, he found himself babbling –almost incoherently – as he slipped up the pathway to the main entrance. ”Maybe I am a selfish fool; maybe I am not what is good for him. But is it my fault that I love him, that I want him so badly? He wants me too, he does, I am sure. Maybe. Maybe he will still love me. But is that what is best? Yes, yes it is. Are you sure? No.”
He entered the building slowly, head ducked low and eyes wary. Nostrils flared as a tinge of his siblings scent wafted his way. Funk nearly broke down right there and fell to a quivering mass on the floor, but forced himself to keep moving. There’d be a time for that later. Nose slipped towards the ground, quivering slightly as he drew in its favorite scent. He knew it would be better up close, when body heat and the direct source of the scent was directly beneath his nose. The thought made his entire bulk shiver with delight, and though he was so close to finding his lover, he felt as if he couldn’t walk fast enough, as if the distance between them was a thousand miles. Breath wavered as he rounded the corner to the execution room –lying there on the floor in a crumbled mass was his love. A sob of his own threatened to choke him as he slipped in, pausing only to close the door until it was nothing more than an inch of air space between it and the broken frame. ”Lover?” The single word was spoken in a gentle, broken whisper. He wished his voice didn’t crack as he said it, and that it didn’t sound as if he had swallowed sand paper daily for the past week. But in the end, the male decided that it would have to do. Drawing closer to where Punk lay, he began trembling to the point where his teeth chattered. Awkwardly he stood before him, unsure of what to do, or if his love even wanted him any more. Could he handle the latter? His heart constricted, and he fought back a whimper as he spoke once more. ”P-Punk? I missed you unfathomably –as the sun misses the moon. I’ve missed you with all my heart, with all my soul.” He broke off with a shuddering sob, his gaze pleading for forgiveness he was unsure that he deserved.
2,094
--- I'll fix my history soon xD And throw this in my profile eventually. <3
Birthdate: December 27th 06
Gender: Stud.
Alliance: Regular dog [non luperci ]
Species: Canis lupus familiaris [ Kuvasz. ]
Appearance:
To sum up the beast in one word would be easy, as anyone with an eye for the breed could tell you. Most would choose the word “perfect”, or perhaps “flawless”, to describe the brute. Standing in at the exact height of thirty-one inches, and boasting a healthy weight of one hundred fifteen pounds, Gambit is a monster to say the least. The stud is medium boned, soundly muscled, and lacks the bulkiness or lethargy that one would expect from a dog his size. While he is sufficiently equipped with muscle, very little of it can be seen due to his thick pelt. He has a very solid look about him, and is an impressive figure to say the least. Shoulders are muscular and elongated –withers stand higher than his back. The brute’s medium length back is straight, firm and quite broad.
A pure white double coat flows in loose waves across his entire body, ranging in lengths of three to six inches, depending on its placement on his body. From the thick “lions mane” around his neck, which extends to and covers the chest, to the plume of six inch hair that covers his tail, the male has plenty of hair to go around. The waviness varies depending on the area, but when wet his fur has the tendency to twist quite a bit. The coarseness of his outer “guard” coat is of a medium density, while the much finer undercoat is plush and soft to the touch. While this pelt enables him to withstand cold tempters, during the summer he is more susceptible to heat-stroke, despite the fact that he will lose much of this pelt at that time.
Medium bones legs are straight, well muscled and carry him with a fluid, elastic gate. Feet –which are rounded and tightened into “cat” feet– travel close to the ground when Gambit is in motion. Back feet will meet where the front have left off, or sometimes overshoot the mark by a small amount. The segment behind the hip joint is fairly long, producing thick, elongated and strong muscles of the upper thigh –lower thigh is equipped with a reasonable amount of muscle as well. Rear feet are longer than his forefeet, and all toes are tipped with swarthy claws and have a significant amount of jet black padding. Legs and paws are covered in short, sleek hair that is soft to the touch, however there is a fair amount of feathering on the backs of his legs, varying in length depending on where it sits.
Gambit’s head is probably his best feature –he is a handsome male, no doubt, and his facial features only amplify this. His eyes are an almond shape, and are hued the color of a dark, dark chocolate brown. This males the pupil almost indistinguishable from the iris, and gives him a very soulless look, only added to by his nearly constant blank stare. Eye are somewhat slanted, lids are tight and haws do not show. His thick, V shaped ears are slightly rounded at the tip and covered with a fine, silky hair that is relatively short in comparison to the rest of the beasts fur. In the relaxed position, his ears hold their set and do not cast backward. Ears do not protrude above his skull, but rather rest flush or below skull line, depending on his mood.
The skull is elongated but not pointed, and the stop is defined, not abrupt, raising the forehead gently above the plane of the muzzle. Lips have a strong obsidian pigment, without a trace of other color, and completely cover his fangs, without any excess handing over in the form of jowls. His teeth are a dingy, off-white color and snap together in a scissor bite. Unless he is excited or acting in a dominant fashion, his skull is almost always carried at or below shoulder level. Gambit has an odd habit of tilting his head to the side when listening intently or paying close attention to something. Not a wet mouthed dog, by far, the only time he will produce excess drool is when eating or has caught scent of something that is appealing to him. Gambit’s own scent is a strange mixture of the metallic tang of blood, the smell of dry grass.
Accessories aren’t something that he is known for, but he does have a metal spiked collar that rests around his throat, something that was given to him to prevent any would-be flock raiders from killing him by ripping out his throat. It doesn’t cover his entire neck, thus making it easy for him to stoop to drink, but it does cover a significant portion of it the tender flesh.
[ 788. ]
Personality:
Welcome to the nightmare world, where everything is about one thing, and one thing only: Gambit. Nothing in his world of dreams and illusion is more important than him –nothing else matters, or ever will for that matter. Everyone else is unimportant, insignificant and immaterial –literally not real to him. Their only use is to entertain him and provide him with a way to pass the time in this bothersome place. He uses others like an addict uses needles, tossing them aside once their presence no longer needed in his world. There are a wide variety of things that he will use a dog for, depending on age, sex and personality. These things include, but are not limited to: sex, ego stroking, food, companionship, a target of his dominance, aggression or general sadism, as a means to get something he wants, and to have “fun” with. Anyone who comes in contact with the beast should never doubt the fact that he will only hang around them is he wishes to use him for something. If they aren’t useful, aren’t able to fulfill his needs at that moment he will, most of the time, simply ignore them, acting as if they don’t exist. Which is true, mind you.
Because, you see male is afflicted with the notion that he is trapped within a dream world of his own creation; that everything that happens to him is really happening within his mind. No one is real; therefore no one matters but him. He often talks to other dogs as if talking to himself and doesn’t worry about being rude, asinine, outlandish or simply sadistic in his speech. Gambit will talk to them about his plans, what he wishes to do to them, what he thinks of them, and rarely takes anything they have to say into consideration. Why should he listen to a phantasm, a simple figment of his imagination? Because he views life this way, the male is completely without empathy. The thought that the other canines meandering through his mind have feelings and thoughts of their own has never once occurred to him. If told this he wouldn’t believe or grasp this concept, but instead shrug the notion off with relative ease and the thought that they only act realistic because his imagination is controlling them.
Gambit is the definition of dishonest. He will lie to anyone about anything and often lies for the simple fun of it. Gambit often exaggerates or makes up things that he has done to get attention or admiration from other canines. Believing that he should be admired for his greatness, perfection and general, all-around awesomeness, the male is pushed into a spell of violent anger when this expectation of those around him is not met. Temper runs on a short fuse, one that is easily lit and near impossible to put out. Once he is angered he will not likely calm down until the one who caused his anger has been punished in a manner that he considers suitable. Remorse is an alien concept to him, one that he doesn’t comprehend in the slightest. Everything he does to those around him is usually forgotten by the time he finds someone else to use as amusement, though those rare times he keeps a specific event in mind, it is not done out of guilt. Reliving the events gives him a sick pleasure, and he will often think back to acts of brutality he has committed when he is bored. While the pleasure he experiences during recollection isn’t as strong as the initial rush of ecstasy the male experiences when committing the act, it does good to tide him over in between acts of atrocity.
When he wants something, Gambit expects it to be given to him immediately. No ifs, ands or buts about it. He expects the best treatment and automatic compliance with his wishes because he is, in his mind, far superior to any other canine. There is no excuse, in his mind, for him not getting what he deserves. Outbursts of violent anger or cold, calm sadism will occur if his wants –his needs – aren’t met. He is a savage and brutal killer, someone who enjoys toying with his victims, rather than just killing them quickly. The more pain, the more reaction he can get out of them before they die, the more pleasure he gets out of the situation. Even when not killing, the male enjoys causing others pain and discomfort whenever possible. Sexually, the male is rough as possible, and has been known to leave gashes and jagged claw marks on the canines he breeds. Some may label his mannerisms when it comes to sexual things as disgusting, but Gambit finds nothing wrong with the way he acts. In the bisexual persuasion, the male isn’t above raping or sexually assaulting canines of both genders. Personal space means nothing to him, and the male never learns from past mistakes, even the ones that have left him scarred. Even lips being curled or a low growl doesn’t send off warning bells that would warn him of an upcoming attack.
None of the normal warning signs of attack are displayed before the Kuvasz strikes. Lips will not curl, fur will not bristle –nay, not even a growl will form in his throat. Gambit is relatively silent when he attacks, and generally gives absolutely no warning that he is about to do such. A lingering stare may be all the warning you get, while other times his eyes will only lock onto you as he is flinging his bulk at you. Fear is another thing this male lacks and Gambit cares little about what happens to him in a fight. Pain is something that can be easily ignored, or marked off as a pleasurable thing, and it should be known that it would take a horrendous injury to get him to actually cry out. He is attracted to things that bring him pleasure, such as particular tastes, smells and touches, and will seek out such things with reckless abandon. If you have something he wants, consider it his. Even your own body is not really yours, as far as he’s concerned. It is his to do with it what he pleases. Gambit has absolutely no impulse control, none what so ever, and will do anything that pops to mind in the exact moment it does so. This behavior is what makes him toss aside his need to keep himself clean, uninjured and such in favor of a good time. Afterwards he will obsessively groom himself, making sure that he is as well kempt as possible, all things considered.
When it comes down to it, Gambit views himself as a god, no, the god of this world. He believes that his mind is responsible for the creation of everything, even the canines and lupines that roam the world with him, and will happily tell them that he is their creator.
1,164.
History:
The male was born one cold december night, to a pack of dogs who devoted their lives to protecting the now wild herds of sheep that now roamed the wilderness in the absense of humans. From birth Gambit's enemy was the wolf,
--- AIM: Operativepsycho
--- found this place on google
--- RP SAMPLES:
1. The howl was chilling to the bone, enough to make one shudder as the mutilated cry rose into the night sky. It was like some strangely morbid tune, as if calling the devil himself. The nights air was thick, cold; each breath stung not only the nasal passages but the lungs too as if needles pricked them. Blackness surrounded the male as he lifted his head skyward once again, howling to the blood red moon. Rarely had the male seen such a site, but it was one he was not willing to let pass him by without a fight. No, Wrecker would sing his praises to the mood goddess whether it kept up all of Sidewalk or not. If they had a real problem with it the vermin could come take it up with him in the morning, when he was in a bad mood again. Tonight, however, he was in a peaceful mood –or as peaceful as Wrecker could actually get without being a corpse. This king of terror and all things dark and foreboding knew very well the power he had behind his howl, and honestly didn’t give a rat’s ass. If it brought some form of trouble, so be it. He would meet the challenge with a flash of fangs and a snarl enough to make the grim reaper himself flinch.
Icy orbs rested on the moon as the last of his feral cries drifted into the sky. He shifted his weight, causing the old car he had sat on to shift and creak. Thoughts wondered around in his mind until they settled on one topic, specifically the one about his pack. So far he had one female in his gang, Arianna, though that could change as a moments notice. The scent of Ari still lingered on his coat from when he had gone after her for her disrespect. The one thing he would NOT tolerate was disrespect, but some how he let it slide with that female more than he had with any other fae. Wrecker shook his head, sending dust and debris from his coat and into the cool air while tight muscles rippled under his flesh. Coolly he turned around, a large yawn escaping his jaws as he walked along the roof of his truck. With a large bang he leapt to the hood of the car, denting in the metal as a scowl flashed across his face.
Being alpha wasn’t an easy thing; there were so many things to worry about, though the pitbull rarely showed his concern if he felt any at all. His stony heart did not feel normal emotions. Hurt, sadness, love; these things meant nothing to the male. Lust was the closest he got to love, and he rarely felt even that. He was not some sex crazed beast, though he would breed several females for the sake of sex. This is also why breeding wasn’t allowed in his pack unless you had express permission from him. The way he saw it was that all the females were his as soon as he joined the pack. If he wanted to breed with a female he liked, he couldn’t have her being mated to another male now could he? Yes, a selfish bastard was he. Though his heart would never beat for any female in particular, one day he might find a female that he would show kindness to, momentary kindness at best. A simple word, unimportant to most, can show a female he cares about her; though most will miss the kindness he puts forth. And then, like a cool breeze in the middle of a sweltering summer, the humanity is gone, leaving only that gruff exterior for the fae to deal with.
As soon as his paws hit the ground –mud splashing up around his legs- he took off at a brisk walk. His strong, stocky limbs combined with coiled muscles made him better for launching himself at enemies than walking through this thick mud that clung desperately to his coat -still thick from keeping him warm through the winter’s cold. His best feature had to be his eyes, which were a startling, almost alarming blue. Because there was rarely any warmth behind these eyes and because they always focused on their objective with an unblinking intensity, Wreck’s blue eyes seemed to repel more people then they attracted. This was fine for him though, he could care less what people though about his looks. If anything he would use it to his advantage.
Wrecker rarely slept. His reasons for this had never been vocalized to a single living soul, and there for remain unknown. Some say the murder of his father haunts his dreams, along with the few females he had raped. Others he had murdered brutally could be the cause of his nocturnal habits, but he had never once shown regret for these crimes. He simple dismissed the thoughts with a shake of the head. Wreck swung his limbs almost robotically now, his mind elsewhere. Just where was Arianna? Why he was so curious about her whereabouts was unknown to him; she was probably asleep somewhere in the junk anyways. Perhaps it was because she was his only subject at that moment in time. Could it be that he was lonely? He scoffed at the notion. Why did he need the company of a smart mouthed bitch anyway? What he needed was more pack members. Conceivably a like minded male; a guy pal could do the brute some good. But, for now, he had one female. And not even one that he could have some fun with. Well, he could have some ‘fun’ with the female; but the thought really hadn’t occurred to him.
With a large grunt of effort he launched himself onto a pole of junk, climbing to the top and placing himself on top of an old couch; the only other thing in the whole junk yard he was over protective of. Its red surface had long ago been faded by the sun; its cushions molded from the prolonged exposure to the elements. But he really didn’t care you see, for it had a great view of the junkyard despite the fact that it was only about seven feet off the ground. He lay down on the old cushion with a deep sigh of contentment, allowing his fore paws to drape over the edge. Wrecker stared unblinking at the red moon, slowly turning a lighter color as the eclipse started to end.
2.
Funk.
I hope I love you all my life…
Emotion coursed through him like the very crimson blood that ebbed and flowed through his veins. It ran with the gusto of a wolf in pursuit of prey; surged throughout his massive form, from head to toe, like fast-acting venom. He literally buzzed with it –his every nerve ending was alive with what seemed to literally be hundreds of emotions. Panic as the most prominent of these feelings; it made his entire body tremble as if a sudden bout of hypothermia had been thrust upon him due to sub-zero tempters. Ears lay against his skull perfectly, as if attempting to become one with the smooth surface, while his tail took to hanging limply between his quaking limbs. Whilst there was still some form of proud composition about his stance, there was an overly apparent exhaustion that weighted upon him. It was evident in the way his eyes remained half lidded, the way his head wavered from its normally high position and dipped every so often, as if the male was about to fall asleep. Superlative paws were braced apart so as to steady him against the harsh tremors, while overgrown nails bit into the wood floor to the best of their abilities at that time in an attempt to root him further in place. He felt as if a strong gust of wind would be enough to blow him away –as if a steady shove from the weakest of men would break him. Funk had never felt more utterly broken than he had in that exact moment. It was as if his soul had been shredded, literally torn in two by some brutal force of nature. Swallowing hard, he found that he could not force the tightness in his throat to cease. It felt like something was slowly asphyxiating him, tightening around his airways in attempts to stem off the flow of precious oxygen to his lungs. Tears slid down his cheeks, soaking into his alabaster fur and leaving noticeable stains on his coat.
In the pain he was feeling he couldn’t help but feel a sudden welling of joy at the sight of his lover. It mingled with the fear and aches, caressed them with soft, feathery kisses and whispered sweet things in attempts to quell its flame. The burn of the fear was still strong, but this joy, this incommunicable jubilance, was an overpowering thing. Cerulean eyes watched with a deep-set amount of apprehension in their depths as his mirror image rose to his feet, limbs shaking in a precarious manner. He seemed just as frail as Funk was, and the thought caused a pang of guilt to spread across his entire body. Sickness spread through his body, knotting his stomach and forcing him to consider vomiting onto the cold floor that rested to invitingly underneath his paws. He did this; there was no getting around it. From the dark look of despair that was etched onto his lovers face, to the deep crevasse between his ribs –even the tear stains on his muzzle were because of Funk, and he alone. Guilt seemed to swamp him, and his solid stance wavered in a windblown way as his love began to speak. His heart leapt, unceremoniously, into a brisk beat at the sound of Punk’s voice. Ears crept forward from their oppressed state and eagerly began to soak up beautiful lyrics while his entire body gave a shudder of pleasure at the harmonious sound. He met his love’s gaze –stare full of nothing but the adoration he felt for the colossal male. Funk loved this male more than he loved life itself. Gladly he would die for him –merrily plunge off a cliff if it meant that his lover would love to see another day. Feet began to move him forward at a graceless shuffle, but Funk, for once, couldn’t bring himself to care.
Funk always found words easily, but for the first time in his life he was finding that he could not find proper ones to describe what was on his mind. Though various thoughts swam through his brain, he couldn’t seem to catch any of them. They swam through his grasp like fish through a tattered net, and with a soft sigh he gave up the fight and simply let words spill forth, no matter how foolish he sounded. ”Why does it have to be so hard? Why with love must there come pain? Even when I try my hardest not to wound you, irrepressible forces that seem to be the price of my love afflict you. From the brutal hatred the world throws at you, to the moments of pain you experience in my absence, I cause you pain constantly and it breaks me each and every time. Is it worth it, dearest brother? Is my love worth the pain that you undergo? If I could take out all the anguish that this love brings, I would. You know this, correct? If I was able to I would steal all of your hurt, past, present and future, and placed it upon myself instead. I do not wish for you to hurt like this again. But it is inevitable, is it not?” He paused, eyes brimming with tears. “I do not… I do not know that I’m worth that pain, Punk. It hurts me to see the pain that I have either directly or indirectly caused you. I can’t say how sorry I am –even if I apologized every single minute of every single day I would still have vast amounts of immeasurable remorse resting upon my chest. I love you so desperately, as fish love the sodden, foam-capped sea, so why is this not enough to keep away the pain?”
A soft gasp, accompanied by a sob managed to break through his words as he met the gaze of his love. This time tears of relief filled his cobalt-hued gaze. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest, allowing him to breath freely for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Oxygen whooshed in and out of his body, and each easy breath caused his soul to feel considerably lighter. An expression of light-hearted jollity slipped into place upon his façade, seeming to mirror the expression worn by his twin in a flawless manner. Soft worry shadowed his features at the look of concern his brother gave him. Here again was a moment of pain that he had caused his brother. He mulled over this with a frown, expressing wavering between sadness and unease as his sibling slipped forward. Somehow he found humor spilling from his charcoal-hued lips in response to his brother’s statement. ”You should see the other guy,” A lighthearted laugh accompanied this statement, as well as a reassuring smile that tugged at his lips gently. He wanted to let his lover know that he was okay, to reassure him somehow and make the worry recede as quickly as possible. Nostrils flared as Punk pressed his sodden nose against him. Inhaling his sibling’s breath, the male shivered with delight at both the sensation and the look of blatant adoration that swam through Punk’s gaze. ”God, I love you so much.” The lightly breathed words came after a few moments of prolonged silence, and were tinted with love and reverence.
Heavy lids drooped closed as his brother’s cerebrum eased higher than his own. Automatically his skull was allowed to sink to a lower height, giving his brother easy access to the embedded shards of glass that littered the wounds inflicted by the window. Furrowing against the sudden pain, his brow formed deep creases between his eyes. His ears laced smoothly back against his skull and a soft whimper was expelled from his larynx. These moments of weakness were only allowed to be seen by his brother, his saving grace. To others in the world, he was a tough, strong and dominant presence; the very epitome of a street dog. As a leader of the toughest street gang in all of SW, the male was quite literally unable to show such displays of weakness. He trusted his brother completely, though. Trusted him to not take advantage of the moments that he dropped his guard and laid his soul bare. Punk was the one creature on the planet that he had complete and utter faith in. There was a time when he wondered if this faith was blind –if it would wound him in the future. But that was when they were young, foolish, and most certainly not prepared to handle the fear that comes with love. Now he was completely prepared for it. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that his brother would never be to him what the rest of the world was –something to be kept at a distance, something to be feared. Within the safety of the sanctuary that their love had created, tucked away from the rest of the world, no true harm could come to them.
With the finesse of a cat, the male leaned into the touch of his brother’s tongue. Taking a step forward, the male shifted his cerebrum until his muzzle was twisted beneath Punk’s throat, allowing his tongue to lavish the sensitive flesh with tender care. He took a moment to breathe in his twin’s scent, allowing it to fill his lungs before reluctantly pulling his muzzle away. Pain mingled with love would be the theme today, or so it seemed as the male thought as his brother began to carefully eradicate the unwelcome shards that were imbedded into his muzzle. It took a fair amount of willpower to keep his lips from twitching into a grimace of pain, but Funk managed to keep his face carefully void of hurt this time around. Adrenalin spread by his fiercely pumping heart made the pain lessened to a dull ache that slowly weaved its way throughout his body. How gentle Punk could be with him never ceased to amaze the husky mix. While with other dogs he was rough, and often times violent, in the trademark manner of a street thug, with Funk he was as gentle as a lamb. He supposed that this was how the both of them worked –saving the best of themselves for one another and forcing the rest of the world to deal with the leftovers. And while some may view it as a bad thing, Funk found that this was one of the things that kept their relationship and bond strong. You’d be hard pressed to find a pair closer than the two that stood within the confines of the execution room, their bodies pressed close and mouths working over each other with delicate care.
As Punk’s tongue slid along his muzzle Funk ventured to become more playful, allowing his own tongue to dart out and slide against the appendage as it lingered along his lips. Whining complainingly at the loss of contact, Funk watched as his brother stepped back and then pressed his muzzle to the hollow of his throat. The sensation of his breath fanning out against the flesh that resided beneath his obsidian coat caused a tremor to sprint down his spine. Growling throatily, the male twisted his cranium slightly to the side and began nibbling softly on his lover’s neck and shoulder region. He paused only as the sensation of pain in his chest grew sharply –his breath hitched into Punk’s pelt, and he allowed his jaws to fall slack in fear of biting his love too hard. Moving in sync with his brother, the male took a step back, giving him room to life his skull higher and press their cheeks together. The words that slipped into his ear made him tremble with delight. All worry that he had felt upon returning was now completely washed away, leaving only love and want in its wake. ”We were made for each other, my love. Do not ever let the world tell you any different.” Breathing out soft, short breaths brought on by his racing heart, the male watched as the hair along his sibling’s neck ruffled in response. As a smile crept onto Punk’s muzzle, a matching one slowly slid onto Funk’s façade, giving the duo matching looks of mirth as Punk twisted to press his ear against his sibling’s throat. Standing very still, Funk felt tears of euphoria pricking at his eyes. Blinking gently, he leaned into the touch of his sibling with slight pressure.
Loss of contact was not something that the male could handle at that moment. He felt that Punk was the only thing holding him together, and removing him from the equation would cause him to break. That being said, Funk was careful to push himself against Punk as he slid around to his flank so as to make sure that contact with his love was not broken. The location of the laceration was dangerously close to vital areas, and as the soothing tongue of his sibling skid across the afflicted area he found himself thinking of just how lucky he was. What if he hadn’t made it through the window alive? What if a shard of glass had sliced open something vital, causing him to bleed out in the parking lot or on the way home? Would Punk have been able to survive without him? Casting a glance at his love, he swallowed hard as the answer flitted through his mind. ”Thank whatever god, He thought with a sigh, eyes latching onto the contours of his sibling’s body. ”That, for his sake, no harm came to me. God I love him…” Ears pricked softly at the whimpers that were produced by Punk, but slid to full attention at the softly murmured words that escaped from his powerful jaws. The statement, quite frankly, caused the male to melt, and immediately sent his thoughts spiraling back to when they had first made the promise to one another.
Too often had he felt this raw pain in his chest –too often had he felt as if he was going to die. Trembling the nearly six month old padded through the back streets of Sidewalk, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He was trying to be strong, trying not to fall apart. Because falling apart meant that he would not be able to support Punk. Carrying around shattered pieces of him would only burden his sibling further than he already was. He had seen changes in his brother recently; with their bond, how could he not? And while the other male tried to shrug it off as nothing, Funk couldn’t help but think that something may have been wrong. So when his brother had disappeared the day before he began to fear the worse. Lips peeled back in a disgusted grimace as the words of his father rang through his head once more. “Finally ran off on ya’, Funk. What else didja’ expect from ‘em?” It couldn’t be true. His Punk –the very reason why he drew breath each day– would never leave him. Not then, not ever. Blinking hard to clear his vision, the male continued onward, searching for his brother and squinting into the rising sun. Ears laced back against his skull, and his tail dipped to brush against his hind legs as his posture took over a more submissive look. He had been searching for hours, and was exhausted already. What if his brother didn’t come back? Would he really be able to live without his other half?
Just as he was beginning to give up hope a fresh scent came to him on the wind, causing his head to snap up. Glancing around, the young male found himself moving faster. His gate took on more animation than the previous dull shuffle that he had been drudging around with and his eyes seemed to lose their dreary haze as he sprinted off the beaten path and into the tall grass. Height was an advantage here, and in the distance he could see the bobbing form of another black and white canine, its blue eyes fixated upon his racing form. Nearer they drew, looks of elation plastered across their matching muzzles. Funk couldn’t help but notice the thing that was clenched in his twin’s jaws, but didn’t have much time to think about exactly what it was or why it was there. The other canine picked up its pace as well, and, after dropping the contents of his jaws into the grass below him, slammed directly into Funk, sending him tumbling through the tall grass. A jubilant whimper tumbled from his maw as his tongue darted out across the flesh of his brothers throat. Laughing, he shoved his brother back slightly, nipping at his muzzle and barking softly. ”Where have you been!?” Breathless, Punk tilted his head to the side, allowing the full weight of his body to sag onto his sibling’s lithe form. ”Places?” Was the reply to his question. A frown formed on Funk’s features, and he strained to peek past his siblings hulking form. Deliberately, and with a smirk I might add, Punk leaned directly into the line of Funk’s vision, causing the pinned male’s gaze to lock directly onto him. ”Aye, Funk.”
Snorting, Funk wiggled and kicked, attempting to get free and see just what his sibling was carrying. Resistance was half-hearted though, for Funk didn’t really want to break free of his sibling’s touch. Leaning down, Punk licked and nibbled along his throat, pausing here and there to let his gaze shift up to Funk’s face, judging him for reaction. Instantaneously, the trapped canine was giggling and squirming beneath the weight of his brother, causing the male who at that time topped to laugh softly against his skin. The feeling enticed more laughter from Funk, who squealed and nipped at his brother’s face playfully after a few more moments. They played like this from some time, enjoying each other’s company after their night of separation. Finally the play died down somewhat, and through hilarity he managed to spit out a question at his sibling. ”What were you carrying, Punk?” A look of embarrassment flashed across Punk’s features, causing his twin to stare at him in a thoroughly puzzled manner. ”What’s wrong?” Removing himself from Funk, the husky mix turned and dashed briskly towards where he had come from, using his body to shield the thing from view. Tugging himself to his feet, Funk took a few steps forward, and then canted his cranium to the side, façade livid with curiosity. His mirror image even went so far as to walk backwards until he was nearer before turning around and shoving a brown and white thing into his face. Blinking and taking a step back, Funk took a few moments to examine it. It was cute, mostly brown with a white chin and face, a bow around it’s neck and a pair of black eyes that stared back at him soullessly.
”It is adorable, Punk. What is it?” Shuffling slightly, Punk cast his gaze towards the ground and began to examine it as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. ”An otter, I believe.” He grumbled softly, placing it on the ground before his twin. His ears slicked back against his skull in awkwardness, and he took a step back, not daring to meet Funk’s gaze just yet. ”If you don’t like it, I won’t mind, I promise. I was just thinkin’ that, well, because it’s Valentines Day and all, that you would maybe consider…” He paused, struggling for words beneath the carefully blank stare of Funk. ”You know, being my valentine?” Finally their eyes met, and Punk offered his sibling a weak smile in attempts to appear somewhat dignified. After a moment realization hit Funk, and he realized what he was being asked. ”Oh,” Other words escaped him at that moment as he examined the little otter. He had only heard of Valentines Day, and knew relatively little about it. Only that you asked the one you loved to be your valentine, and it was appropriate to give them a gift. Punk’s features fell, and he began to step back, hurt sliding across his features before he brought his emotions in check. His heart sinking, Funk quickly began to speak, his eyes locking onto his sibling’s own stare to convey the truthfulness of his words to him. ”Oh, Punk. Do not be sad, please. I would love, more than anything, to be your valentine. Really I would. I just did not get you anything, and therefore I believe that I am not the best choice for a valentine.”
Growling, Punk slipped forward, pressing his nose against his siblings and staring harshly. ”Don’t you be spittin’ that shit at me, Funk. You ain’t nothin’ but perfect, you hear?” Dropping his gaze, Funk took to staring at Punk’s muzzle, eyeing the colors and the way the fine hairs rested along its length. Nodding in response to the statement, he allowed his tongue to slip out and swipe over the tip of Punk’s nose in an apologetic manner. He hated making Punk cross with him, and found that, at that moment, he felt very small. Punk had always been good to him, and despite how young they were the two of them were closer than most canines that had been together for years. Feeling compelled to give his brother something, even if it wasn’t something he could have physically, Funk began to attempt to build up his courage. Swallowing hard, he forced words to spill from his mouth, despite how tight his throat felt. ”Punk? If I asked you to stay with me forever, would you?” Disarmed by the question, Punk simply stared at him for a moment, before nodding briskly. ”Of course, Funk.” He whispered, slipping forward and pressing his mass against his twins. ”So, together forever?” Whispered Funk, his body trembling faintly. Nodding, his sibling licked his muzzle softly, before replying with softly murmured words of his own. ”Together forever.”
”I will be with you until the end of time, my brother. When the stars begin to fade and the sun goes out in a blaze of glory, no matter what I will still be by your side.” A firm nod bobbed his skull as his brother came around to face him once more. A faint smile slipped into place on his maw as their noses were pressed against each other. Staring lovingly into his eyes, Funk couldn’t help but think that he was the luckiest dog in the world. He had the most amazing mate, whether the world liked to admit it or not, and that mate loved him with all his heart. Head tilted curiously as Punk dropped to the ground and began licking up his forelimb. A soft whine fell from his muzzle, and the Dane mix found himself dipping his skull lower to as to brush his tongue across his lover’s skull. Anticipation knotted his stomach as Punk skidded beneath him, his tongue and mouth working along the sensitive flesh of his belly. A tingle ran along his spine, delicately licking at his nerves with the heat of fire and the gentle passion of a soft caress. His legs trembled, seeming to turn to gelatinous goo beneath him in a manner that made his stance waver. Back arched slightly, an involuntary response that was accompanied by a short jerking of his hips. A rasping pant was expelled from his jaws, which were only unclenched to allow the harsh puffs of air to be expelled. The sounds of Punk’s soft whimpering echoed throughout the empty room, assaulting his senses and further making his brains turn to mush. He couldn’t think straight, let alone get up the sense to do anything but what instinct told him to do. His tongue darted out as his skull dipped low and ran along his love’s hips, smoothing out the fur with a delicate touch.
Lifting a forepaw, he teased it along Punk’s flank, allowing his nails to scrape lightly against the flesh and giving a low growl of pleasure at the attention his twin was paying to his underbelly. He moved suddenly, stepping away from his position on top of his twin and turning around so that he faced him. Gazing down at his lover, Funk allowed a grin to sweep across his maw, twisting his lips at the edges in a way that signaled good times to come. Nose moved downwards along the rivets of Punk’s spine until Funk’s muzzle was directly on his scruff. Tongue caressed the area affectionately, but the male made no motions to grasp it within his jaws. Not yet at least. Instead he drew back a step, nudging his lover with his nose and taking the opportunity to draw in his scent once more. It was a thing he could never get enough of –an addiction for which there was no escape from. Applying slight pressure, he waited until his brother had rolled over to continue with his affections. He began at his muzzle, licking softly down the length of it while allowing his tongue to linger upon the blackened lips of his soul-mate. Nibbling softly along his jaw line, Funk stopped at the hollow of his throat, inhaling for a moment before parting his jaws and biting on the flesh in a manner that was sure to leave a red mark beneath his fur. Growling, he then smoothed over the affected area with a soft lick before continuing down his chest. Nibbling and licking, the Husky mix worked his way along slowly until he reached Punk’s belly.
Biting gently down one side and up the inside of his hind leg, Funk was careful to avoid what would soon become the main focus of his affections. He paused, turning his skull slightly to as to judge Punk’s reaction thus far, and then moved his mouth over what resided directly in the middle of his sibling’s stomach. Jaws slid open, allowing his hot breath to fan directly across the sensitive flesh before he lowered his mouth to it. Tongue slid lightly along the length of it, before slipping around the tip, attempting to tease a reaction out of his brother, audible or not. Without moving his mouth from the designated area of assault, Funk’s teeth moved tenderly down towards his hind end, allowing his tongue to swipe out here and there in an attempt to smooth out the fur and sooth the area that he was likely bothering with his concentrated attention. Working back up towards his rib cage once more, the male paused and took in the scent of his brother, shuddering slightly as a haze of want overcame him. Whining and trembling, the male withdrew enough to pace up towards his siblings front end, where he would meet his gaze and fix him with a questioning stare. Muzzle slipped to his ear, whispering softly into it, a hint of a devious smile touching his lips. ”I am yours. Care to prove it?”
4,518
3.
Funk.
this is our ungodly hour
”Come on, boy. You gotta eat.” The voice was nothing more than a dull hum in his ears, something that registered no more than the sound of his own, wheezing breath as it slowly slipped in and out of his nostrils. Pulsating and all-consuming, the pain that gripped his entire body was not one brought on by physical ailment, but by the absence of his other half, his brother, Punk. He had long ago given up attempting to escape; after days of wailing and hurling his massive form against the glass door that stood between him and his freedom, his lover, he found that, no matter what he did, escape from this captivity was an impossible thing. Lying limply against the cold cement, eyes staring listlessly out past the human that stood just outside the door, the male seemed to be lifeless at best. His sides –which at that time flaunted profound groves between each of his ribs – barely moved as he robotically drew in puffs of air and then expelled them in a timely fashion, causing the glass that rested against his chafed nostrils to cloud slightly. ”Look, you’ll die if you keep this up.” An ebonite ear flicked slightly at the statement. It was an automatic response, as if the male was dismissing a fly that had nothing better to do than buzz around his ear. Could the human simply not let him die in peace?
Wearily, Funk let his black lids slip closed, shielding his beautiful, cerulean eyes from the bright lights and the sight of other canines and humans as they came and went. A deep sough slipped from his chest and the male found himself wishing that it could be his last breath, the one that allowed him to pass onto the next life. Perhaps there he could await his arrival, and, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have found another to love. A whimper clawed out of his throat and echoed off the barren walls. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Punk as the sound assaulted his ears in triplicate. It reminded him, for some odd reason, of the day that Jasper joined the SSG. ”Please do not be cross with me,” He flinched harshly as the voice echoed through his skull. It resonated around through the various nooks and crannies, causing his sorrow to intensify with each painful repetition. Scrunching his features in a pained manner, he began to concentrate on the frenzied beating of his heart in a feeble attempt to slow it with his mind. The steady drum of it beat against his rib cage, something that it had hardly stopped doing since his incarceration, and Funk couldn’t help but wish it would just be still. Each beat gave his head an anguishing throb, just as each breath that was sucked into his chest caused a burning sensation within his diaphragm. It hurt so much, this existing without his other half. He would rather have all of his limbs cut off, have his tongue carved out of his maw, than have to face this pain for another day.
Sleep attempted to take a hold on him, to shove him down into the abysmal confines of his mind, but a sudden whoosh of air brought him to full consciousness. The door had began to swing open slightly, bumping into his nose and causing him jerk awake. He shuffled up onto his haunches, bleary eyed and dazed by the sudden contact. Aside from the occasional duo of men that showed up to clean his cage, none were brave enough to enter the monstrous mutt’s lair. Closing his eyes against the sudden blackness that consumed his vision, the male felt himself wobbling precariously on unsteady legs –when was the last time he had moved? Putting serious thought into the question, Funk found himself thinking that it had to have been at least twelve hours. By that time the human had stepped in awkwardly, stooping low and offering his hand for him to sniff. ”Listen, I don’t wanna hurt you, Buddy.” A low grumble vibrated his throat, though it was mutilated and raw from the near constant barking he had been doing over the past six days. Buddy. It was the stupid name he had been christened with by some blonde with a bad perm. Someone who clearly was as dumb as she looked. All at once something seemed to snap inside the dog, as he sat there trembling and fighting back nausea. His pelt began to bristle dangerously along his spine, but this fact went unnoticed by the inexperienced handler.
Eyes snapped open, directing a hateful stare towards the human as a snarl was purged from the Dane mix’s larynx. ”Easy, B-“ The biped had no time to finish the sentence before Funk was lunging at him, jaws snapping at his face with a loud clap. Screaming as teeth sank into the bridge of his nose and lower lip, the human stumbled backwards, his back hitting the door frame with a solid thunk. Once blood had been drawn Funk released his grip and skittered forward. The human left enough space between him and the door for Funk to force his way through, and the Dane intended on taking full advantage of this. Vaulting forward, he ended up slamming his shoulder into the human’s, knocking him out into the hall half way in his attempt at escape. Overgrown nails clacked on the floor while oversized paws fought for grip. For a few moments the male quite resembled the more famous “Scooby Doo” as he scrambled in one place for quite some time. Slipping, he slammed into a wall head first, and couldn’t help but think that the floors were made to thwart large escapees. Finally he got his legs beneath him and barreled down the hall, earning barks of both encouragement and resentment from the surrounding mongrels. Reaching the slightly ajar door at the end, he crashed into it, causing it to fling open into yet another room.
The waiting room
Eyes glanced around at the people in the room, who seemed to be staring at him just as intently at him as he was at them. ”Fuck.” He rasped softly, ears pinning back against his skull. There seemed to be no real escape from this place. No doors that would open for him, no people that would willingly allow him to leave. He could see the street clearly through the window that sat behind the small row of chairs, and stared longingly at it for a moment before an idea struck him. ”Mommy, look at the dog!” Sprinting forward at top speed, the male used what strength he had left to leap at the window. His head slammed into it first, followed by the full weight of his body, and shattered out one of the frames, sending him tumbling out into the bushes below. Screams from inside were nothing more than background noise to the steady thrumming of his pulse in his ears. Though he only remained still for a few moments, the male found himself lost in a world of complete and utter blackness. Had he taken out his sight by mistake? Would he never be able to lay eyes on his beloved Punk again? Blinking hard, he found that, after a few seconds, dots and splashes of color allowed him partial view of the world, and that after more blinking and a good shake of his head, more vision was returning to him.
The scent of blood was heavy on the air but it took the ebonite male a few moments of laying there to realize that the blood was his own. Glass shredded his chest, cut up his muzzle and forehead, and left a nasty gash on his hind leg. Pain ripped through his body in an agonizing wave, but it was overcome shortly there after by the startling conclusion that he was almost completely free. Struggling to right himself, Funk lurched onto all fours and then took off at a slinking and slightly offset gate, just as the office door was thrown open and a group of humans piled out. His head was dipped to the side, an ear cocked at an awkward angle that made it look as if he was listening intently to the ground as he ran. Truth be told he had knocked himself for a loop, and was struggling to see straight as he ran, instinctively, towards home. He was far into the Uptown, and this fact alone made him nervous. Out of his element, his ghetto, the Hardcore felt venerable and lost, especially without his lover. Cars buzzed past as he hit the streets, horns honking in an attempt to steer him clear of the road. Ducking his head, Funk continued his scramble across the haphazard motorway, completely disregarding what may happen to him if one of the cars were to collide with his massive form. One truck narrowly missed him and just clipped his tail as he desperately scrambled onto the sidewalk.
It was going to be a long day.
Some odd hours later, the male was back on his home turf. His paws pressed against the blacktop in a heavy, downtrodden tune that only seemed to emphasize his exhaustion. While his tail hung limply between his rear legs, his head was just above his shoulders –even when broken, the male refused to let his “family” see him in a submissive state. His pace picked up to a trudging trot, a little more pep entering his step as the Asylum came into view. Perhaps his Punk would forgive him for his absence, if he hadn’t already moved on. A painful though struck him: what if that was for the best? Many times he had thought that he was keeping his love from leading a normal life, one where he could live openly with the one he loved, raise a family and just be free from all this mess. Was it really fair to keep him in something like this, something that the rest of the world saw as wrong? Whimpering softly, he found himself babbling –almost incoherently – as he slipped up the pathway to the main entrance. ”Maybe I am a selfish fool; maybe I am not what is good for him. But is it my fault that I love him, that I want him so badly? He wants me too, he does, I am sure. Maybe. Maybe he will still love me. But is that what is best? Yes, yes it is. Are you sure? No.”
He entered the building slowly, head ducked low and eyes wary. Nostrils flared as a tinge of his siblings scent wafted his way. Funk nearly broke down right there and fell to a quivering mass on the floor, but forced himself to keep moving. There’d be a time for that later. Nose slipped towards the ground, quivering slightly as he drew in its favorite scent. He knew it would be better up close, when body heat and the direct source of the scent was directly beneath his nose. The thought made his entire bulk shiver with delight, and though he was so close to finding his lover, he felt as if he couldn’t walk fast enough, as if the distance between them was a thousand miles. Breath wavered as he rounded the corner to the execution room –lying there on the floor in a crumbled mass was his love. A sob of his own threatened to choke him as he slipped in, pausing only to close the door until it was nothing more than an inch of air space between it and the broken frame. ”Lover?” The single word was spoken in a gentle, broken whisper. He wished his voice didn’t crack as he said it, and that it didn’t sound as if he had swallowed sand paper daily for the past week. But in the end, the male decided that it would have to do. Drawing closer to where Punk lay, he began trembling to the point where his teeth chattered. Awkwardly he stood before him, unsure of what to do, or if his love even wanted him any more. Could he handle the latter? His heart constricted, and he fought back a whimper as he spoke once more. ”P-Punk? I missed you unfathomably –as the sun misses the moon. I’ve missed you with all my heart, with all my soul.” He broke off with a shuddering sob, his gaze pleading for forgiveness he was unsure that he deserved.
2,094
--- I'll fix my history soon xD And throw this in my profile eventually. <3
