Wesley.
Wesley is my secondary fursona. He's based off of my first FooPet, a virtual and interactive pet on a website that I was previously very active on. He's my baby boy, and I love him very much. He's a funny and ever-changing character to be around, so I hope you fall in love with his personality as much as I already have. ;u; He's my basis for my username and my nicknames, and so he means a lot to me. He will forever remain a representation of myself. <3
Also, he is asexual. (: He was previously bred on FooPets and had a few children, though the only one I find memorable is Wesley Jr. x3 He will not breed in the future, however, and likely will not ever have a girlfriend or mate. This is his original FooPets picture and version. c: <3
Also, he is asexual. (: He was previously bred on FooPets and had a few children, though the only one I find memorable is Wesley Jr. x3 He will not breed in the future, however, and likely will not ever have a girlfriend or mate. This is his original FooPets picture and version. c: <3
- Personality: Wesley's a little bit of an asexual grump. He's the bump on the log. He's the tree stump next to the beautiful flourishing meadow. He's... the needle in the haystack? No, that's not right. He's not quite the kind of person that you'd be searching for. He's lazy and prideful, and he's great at procrastinating. He doesn't clean up for many people or things, except for the occasional outing or two, and he doesn't often leave his house. He works from home, on the internet in fact, which makes his life so much easier. The only thing that he ever feels is important enough to get him on his feet is sports. He loves taking part in and watching sports; he's quite the little athlete. He plays basketball, football, and baseball, and he watches all three sports year-round. Doing sports keeps him in good shape. He's a die-hard Indiana Hoosiers fan and a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. He's one of those people that watches the Superbowl each year for the FOOTBALL, not for the commercials. He's also a huge fan of the Olympics.
Wesley doesn't adjust well to change. He likes things to go his own way. If he doesn't control his schedule, he's bound not to get things done. He doesn't take orders. He isn't a slave or a robot.
Wesley admits to no weaknesses. Wesley has a killer right throwing arm. He's incredibly strong at pushing and throwing things. He has a lot of confidence in himself. He does have some quirks, though. Wesley has a weak force for pulling. He's unable to do pullups/chinups. He can be known as a bossy grouch, so that's definitely his weakest mental trait. His social skills... lack to say the least.
- Background Overview: Wesley's been a loner for as long as anyone can remember. He doesn't socialize with anyone except for close friend's characters and fursonas, and of course Liberty and I. He was born into a family as an only child with no siblings or pets. He grew up in Italy and was born relatively poor. Stealing scraps and avoiding the dog catcher were the highlights of his first few years of life, and he had to learn to fend for himself. Often getting into trouble, a harsh beginning to his life is probably what left to his present grumpiness. Nowadays, he lives in a well-populated area, but he doesn't really bond with anyone around him. He takes all school/classes online, so he doesn't leave the comfort of his home much. He lives in a large home, but he fills it with tons of clutter that really only makes it suitable for one person. He works as a website designer and does some writing on the side, so he's very entertained by his many electronic devices.
Slowly, I walked through the streets of Italy. No matter how slowly I walked though, it seemed as if everything happened so quickly around me. The crowd. The noise. It was so distracting, yet I lifted my head as my body picked one thing out from the crowd - a scent - something amazing. The bread from the small little corner store smelled of yeast and as I looked at my paws, I realized how ravaged and starving I was. I seemed like nothing to the crowd of people that walked with a strut through the street. They all had a purpose, a set goal of where they wanted to go and why. I longed to be as busy as them, to understand what it was like to have meaning. But it was just so hard! It was like being in a caste system - my mother was no one; my father a traitor. My only destiny was to be like them, and it was as if the punishment of life had been decided for me already. I couldn't be who I wanted to be - only the scruffy stray of a big city, the most inferior of the other mutts, the one that was rejected even from such a bakery; for I was given not a crumb of bread.
I walked down the streets and turned at the corner; there is was, the place that sent my senses thriving, made my tongue itch to put itself on just a lick of the salt off of one of their finest pretzel knots. I lifted my nose as my paws united with the ground and sniffed the air again. There was no mistaking that this was the place. Beside the door stood a man with a tall chef's hat, holding a bell, handing out samples. A young girl of five or so walked up to him, her stubby legs nearly stumbling all over themselves. The man bent over with a kind smile - A smile I would soon learn was fake - and she grabbed a biscotti off of the plate, crunching it between her teeth with a satisfied smile. The man tipped his hat towards her, but he was a rich man, and such were never to be trusted.
Slowly, I walked up to the man. I was cautious around humans, you never knew who or what was out to get you. I stopped at his feet as he wiggled his hat back onto his head and I sat, looking up at him with the most pitiful eyes I could manage - it hurt to act helpless. I was a strong and independent stray. I didn't need the others that only hated me. He pretended I wasn't there as I let my thoughts drift back to the center of the street and I wagged my tail, alert and ready for anything to come at me. I jumped, knocking the plate from his hand. I couldn't stand being ignored - I never did grow used to it when the other dogs had refused to listen to me. Few had the kindness and compassion in their hearts that they liked to believe that they possessed. But I was no different; I wasn't the fairest or the kindness, and my only focus now was to get that bread. It was my only hope; the uphold of my body depended solely on my getting food.
“You mangy mutt!” yelled the chef, he kicked me in my leg and I collapsed to the ground with a yelp. I knew I was stronger than this, and I stood, biting his pant leg and grabbing the hard bread biscotti between my canine teeth. Somewhere overhead a whistle blew, strong and forceful, and I imagined the slobber of a human shooting out of the other end along with the noise that nearly burst my delicate eardrums. "Yes! The Catcher!" yelled the chef, stomping his feet wildly on the ground. It seemed as if there was a small natural disaster, a ground-cracking earth quake, just with his jumps and shouts. He wasn't the most healthy of all men, as you can suspect that he snuck pieces of his own baked delights day to day, and his rolls were no match for my agility and lack of weight. The Catcher, however, was another story. He had one of those awful machines... those... those monsters! They breathed black smoke and honked with the slam of a button. They were operated by the Catcher, who was equipped not only with The Monster, but with his net, stronger than that of the little girls that caught the delicate butterflies, and The Cage, a large back-compartment that was contained inside of The Monster. With the blast of a horn after the screech of a whistle, it was a sure sign that today would be my last. Still, a spark of hope ignited with love for my life in my heart, and I took off, tireless, full of the adrenaline of saving myself. I ran as quickly as my legs could take me, because at this rate, I was not one for taking a gamble at my freedom. The Monster rolled loyal to his master on its high wheels behind me, but the streets were crowded, and a large machine was not allowed to bowl citizens over in such a way that I was.
And so, I left the cruel life of a city stray back behind long ago when I ran away, turning not once to look back. I almost felt as though there was a disturbance in the garden that I had taken refuge in, though. It seemed as if today was a popular day for running away, however, because to my utter both delight and disappointment, I met the first dog with a bit of good in his heart that nearly made me become interdependent, taking a particular like to one other than myself. And that, my friends, was Simba.
- Theme Song: None
Sexual Orientation: Asexual
And of course he has art below. c: