FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

You know how one of the most common icebreakers is to ask people what superpower they'd like to have? I swear everyone chooses one of these four things: invisibility, flight, mind reading, or x-ray vision. (By the way, if you choose that last one, I think you'd better delete your search history). For a long time, though, I limited myself to these four options as well. As someone whose social battery is directly correlated to the length of their Spotify playlist, invisibility sounded pretty cool. Sometimes the music wasn't enough to drown out a professor or nagging classmate's voice. If I were invisible, then I wouldn't need to worry about people pestering me.

Recently, however, I've come up with a novel idea that I believe should be added to this superpower pantheon: the ability to be photogenic. It's probably not a surprise to hear that I don't like having my photo taken. In fact, I detest cameras with every fiber of my being. Every time someone tells me to 'say cheese,' the tacky smile I force onto my face makes me want to crawl out of my skin. That's why I don't take selfies. I'm not falling into the same voyeuristic wormhole everyone seems happy to dive into.

The effect of this aversion is that it looks like a witch has placed a curse on me in every photo I appear in. This blight plagued my existence before I could form memories or even simple words. I've seen the baby photos. My mother had to stop me from throwing them in the fireplace and sending their ashes to Valhalla. By the time family and school photos came around, I found my place hiding behind the taller kids in the back. I don't know how a witch with such a petty temperament took special interest in me of all people, but it's a burden I carry every day. I can barely look at myself as I toss my school ID over to Fox.

“You look fine, what are you talking about?" he muses, a slight smile peeking through his stony exterior. Inspecting the card, the feline carefully flips it over a few times before running a finger over the bold, red lettering designating my vampire status. It's almost as if he's reading braille. But it's the way he handles the card, as if it's the most important thing in the world, that causes me to blush.

“You don't have to lie," I respond, turning away so he doesn't see my face. My reward for displaying such coyness is one of Fox's trademark stares. The stare that burrows under your skin and unnerves you for hours after your interaction. It has rattled even the most seasoned professors, causing them to reevaluate their life choices. This is Fox's superpower. Isn't he adorable?

“I know, I know," I lament as he delicately hands me the card back. “No self-deprecation. I'm working on it!" That seems to sate him for now as his face returns to his neutral expression of 'annoyed'.

“I didn't know you had two of these," he says, watching as I lay both the IDs on the bed.

“Yeah, it's like a safety thing. You know how people are."

He nods. “Makes sense."

Then we pour over the two cards like archaeologists discovering ancient texts. Looking for information that updates our understanding of the historical canon, Fox seems particularly fascinated by the differences between the two IDs. The background of dancing shapes behind our school's crest is even slightly different, another signifier of our otherness. As I stare at the normal ID, part of me wonders what my life would be like without vampirism. A life free from these troublesome callings that dictate my movements through instinct rather than logic, but would that really be me? Even with my senses dulled from our excitement last night, I smell him on everything. His bedsheets, pillows, desk, the blood running through his veins. Everywhere I go, I am inundated with Fox. He's taken up permanent residency in my mind and body and I don't know how to evict him.

I shake the thought out of my head as Fox slips off the bed and puts on his coat. “Ready for dinner then?" he calls while stuffing a pair of leather gloves over his paws. I nod and continue to watch him get ready. Europeans wear the silliest things. It's practically negative outside and he has on the flimsiest looking coat imaginable. It's one of those long trench coat looking things you see detectives wear in old movies. It couldn't be that warm. Not compared to my hulking winter coat anyway.

We make our way outside, our shoes crunching through the light snow. It's not that far from campus. That was one of our requirements when choosing an apartment for ourselves. Both of us are paradoxical creatures. Too lazy to cook, but lovers of long walks in the middle of winter and rigorous college courses. Well, at least Fox is. The uni probably loves us; not many seniors keep their meal plans.

I watch his paws as we walk. One of them grips his messenger bag tightly while the other glides through the air by his side. I could just grab it and blame vampire hormones, but that won't help my cause. Anything to take my mind off of the fact that today is the first time I'm drinking blood in front of him. Besides… you know. We've had dinner together before, but I poked at my food like a spoiled child who refuses to eat his vegetables. There's only so much work 'I'm not hungry' can do after a while, but it just all tastes like rubber. Normal food that is. And I'm not a huge fan of eating tires.

Suddenly, a leathered warmth envelops my paw. Oh.

-o-

The dining hall is a swarm of shuffling feet and shrieking students. I make sure to crank my music up to unsafe levels as we look for a table. Luckily for us, there's an open one in the back. It's a little wobbly and covered in crumbs and used napkins, but it's open.

Marking it with our bags and coats, we make our way to the home line and I slowly turn the music down. I guess this is where people go to unwind, but why can't they find a lounge somewhere? There are plenty of nice places on campus. Then again, if these students were occupying those spaces, I'd be out of places to relax. There is just no winning here.

As we make it to the front of the line, my favorite opposum comes into view. Her large stature might be intimidating to some, but Susan is practically harmless. She works the graveyard shifts a lot so we talk all the time. That's when the majority of vampires come to get their dinner. It's nice and somewhat quieter if you show up around dawn. Any earlier than that and you run the risk of running into bands of marauding, drunk frat kids that think vampires are a zoo attraction. She knows the drill regarding Fox, too, pretending I'm normal and all that. But today…

“Why hello there, sweetie. Getting dinner with your boyfriend again?" Susan comments.

I take everything nice I said about her back. Devilish woman, she knows what she's doing. That southern twang and warm smile might fool everyone else, but it won't fool me! In fact, her overly welcoming demeanor is the perfect distraction from the source of today's mystery meat. The sign says chicken, but I'm not buying that. The meat isn't even white. For a second, another smell infiltrates my nostrils and makes me queasy. I don't know how people eat this stuff.

“He's not my," I say reflexively before looking back at Fox. As per usual, his resting face is that of slight annoyance. This time, there's a bit more impatience infused into it, and I suddenly remember that there's a line.

“Well, some things have changed," I continue. Fishing around in my pocket, I pull out my vampire ID and sheepishly show it to Susan; her eyes widen in surprise. The heavy-set opossum looks around, then leans in conspiratorially.

“I'll get you something from the kitchen," she whispers. “Wait by the door." Nodding, I start to walk away, trying not to bring too much attention to myself. But there's only so much I can do when I didn't get anything to eat, and it looked like Susan and I were planning some secret operation.

“And Cali?" I freeze mid walk, she's never used my name before. Turning around, I see that same warm smile on her face. “I'm proud of you!" And with that, she hurries off into the kitchen, another employee taking her spot on the line. Trying to act tough never suited me. A smile will force itself onto my face, and I end up looking like someone about to unravel, a deranged mixture of stoicism and glee. My cheeks and ears are probably glowing red like Rudolph's nose right now, so this time I don't try to hide the little skip in my step as I make my way to the kitchen entrance. Fox joins me right after.

“What was that about?" he asks, holding a plate full of mystery meat, mashed potatoes, and assembled vegetables.

“She works the late shift a lot," I reply. “We talk." That brings a smile to his face.

“Ah."

It isn't long before Susan brings out a tray with some of my favorite goodies on it. I know there isn't actually blood in rare steak, but it's fun seeing the juices spill out. I get to pretend like I'm devouring an animal. Just completely let loose and let the vampire take over, you know? It's one of those rare normal foods I enjoy eating. When it comes to blood, most of the vampires that I've seen over the years get theirs in cups. I always enjoyed drinking it straight from the bag though. It's easier to know exactly what I'm drinking that way. Susan gives us a big wave before sending us off to our table, which thankfully hasn't been pilfered by the pirates that roam around here.

It's only once we sit down that I realize what I'm about to do. Fox's plate across the table isn't appetizing, sure, but it's normal. I'm here with a piece of steak so rare that the cow could probably still talk to me and a bag of blood shipped straight from the blood bank. People were staring as we walked back to our seats. I saw their judging, snickering eyes. A few of them actually laughed.

An itch starts to run up my neck, and my breath quickens. The sound of chattering students, clinking silverware, and chair legs scratching against the floor lodges itself in my ear canal. It's impossible to find my way through the thick static that settles in my brain. I lie my head on the table to give it a rest, but that only intensifies the noise. I feel like screaming. Just doing anything to make this noise go away. Slowly, though, the static begins to soften as a now familiar warmth covers my paw. When I look up, Fox is gazing at me, his eyes focused with worry.

“It's going to be okay, Hermi," he says, caressing my paw. “Do you want to return to the room?" My heart feels like it's squeezing itself, but I muster a shake of the head.

“I don't want the food to get cold."

My voice is low, almost as if I'm trying to hide the words from him. But we've known each other for years now, and even when I'm trying to hide, Fox knows exactly where to find me. Hidden bunkers, cramped nooks and crannies, and behind closet doors, no matter the location, those stern red eyes calm me down. His eyes usually tear into anything they find; they are ravenous and direct. But for me, they symbolize something different: a bond I don't want to break any time soon.

“You sure?" he pushes, and I nod with a little more confidence.

“Yeah, I'm just not used to eating around all these people. It's weird…" I say, looking around at the various students laughing and enjoying their meals.

“I imagine so, but they're not looking at you. If anyone says something, they'll get a stern talking to." Fox smiles and pats my paw before going back to his meal, but I can tell that he's keeping an eye on me. He's such a protector. What's weird is that I don't mind being protected. I don't think I would have said that before biting him, so I'm not sure why this shift has taken place.

Shaking the thought from my head, I cut off a piece of steak and stuff it into my mouth. Ah, the sweet taste of nothingness. Fun fact about vampires: we don't need food to survive. Well, not in the typical sense anyway. We require blood, yeah, but food is kind of an aesthetic thing. Most vampires eat, but I think it's to fit in with everyone else around them. To feel normal, you know? Then again, I don't know if many people eat steaks this raw. The plate has already turned into a pool of juices, and the sight brings my fangs right out.

They'll have to wait for what they truly want, though, as Fox reaches over the table and rubs a napkin in my face. “I didn't know you were such a messy eater."

“I'm nosht," I say with the napkin still in my face.

Both of us chuckle, and I actually start to feel a bit lighter. He's always been good at making me feel safe, and it's a miracle that he can pull it off in a situation like this. Reaching over, I grab the blood bag and twist open the cap at the end. If I were seriously hungry, I'd tilt my head back and chug it like a beer. But with people around, I'm content to take a few sips at a time. This turns out to be the correct decision because as soon as the blood hits my tongue, I know that something is very wrong. The taste is rancid, like it's been left out in the sun for hours. With my eyes and lips puckering, I check the front of the bag to make sure it's A positive. Yep, it's definitely the correct type. What was the problem then?

“You don't look pleased," Fox comments after finishing a bite.

“Yeah, it's uh, it's just that the taste is a bit off." I take a few more sips to make sure that I'm not going crazy, but each one is worse than the last. In disgust, the bag ends up thrown onto the table, leaking onto the plate with the rest of the totally-not-bloody steak.

“Oh?" Fox questions. “Maybe they gave you the wrong one."

I shake my head. “No, it's definitely- wait, what blood type are you?"

“O negative," Fox responds instantly.

“Hmm…" I mutter while studying the blood bag. It looks and smells normal enough. But… “I'm not an expert on physiology," I say, holding up the bag while speaking to Fox, “but I've heard stories of people only being able to drink the blood type of the first person they bite. It's like, special to them or something." My eyes flutter over to Fox, who doesn't seem phased in the slightest. He continues to delicately eat his mystery meat and mashed potatoes.

“That makes sense," he responds after swallowing another bite. “You should ask that employee if they have any O negative blood then."

“Susan?" I ask. “Yeah, I guess I should."

Pushing myself up, I grab the bag, trying to think of how to dispose of it. I don't exactly want to throw it away, that would be wasteful, but I don't think they'd accept something I've already drunk from. I don't have much time to decide either as the line has shrunk to a pitiful few people. If the moonlight streaming through the window is anything to go off of, then it is getting pretty late. For most people anyway. After a deep breath, my body is finally awake.

“Back so soon, honey?" Susan asks as she sees me approach. Copying her motion from earlier, I look around before leaning in. Understanding the assignment, she follows suit.

“Hey, I was wondering if you have any O negative? Also, uh, what should I do with this?" I whisper, holding up the blood bag, the plastic folding over my paws. She raises an eyebrow, a little confused.

“You want to try something new? Well, it ain't gonna be O negative, unfortunately. Think you'll have to go to a hospital for that one. You know it's rare." Susan sighs, motioning for me to hand her the bag, which I do.

“6% is not rare," I retort, which causes her to snort.

“Rare enough for this school. I can get ya O positive if ya want though."

I bite my lip and shake my head. “I'll figure something out. Thank you, Susan."

We say our goodbyes, and I head back to the table with empty paws. Fox is watching as I approach. He continues to adjust his glasses as if a new bag will randomly appear if he finds the right angle. The frown on my face tells him everything he needs to know, though, and he sighs as I sit back down.

“They didn't have it?" He asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and annoyance. I shake my head again.

“Oh," he says.

“Oh, what?" I respond, my voice having a tiny bit more aggression in it than I'd hope. Fox doesn't flinch, though.

“Bite me then."

I lean back in my seat, tipping it so that it's standing on its hind legs. How do I even respond to that? He looks at me with the same intensity as always, perfectly still in his chair, feet planted on the ground. The only indication of what's going on behind those eyes of his is the slight swishing of his tail behind the seat.

“Like, right here?" I ask, finally gaining the courage to say something.

“I don't see why not," he says flatly, but I can smell the smugness oozing off of him. He gets off on this, doesn't he? This is his kink. He did pop a boner after I bit him yesterday, but he had me convinced it was because I was straddling him. I'd call him weaselly, but that's too much of an insult.

I move my paw in an arc, motioning to the rest of the dining hall. “There's too many people here." Fox's reply was immediate.

“They're all here to eat, too." The shock almost causes me to tip the chair over.

All I can muster is a pained, “What?" but Fox just continues to stare.

“Am I wrong?" he asks in an assertive tone. It's almost more statement than question, as if he knows he's correct and won't accept another answer. Either that, or he's attempting to will this potential scenario into existence. I'm sure that I'm as red as a tomato as I look away from him and start messing with my rings.

“I-I-I mean, I guess not?" I stammer out, still not sure how to respond. Fox fills the air with a chuckle.

“Then what are you waiting for?"

Slowly, I look back up at him. He's as still as an assassin, completely silent besides for the low swishing of his tail. The silverware and food have been pushed to the side, and now a new form of meal takes the stage. It's obvious what my body wants; panting and hungry, my fangs are already ready to dive into him. It's like we're connected by an invisible string. One that Fox can pull at will to make me come to him. The smells from the dining hall slowly fall away as my nose filters out everything that isn't him. And with one last pained breath, I push myself away from the table.