FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1

Draven didn't expect to spend his lunch break barfing up the gory remains of the strawberry pancakes he had for breakfast, but there he was anyway. Pathetically hunched over the petunias in the school garden as the indigo flowers around him began to turn shades of yellow and brown. The migraine crept through his brain like a bloodthirsty brown recluse. His head was on fire and the poor teen had no resources to put it out. Draven's medication was always kept at home under watchful eye.

This all came to be because he didn't know how to explain to his parents that, once again, he was failing multiple classes. Draven knew that everyone saw him as the dumbest kid in the academy. Hell, sometimes he got a kick out of playing into those assumptions, asking others for help on math fundamentals he should've had down a decade ago. The looks of pity or disdain on their faces were priceless!

But that doesn't mean he didn't try. In fact, Draven wasn't sure why he was trying so hard in the first place. It was obvious that school wasn't for him. The teen much preferred the more mindless tasks. Like that time his group gave him the position of 'Data Analyst' for a project. There was no analysis to be done, however. All he had to do was take the numbers his team gave him and plug them into a spreadsheet that was already set up. That thoughtlessness soothed him. For a few minutes, he could forget about the noose his parents had around his neck, micromanaging every last detail of his life. The only reason their expectations weren't higher was because they already had two starbound children, perfect little molds they regularly filled with success.

Draven sighed and cleaned himself up. The hurling had come to an end but it left a soft knocking in his head as a present. He was expected to go back to class after something like that, school rules or something. But there was no chance he was sticking around this shithole for any longer than he wanted to. So, he gathered his things and started walking home. Along the way, he passed McCullough Hall and scoffed. It was just another reminder that the only reason he wasn't expelled yet was the endless money his parents poured into this place.

The walk home was a brisk but depressing one. Alden had been in a drought for the last few years so the luscious greenery that was featured on every postcard and travel blog was all dried out and brittle. Even their national park, famous for holding annual flower festivals, started to dial back the festivities a bit. The government was pissed and so was Draven. He hated seeing his country fall apart like this.

The teen was still sulking when arrived home. He tiredly input the code into the front gate, trying to come up with a plan in the meantime. Sneaking into his room would be difficult since there was always someone home. The car in the driveway reinforced that sentiment. But, he would have to try. So, he snuck around to the back door and entered that way. He didn't make it very far.

Standing in the kitchen was Sherry, their family's live-in 'helper' (he wasn't allowed to call her a maid). She turned to face him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed like every upset parent in those cheesy American movies. She even tapped her foot on the marble floor, a look of disappointment seared across her face.

"You should get into acting, Sherry!" Draven exclaimed. "I bet it pays more than taking care of me." He tried to smile, hoping that his nonexistent charm would get him out of this mess. He should've known better.

"I do more than take care of you," Sherry responded in a stern voice. She was really playing the part now. "But, I couldn't help but notice that you're skipping class again. That's..."

"You don't have to remind me." Draven cut her off before she could pull out her pocketbook. He knew she kept a tally along with other infractions he committed in there. Like a fucking psychopath.

He might've laced his words with some extra venom because Sherry walked forward to give him a hug. Wrapped in her strong arms and enveloped in her comforting perfume, the embarrassment finally kicked in. What did he always think like that? Draven was constantly on edge. After a lifetime of bottled up anger, stress, and anxiety, the teen lived as if he was one passing comment away from snapping. People were probably afraid of him, but Sherry wasn't.

"Another migraine?" she asked softly.

Draven nodded into her chest.

"If you need me to deliver your meds to school, you can just ask, you know?"

Draven knew. He just didn't want to trouble her.

Finally, he hugged her back and after a few more seconds, Sherry sighed and walked into the kitchen. He felt like a part of him was missing, an empty feeling crawling into his stomach.

"I'll make you something to eat. You should go see Ramiro; that'd make you feel better," she said, starting to open cabinets and take ingredients out. His cheeks warmed at the mention of his boyfriend's name. Boyfriend. That concept was still new to him too. They'd been together a couple of months now and Sherry was the only one who knew. They were the only two he trusted in this world. The only two stopping him from going fucking crazy.

Draven nodded and pulled out his phone.

Wanna hang out?

He didn't wait for a response. Instead, he switched the device off and bounded up the stairs to take a shower. Ramiro always said yes.

2

After a long shower and a small sandwich to keep his medication down, Draven was on his way to Alden National Park. This is where he and Ramiro spent a lot of their time together. He was worried about bringing his boyfriend around his house due to his parents' reactions and school never crossed his mind in the first place. The only other place they met up was Ramiro's, which was a bit outside Alden City proper.

There were so many neat little wonders that awaited curious travelers in the park. Whenever he could, Draven would spend time off the trail, sticking his tongue out at the warning side that lined the boundary. He especially loved this clearing he found a few years back. Almost like a cove, it was a tiny enclave that was only accessible by pushing through a dense thicket of trees and shrubbery. He'd always appear on the other side with leaves and twigs stuck in his short hair.

But the place sure was beautiful. The drought threatened some of that beauty, however, as the wildflowers struggled to grow. The grass was still green here, but it probably wouldn't be long until it was that disgusting yellow he saw everywhere else.

With a sigh, he got to work setting up the picnic equipment, spreading out a blanket, and taking out some sandwiches and biscuits that Sherry packed for him. Once Draven was done, he took out a joint and tried to relax. This was the most miraculous part of his life. He had no clue how he hid stuff like that from his parents. An old shoebox under the bed was as cliche as it got. At least it lulled his mind into that sense of nothingness he craved so much.

Then, suddenly, Ramiro was there. Staring at him, Draven's partner had the customary twigs and leaves braided into his long, brown hair. The newcomer's face lit up with a smile when their eyes met. Ramiro rushed over to give Draven a hug.

"I missed you," he said, knocking Draven over. The two rolled around in the grass for a bit, only getting dirtier. It stopped when Ramiro pinned him to the ground, straddling him at the same time. Flat on his back, Draven looked up at his boyfriend and blushed.

"It's only been a day!" he offered as an excuse. Ramiro didn't seem to be buying it though.

"Why weren't you at school?" he asked, looking at the downed teen with an inquisitive glance. "I thought we agreed to have lunch together."

Draven looked away, not wanting to face the eyes that extracted such guilt from him. "I wasn't feeling good, so I went home." When he turned back around, Ramiro's eyes were now shrouded in worry.

This was the first time Draven got a good look at his boyfriend since he showed up. The goody-two-shoes was still wearing his school uniform, complete with multiple pins that denoted all the clubs and societies he was part of. Hockey, cross country, debate, and even student government. Ramiro really did it all. It made Draven wonder why he fell for a delinquent like him. Maybe he was just desperate and latched onto the first gay guy he found at the academy. Possible, yes, but very unlikely.

It was obvious that Ramiro was madly in love with him. The way he hung onto Draven's every word, a single hand resting on his cheek as he stared lovingly into his eyes, made the teen's heart melt. Ramiro already tried to look professional, but Draven could tell that he was trying to look even better for him. Combing his hair back in certain styles Ramiro knew he liked or spending his money on different colognes was a regular occurrence. Right now he smelled, Draven sniffed, cinnamony.

There was also the sex. Oh boy, the sex. In class, Ramiro was the perfect teacher's pet. All yes, sir and no, ma'am, he was the type of student every teacher loved because of how smart and reliable he was. Draven was the only one who knew that Ramiro had quite the wild side as well. The guy was practically primal in bed. He didn't even consider choking a kink. This was how Draven found out that nerds were the biggest freaks and that thought scared him a little.

"You feeling alright now?"

Draven blinked a few times, snapping out of his reverie. Ramiro was looking down at him with those big doe eyes of his. It was hard not to open up when he looked like that.

"It was just another migraine, hon. You know how it is. I don't know why I keep getting those fucking things."

Ramiro frowned and plucked the joint from Draven's lips, throwing it on the ground a few feet from them. "First of all, stop smoking. It's stressing you out. Second of all, language."

Ah, right. He was also religious as shit. Draven wondered how he squared all of this away with God. It couldn't have been easy. Either he really didn't care what others thought of him, which was obviously not true, or he trusted the power of confession a little too much. Either way, Draven had to retort that claim about smoking.

"It's not stressing me out. It's-"

"I don't want to hear it," Ramiro clapped back. Draven sighed. There was no getting through to him.

"Fiiiiiiine. Anything else you'd like me to do, sir?" he responded, a hint of spice in his voice. Ramiro didn't need any prompting.

"I'd like for you to stay right there. I have something that'll calm you down~" Ramiro leaned forward and kissed him passionately on the lips. It was getting hot already. Both of them were horny college students, sure, but that was fast.

As Ramiro transitioned the kissing to his neck, Draven spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better look at whatever it was, which Ramiro took as an invitation to bite him. The whimper he let out distracted him, but it wouldn't be a big enough distraction to miss that the grass was on fucking fire. It was a small one, but the little flames were jumping and twisting their way towards the couple. He paused for a minute, trying to understand what he was seeing, which was difficult with Ramiro trying to pull his shirt off. Draven pushed his boyfriend off of him and stood up. The poor teen looked dazed.

"What gives?" Ramiro questioned, almost slurring his words like a drunkard.

Draven, on the other hand, flung into action, grabbing the blanket that Sherry had given him and throwing it over the fire. When that didn't work, he stomped on it for good measure. Only then did he hear a surprised 'Oh!' behind him and within seconds, Ramiro was at his side.

"You alright?" he asked, staring down at the blanket which now had a large charred spot on it.

Draven nodded his head. When he removed the blanket, he was shocked to see how disgusting the burned grass looked. It was all black and dead. An uncomfortable mixture of emotions began to bubble up inside him. He couldn't name them, but he thought that he almost felt disappointed. Disappointed at what though? He just stopped a wildfire from destroying his sacred space.

Draven clasped Ramiro's hand and told him that he wanted to go back to his place. The moment was ruined here anyway. Ramiro agreed and the two started to pack up and head out. As he squeezed through the thicket, Draven took one last glance at the smoldering patch of grass they had left.

He didn't want to admit that the fire had given him that same feeling of nothingness.

3

The next few weeks were filled with questions. Sherry questioned Draven when he returned the blanket seared. It took a bit of explaining, but he eventually got her to understand that it was the only thing he could do to put out the fire. Apparently, the blanket held some sort of sentimental value to her so she was quite shaken up by the whole thing. Draven apologized but Sherry told him that it was fine and that nothing lasted forever.

Draven also questioned himself. He replayed spying the fire for the first time over and over again in his head. Did he actually enjoy watching it burn? And if he did, what kind of a sick fuck was he? He tried to rationalize it by telling himself that it was probably because he was horny at the time. After all, when people are horny, everything seems like a good idea. But something was still pulling at the back of his mind. It was as if watching the fire had unchained some kind of sleeping beast that had laid dormant inside for years. He could hear it growling and demanding more.

Draven was able to stave off the temptations until it boiled over and he spilled his feelings to Ramiro. Those eyes always did a number on him. Even with an embarrassing secret like that, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. That's when Ramiro started questioning him as well. He didn't believe that Draven was some type of pyromaniac and he was willing to prove it.

For days, he walked Draven through a series of 'experiments' meant to show how this attraction to fire could literally be anything else. His first hypothesis was that Draven just enjoyed the rush of experiencing something dangerous like that. They went on roller coasters, watched horror movies, and played paintball but none of those activities did anything for him. Then Ramiro admitted that it might be the fire itself, but it couldn't have been anything more than that. So, he took Draven into the lab and lit the Bunsen burner, they stared at torches and matches for minutes on end, but, once again, Draven still felt as anxious as ever. Nothing was able to give him the same feeling of bliss, of nothingness, as the fire in the park did. Finally, Ramiro agreed to allow Draven to set another fire if he could keep it small and controlled. Ramiro reminded him that this was just to test his theory and that after it didn't work, they wouldn't talk about it again. Draven could sense the uneasiness and fear in his voice. He was beginning to doubt himself as well.

They went to a different patch of grass. This time, a field on an old farmer's land out in the countryside. Ramiro had driven them because neither of the boys wanted to be anywhere close to home for this. Lucky for them, they had plenty of cover since the farmland was connected to the deep woods that went on for miles. Camouflaging themselves amongst the trees, Draven bent down at the edge. It was funny watching how the soft soil and fallen tree bark turned to grass so suddenly. It created a neat divide between the two plains. He knew that when he started this fire, he'd be crossing that line. He could feel it. The beast was goading him, steadying his trembling hand as he flicked the lighter on, its breath rumbling down Draven's neck.

But he couldn't get the grass to light. He tried again and again but it just wouldn't burn. The teen let out a long sigh as he felt the beast retreat. This was a relief. Maybe he didn't need to know. He turned to tell Ramiro that he wanted to leave when he saw his boyfriend approaching from the darkness with a bundle of dried leaves and sticks. He snatched the lighter from him, threw his collection on the ground, and lit that instead. The fire leapt up instantly.

What hit him first was the warmth of it all. He could feel that heat around his entire body, but it didn't burn or sear. Instead, it cuddled him. It was like he was receiving one giant hug from this small flame. He stared at their creation and gulped. Ramiro must have seen the look of awe on his face.

"What do you see?" he asked, his voice soft. "Explain it to me." He got behind Draven, crouching down as well and putting a hand on his shoulder. He tried looking at the flame the same way he was.

"It's like... everything just stops," Draven breathed out, the fire stealing his breath. His brain felt numb. He didn't know what to say because he couldn't say anything. The fire had taken his words from him. All he could do was watch as the flame danced across the leaves and sticks and onto the grass. He didn't make any attempt to stop it this time because he liked watching it spread. He wanted to be free like that. Then, it taught him how to breathe again.

Ramiro's foot stomped out the fire before it could grow any larger. Draven turned to him sharply, ready to reprimand his boyfriend for that violent action. But he was met with those sad eyes again and he realized what he was about to do. He let his arms sag down to the side, defeated. To his surprise, Ramiro tipped his chin upward and kissed him delicately on the lips. Then, he clasped his hands in his and tried to give Draven a smile. It was as sad as his eyes.

"We'll get through this together."

Draven didn't want to be treated like some terminal patient. He knew that Ramiro was lying to him, but he recognized that there was nothing else for him to say. The beast was out and neither of them knew how to capture it.

4

The news gave them a name after their third major fire. 'The Twilight Arsonist' they called them. It was so cool. Draven went from only drowning out the news when Sherry watched in the morning to carefully monitoring it every day. Ramiro told him not to seem too excited. That it would draw suspicion towards them, but Draven couldn't help it. He was a changed person now. Or, at least partly.

The duo had upgraded their operation quite a bit over the last few months. For a while, they kept to small, containable fires like they had planned originally. Just enough so Draven could feel that numbing feeling again. It was like hypnosis. The teen could feel his old, anxiety-ridden self slip into the fire and a refreshed version of him was reborn from the ashes.

During these periods of clarity, Draven could live his life again. Everything just flowed like it was supposed to. He was more confident, taking Ramiro out on dates around the city and even to different villages in the countryside. School started to make more sense too. His grades nearly tripled and his family acknowledged that. His parents actually seemed proud of him for once. The looks on their faces almost made him cry.

Strangely, the only person who didn't seem too happy about the whole thing was Sherry. She'd congratulate him like everyone else, but the fanfare never seemed genuine. She became more stressed. Mistakes started to crop up in her cooking, an oversalted piece of meat for one meal while the next was undercooked or nearly raw. She screwed up his parents' schedules once, causing them to miss an important meeting. Draven could hear the yelling from the other side of the house.

And that was the problem. Something always kicked the good mood out of him. Lately, more often than not, it was Sherry. He wanted to comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be okay but he didn't know how. She was also changed; a shell of her former self. Draven had the creeping suspicion that it was his fault, that he did something to harm her. But whenever he brought it up, she would just deny, deny, deny. He thought about how bad he was making her feel and scoured his brain to conceive of ways to make it up to her. But all he found were the legs of the brown recluse nesting into his brain once again, bringing back the splitting migraine and hurling episodes in the garden. He'd keep spiraling until they set another fire. So that was their routine.

They told themselves that they'd only set fires as long as it was necessary. Of course, that didn't last very long. They wouldn't have made the news otherwise. The simple truth was, they enjoyed it. Draven was always a pyromaniac, he just didn't want to admit it. Ramiro, on the other hand, took a little more convincing.

Even though he never received a beast of his own, he started to understand Draven's. The two got along quite nicely actually. They set up conditions, rules. One was that they'd never hurt another person. The beast was skeptical at first but ended up agreeing. Another was that they'd keep to fields and abandoned areas. Logically, this followed from the first. The beast was surprisingly easy to work with. Ramiro came to the conclusion that it just had Draven's best interest in mind, that it was letting him become who he really was. That scared Ramiro at first, but he'd learn to accept it.

Draven even invited him over one night. His parents were out on a business trip, he wasn't ready for that yet, but he thought that if their siblings met Ramiro then it wouldn't be the biggest problem in the world. Both of them had houses elsewhere, but they'd show up whenever they wanted. Ramiro was just amazed at how large the house was. He only saw mansions that big in magazines. The two ruled the house that night. They ate, drank, and fucked. Lots of that last one actually. Draven had to hobble down the stairs when he wanted a 2 am snack before they went to bed.

The only noise he could hear was the faint sound of his TV behind a closed door and the low hum of the refrigerator as he made his way into the kitchen. The stale light blinded him. Almost vampiric in his reaction, Draven quickly shut it off again and grabbed some muffins from the cupboard. Why Ramiro was making him do all this, he had no idea.

When he turned around to go back upstairs, he spotted Sherry's purse on one of the couches in the living room. Now, Draven was raised better than this, but he was drunk and horny so using his critical thinking skills didn't really apply here. Plus, he knew that she kept her pocketbook in there. If he was doing something to piss her off, he might as well know so he could correct that behavior.

Draven shuffled over to the couch, a chocolate chip muffin now stuffed in his mouth as he picked up the purse and rummaged through it. It didn't take too long to find the pocketbook. He knew what it looked like all too well. Sherry always pulled it out when she wanted to scold him over something. It was a little strange that she hadn't been doing that lately. He flipped through the book silently, reminiscing on all his past infractions, until he got to the most recent entries. The muffin fell out of his mouth. Written in bold letters at the top of the page was:

Draven and Ramiro are the Twilight Arsonist(s)

What followed were extensive notes that she had collected over the last few weeks. The types of fuel they used to start each fire, what time they'd leave Ramiro's house, what time they'd arrive back, how they'd shower and wash their clothes there, even their upgrade in equipment. She cataloged when they started using gas masks and a small explosive device Ramiro had made. Everything was there. Everything. It all stemmed from the charred blanket and Draven's change in mood. Apparently, that's what tipped her off.

A blinding fury overtook Draven and the next thing he knew, the contents of Sherry's purse were dumped on the floor. He could feel the bites in his brain, the poison spreading from his frontal lobe to the spinal cord. Soon enough, he'd be paralyzed. He took the pocketbook with him as he ran up the stairs.

The beast was angry.

5

"What are we going to fucking do!" Draven whisper-yelled at Ramiro, the migraine rapidly clouding his entire head.

"Language!" Ramiro whisper-yelled back. "And I don't know. I didn't see this coming."

The pocketbook was splayed out between them on the bed. Ramiro had read it from front to back, trying to conjure a way out of this hole the two of them dug themselves into but nothing was coming up. The booze definitely didn't help either. Draven got up and started to pace around the room.

"This migraine is going to fucking kill me."

"Language." Ramiro's response was quieter, downtrodden.

"Oh get over yourself," Draven snapped. "How can you call yourself a child of God when you're an arsonist and a literal fag to boot." He picked up the closest thing that he could find, which was an old book, and threw it at his boyfriend. Luckily, Ramiro dodged just in time and the book slammed against the wall with a powerful thud.

The look on Ramiro's face made Draven realize that he had just fucked up big time. Absolutely drenched in terror, Draven almost couldn't recognize who he was looking at. His boyfriend pushed himself against the wall, tears beginning to stream down his face. For a moment, the only sounds Draven could hear were his soft sniffles and sobs. Then, Ramiro spoke up again.

"I-I'll leave. It'll give you some time to calm down. Here," he rummaged inside his backpack and pulled out a blue pill bottle. It was labeled 'Seroquel'. "Your meds," Ramiro continued. "Take them. Please."

Then, he crawled off the bed and tried to exit the room. Draven stopped him, a tight grip around Ramiro's arm. His boyfriend looked back at him with that same terrified look. What was he doing? His own boyfriend was scared of him. Draven wasn't sure why he was acting like this. All he knew was that he didn't want Ramiro to leave.

"Please," Draven begged, his voice cracking. "I-I'm sorry. I'll calm down. Just don't leave; I need you. I.." he tried to take a few deep breaths. It didn't work. They were more rugged than anything. "Can't function without you."

Ramiro shook his head, the tears refusing to stop. "Please let me go, love."

That's when Draven realized the ridiculousness of all this and what he was doing. Was he abusive? He never understood how somebody could hurt someone they loved. When he looked at Ramiro, he saw the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Yes, they were only college students, but could feel it with his entire body and soul. How could he do something like this to him?

Draven's grip on Ramiro's arm loosened and his boyfriend wrenched it away, quickly packed his things, then left. The whole thing took less than ten seconds. He didn't even wait for Draven to let go. That's when he realized that Ramiro would rather drive home drunk than stay with him. And then, he snapped.

Over the next couple of minutes, the beast destroyed Draven's room. It tore posters off the wall, knocked figurines off shelves, flung pillows at windows, and ripped the sheets. It stomped around, hyperventilating and screeching at the same time. Then, it dove underneath the bed, pulled out the lighter, and went around setting whatever it could on fire. The books, the curtains, the rug, everything.

When Draven came to, he couldn't stop crying. The overwhelming heat excited him, he was finally this close to such a beautiful creation of his. At the same time, it was absolutely horrifying. He knew that it could consume him so easily. That all it had to do was catch onto the tip of his shirt or bottom of his pajama pants and he'd be dead. So, in a flash of weakness, he ran out of the room. He was so scared that he almost tripped over Sherry's spilled belongings running out of the house.

It didn't hit him until the fire had spread to more rooms. Draven tried to enter the front door again but the handle was boiling hot. He took out his phone and called the fire department. They'd take a few minutes though; he couldn't rely on them. However, instead of doing anything, he stood there paralyzed, watching the blaze jump from room to room as it devoured the entire house, the home he'd lived in since he was born.

What had the beast done?

What had he done?

Like every fire he set, Draven was reborn.