FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Dinner always made the house smell like sage and onions on Fridays, it was the only day of the week that my mother really put effort into her cooking because she got home early enough to cook a proper meal. On Saturday or Sunday she would make a crock pot meal that was supposed to last us all week, but it never really lasted that long. We'd be good until the middle of the week before we were on our own again and had to make do. On good weeks the fridge would have enough food for meals, on a bad week I'd go to bed with my stomach still complaining. Work helped with that, a bit. Having a job at the coffee house after school meant that I had my own pocket money, but more often than not it was filtered into the family, or at least my mother and brother. What little I had left over I saved away in the bank, a pitiful amount, but it was something at least.

It was the scent of sage and onions that stirred my younger brother from his video game, the sound of explosions and snarling alien voices turned to music as he shifted on the bunk below me. I loved Jonty, truly I did, he could be brash and snarling like my father, but he had a good heart. He always had. Even when he was a kid he'd stand up for others and time hadn't stopped that in the least bit, but it always disturbed me just how like our father he was becoming. As I swung my legs off my bed and snapped the aging laptop shut he wriggled out of his make shift den and gave a slow full bodied stretch. The moment he did heat rushed to my cheeks and my ears tipped back as I found the contrast between never more sharply defined than when we were home and he was just wearing his boxer shorts or sweats.

Jonty stood six foot even, three inches taller than I was, but that had been bearable up until last summer, because he had always been lean and just skin and bones. Now he was putting on muscle and weight thanks to sports, his chest had filled out and his arms were larger, there was more definition along his stomach. His mane had begun growing in rapidly as it was trailing along the edge of his jaws and trying to cover his neck, something that our mother made him trim down in accordance to school rules, but our father bragged about. It was dark black with a hint of gold around the curve of his neck and behind his ears, it made me want to touch the stiff line of mane that ran along my head, but I forced my hand down and away. I wasn't going to get self conscious, I was still his older brother.

"You work tomorrow?" Jonty stopped in his stretching to glance up at me, grinning to show off the sharp white teeth.

"Yeah, I work noon to six, why?" I slipped off the bed neatly, landing on the balls of my feet agilely while my tail lashed behind me.

That was something that my younger brother lacked, grace. I had always been good on my feet, that's why I excelled at track, I was fast and slender, deceptively short. I could remember being younger and my mother taking us to church, always bragging that I was going to be famous one day. I couldn't recall for what, but I remember showing off how I could stand on the back of a pew just on my toe tips, my balance perfect even as a bumbling cub. I just recall one of the few times my father had found me practicing something one of the ladies at church had taught me. As I thought about it, my mind shied away from the vivid painful memory of his rage and I gave my head a rough shake, nearly forgetting about Jonty.

"Sorry, what'd you want?" I blinked a few times, trying to clear away the thoughts as I snagged up a shirt and stuffed myself into it.

"I wanted to head over to Conston's Drive, can you give me a lift in the mornin' before work?" He moved around me, trying to avoid me in the tight confines of our room. "Dad'd let you take the car if you were doing a chore for me."

"What are you going there for?" I grabbed a pair of jeans to pull on and frowned slightly. Conston's Drive was in the upscale part of town, the sort of places where our Aunt lived, where houses were neatly slotted out with manicured lawns. "You're not stealing are you?"

"No! One of the guys on the team is having a party tomorrow, yanno, pool party, figured I'd go and I don't want to take the bus there." He grinned innocently and paused at the door, watching me expectantly.

"Fine, but you ask the old man. You know if I ask if I can have the car he'll have a fit." We had two cars, one was my mother's old Meerkat, a broken down foreign car that ran only on prayers and constant maintenance and the other was my fathers, an old classic car that had been allowed to deteriorate through the lack of money able to fix it. I had my license, but it was rare I was allowed to drive either car.

"Deal!" My brother twitched his tail up slightly before he wrinkled his nose upwards in disgust. "Ugh, I can't believe I have to eat this shit again."

Instead of your illicit hunts with Dad... I thought sourly, trying to still my twitching tail at the way he disdained what was being made.

The scent of sage and onion was filling the air, making my mouth water as we stepped past the darkened living room and into the safety of our mother's realm. The kitchen was tiny, but there was room for a table pushed against one wall, mostly covered in old mail, but good enough. My mother stood at the stove, working on getting the meal together so that it would all be hot when it was done. Jonty made a show of picking up a bit of wrapper with the name of the flavor written on it, he crinkled his lips back in disgust and tossed it in the trash. This would be the start of the show, the one where he would mimic our father's hatred of the faux-meat we lived on. Sometimes I wondered how often he and the old man went hunting together, how often they had slipped past the city walls to kill some helpless dumb creature.

"Lemme help, Mom." I smiled, trying to take away the tension that started to show on her greying features. "I'll handle the mash."

"Thank you, Shal, just be careful your father likes them to have lumps." She patted my hand gently as I took up my station with the ancient mixer.

My mother was beautiful. She was wearing her uniform, her name tag tossed somewhere on the pile of mail on the table and her eyes were tired looking, but she would always be beautiful. I don't know why she stayed here, I don't know why she put up with my father, she could have done so much better. Even in our day and age the females of our species had a great deal of power even if the males wanted to push them into a harem. They were motivated and vibrant, they were the ones that pushed for college, no matter their sex. They were the ones that went after high paying jobs and dared to push the system. Our Aunt Millan was a COO, her husband stayed at home, but he was not like my father. He took care of the house and seemed content, every time I saw my Uncle he looked so pleased, happy, he loved my aunt.

"Did you take your pills today?" She moved her hand up to affectionately stroke along my mane. "You know you have to take them three times a day now.

"Yes, ma'am." I grinned and gave a mock salute. "You know I don't miss them, and at least you don't have to crush them up in my meals anymore."

When I was younger I had had a bad heart among other health problems, I couldn't recall much, just hospitals and some vague memories of being hooked up to IVs, but ever since then I was made to take medicine. I sometimes had to go in for shots at the doctor's office, but many times I was allowed to simply deal with the pills. The number of times I took them had slowly increased over the years, but last year it had jumped up. I used to try and avoid it, my mother would recount fondly the lengths I'd go to hide it somewhere or drop it down the drain and pretend I took it. Now, it didn't bug me, it was just a part of daily life, but she was forever reminding me about it as if I were still a small cub.

I heard Jonty starting to rustle around the cupboards, pointedly ignoring our mother as I started to mash up the food. The sweet potatoes had been cut with some chunks of greyish-brown faux-meat that were covered in spices. I loved this dish, it was sweet, but with just enough savory that I could eat it for every meal. The trick was to not mash the sweet potatoes entirely, to leave small bits and chunks, if you whipped it all down it would become too sweet. My tail slowly curled behind me as I heard the homey sounds of my mother working beside me, slowing her harried pace as I deftly took over sautéing the onions as well so they could be placed over the main meal. She didn't even rebuke me when I dipped my finger into the sweet potatoes to sneak a taste.

"Fucking damn it, you have him cooking now?" An angry rumble was my only warning, but that's all I needed to jerk back in time to miss the swat aimed at my head. "Get the hell away from there! Don't you have better things to do?!"

My father stared at me with amber eyes that showed a tracery of red webbing around the whites, his pupils focused as he glared at me. He wasn't drunk, which was worse for me given the faint wrinkle on his brow that attested to his hangover. His mane was spiked up oddly where he'd been lying, the faint reek of alcohol clung to him as it always had while he considered me. His eyes ran over my short frame, narrowing in disgust. The sobriety was what terrified me, I could handle him drunk because he was slow and clumsy, but sober he was angry, in pain and fast enough that I didn't always evade his attempts to teach me my place.

"Shal, go and help Jonty, will you? We can eat at the table today." My mother's voice was higher pitched as she carefully tried to draw his attention away from me.

"Yes, Mom." I carefully took a step back, but it was too late, I'd drawn his attention to me and he stepped forward with a sniff.

"Where the fuck were you last night?" He growled out, rasping the words threateningly as I fought the urge to lower my eyes. Every instinct screamed to look away from him, but every time I did he grew furious and I didn't know why. "You were supposed to be home!"

He was looking for a reason to be angry, to strike out, and I was his favorite target. My mother wasn't around often enough, but I was and he was always finding faults. Last night I had gone to work at the coffee shop, it meant being out of the house and away from my troubles. It meant hanging around friends from school and a free meal afterwards, so I'd lingered later than I should have been, but he'd been passed out drunk by the time I'd walked home.

"He was at work, Dad." Jonty padded closer with a lazy smile. "You know, one of your cubs has gotta hold down a job so I can stay this damn pretty."

And just like that he laughed, a rough barking sound, but his eyes moved away from me to roughly punch my younger brother on the shoulder with mock affection. "Damn straight, you get varsity yet, boy?"

"I'm aiming for it, that fucking cheetah had better watch his spots." Jonty replied, glancing over at me with a wink before turning back to our father. Distracting him with a topic that would at least put him in a mood that wouldn't get me hit. He'd make biting remarks comparing us, but he wouldn't hurt me.

I let out a breath and fought the rush of anger, humiliation, confusion and shame. I had been on the varsity track team for the last year and my father had never asked about it, never attended. He dismissed it, just like he dismissed everything about me as being something less than perfect. Today was one of the lucky days, he hadn't hit me, he hadn't hurt anyone, he was rumbling laughter with my younger brother as he sprawled out on his throne at the kitchen table, watching his wife work. I cast an apologetic look at my mother and moved away from the stove, but she only smiled and continued on. I don't know how she smiled, but she always had, always would. One day, one day I would give her a real reason to smile.

~ ~ * ~ ~

"YOU WANT TO FUCKING WHAT?!" My father's voice roared through the house, dragging me out of a dead sleep and nearly making me fall out of the top bunk. "Have you seen him?! He'd be the laughing stock!"

Fuck... fuck fuck fuck... I scrabbled out of the covers, my sleep fogged mind making my fingers numb as I tumbled out of the bed.

"Jonty!" I reached out to the bottom bunk, trying to make sure he was alright, but all I touched were balled up covers carefully pushed together. "Damn it!"

"You can't just ignore it! He's you're son, it's his time to step forward and what will your.. friends say." My mother's voice was softer, but the thin walls of the house hid little.

I fumbled for the desk lamp and flicked it on to see that Jonty wasn't just out of bed, he had gone out again. He'd pushed everything back into his bed, shoving it along the wall so it vaguely looked like him and had slipped out after I'd gone to sleep. My ears pinned back flat and I snapped the light back off to keep either of my parents from coming in. I panted in the darkness, my heart racing from the wake up, trying to reorient myself in the stifling heat of the bedroom. We had an AC unit, an old rickety thing, but it was in my parent's room that did little to keep my brother and I from roasting in the middle of the night. He'd probably given up on sleep and sneaked out to go swimming with his friends, it wasn't the first time and it would hardly be the last, though part of me longed to join him.

"My friends?! They'll ask me how the hell my daughter is doing and has she gone into heat yet!" He snarled out, his disgust bringing the heat to my face. It was about me. Again.

"He's just... a late bloomer, Honsi, you know that. There are a lot of young lions that don't get their manes until well into their twenties." Her voice was so calm as I moved towards the door, careful not to make much noise.

The middle of the night, they always argued in the middle of the night before bed, sometimes they did it quietly and I couldn't hear them, but other nights it was like this. My father's voice would roar through the house, snarling and snapping, some nights it would only be his voice, other nights it would be worse. So many nights I had sat here with Jonty, holding him, building up a vivid dream of what I would do to him when I was older. I dreamed I would be powerful and strong, that I would hear my mother cry and step out of the door with a roar to challenge my father as they used to do in the old days. I would hurt him as he had hurt others, beat him down, humiliate him and make my family safe again. Sometimes I even dreamed that I would kill him so he could never hurt anyone ever again. I had clung to those dreams for so long, but here I was, nearly an adult and still I huddled afraid.

"Yeah, a late fucking bloomer! You see any other lion his age that short? Look at Jonty! Look at Tollin!! Both younger and developed." He was growling now, I could almost feel it vibrating as I tried to piece together what they were arguing about.

"You take Jonty out hunting, don't deny it!" My mother had an edge to her voice, one that made my stomach twist sickly. "What do you expect?! There have been studies that our diet is lacking certain nutrients, he's a growing boy, he should be out there with you!"

Except I don't want to hunt. _ I dropped my head against my knees miserably. _I don't see why I have to kill things if we have other options.

_ _

"We both know why he's the way he is! And I'm not taking him to the Ceremony, he's a joke! Worse than a joke!" My father made a rough coughing sound, almost a laugh. "You imagine? Him standing with the rest, I'll be lucky if he ain't mounted and claimed by one of the elders!"

Heat rushed up to my face, burning and making me feel dizzy and not just because of the insult. The 'Ceremony' was one of the things that most lions went through who had fathers as a part of the Pride. It was a historical society, or it was supposed to be, a way that our traditions were accepted, but everything I learned from it was that it was a bastion of lions who wanted to behave as their species was designed. I'd heard from girls at school that they had been 'promised' to a certain male, a practice that was against the law, but that they ignored. There had even been a few attempts at bringing down the Pride Foundation, but they had somehow managed to stick it out. My younger brother was eager for his shot at their coming of age Ceremony and to join them, something that I had hoped to avoid at all costs.

The Ceremony was supposed to be shrouded in mystery, but everyone had heard about it, it was a glorified hazing of younger lions. You were presented to the Pride and told to pick one of the older members to fight, it was supposed to show you were strong enough to take one down, but it never happened that way. I'd seen other young males come in after going through their so called Ceremony, beaten, hurt, bruised and clawed and acting like it was some sort of honor. Two years ago someone had died supposedly, and that was only the start. I'd heard horror stories, I wanted nothing to do with the place, I didn't want Jonty to have anything to do with it either, but he was eager and he still had years to go yet.

"IT IS YOUR FAULT!" My father's roar burst through the walls and broke my train of thought, making me startle forward. "Eating that shit all through your pregnancy, what did you expect?!"

At least he's not going on about her raising her tail.. I relaxed slightly, this part was an old argument, but it just meant he would snarl for a while and storm out. He wouldn't forcibly take her to prove he was still a male, just be disgusted. I wish I was someone else's son.

_ _

They argued a lot about me a lot, I'd grown used to it. I'd always been the disappointment, but I could handle that, I knew that the end was coming. Soon I'd be an adult in truth, I could do something, or find some way to help them. No one would listen to a child, but once I was out of this house perhaps I'd be able to make a stand with the government at least. They frowned at divorce because it supposedly allowed males to try and claim many females and sire many children, but there were cases of it happening. If I could just prove how bad it was here at home they would have to step in for Jonty's sake, he could be taken out of here with my mother.

"The doctors said that that has nothing to do with it! These things happen, they all explained it time and again at the hospital." She hissed out defensively. "You know as well as I that they sug-"

"I was not cutting off my son's dick!" My father hissed back at her, the tone venomous even as a tremor ran down my spine. "I did not-"

"HONSI!" My mother hissed his name.

"-want a damned freak for my first born! Now look what I have!" He continued on with a snarl. "If this had been the old days we would have tossed it out and exposed. They-"

"Stop it!" Her voice was higher pitched, panicked, I barely registered it

"-never would have tolerated that monstrosity! The moment it came squirming out of you it should have been put down!" My father's voice dropped lower. "You forced this on me, listening to those doctors, promising me a son out of that mess when what I got was an embarrassment! I should fix the mistake, slice off that-"

-CRACK- The sound of flesh hitting flesh made me jerk back, my heart leaping up to my throat as I imagined my mother being thrown to the ground.

"You will stop there, Honsi!" Her voice was a snarling whisper, dripping with more anger than I had ever heard in my life. "The doctor's told us that there was a chance Shal wouldn't grow up completely normally, but he's taking hormones, he's growing his mane, he is not female! You forced the issue, you made him go through those surgeries, extreme surgeries because you were so damned thoughtless! I should have never listened to you, I should have let the doctors make the call! But no, you had to have a son, no matter the cost! And now that son isn't enough for you simply because he isn't a hulking brute!"

"That freak is neither male nor female, it's a thing." My father's voice was a low snarl, a threatening sound.

To my shock I heard his paws coming down the hall, storming away from my mother so I jerked away with the fear that he was going to erupt into my room, but he didn't. He kept going until there was the slam of the front door that made the entire house shake. The silence was almost deafening as I lurched up to my feet, trembling and staring into the thin band of light that came in through the window. My mother had hit him, she had stood up to him, but that wasn't what was tearing through my mind. It was his snarling accusations, her firm voice echoing back to me, what they had said. It didn't make sense, none of it made sense. I'd been insulted all my life, the reason that my parents fought and snarled at one another in the night when we had gone to bed, but not like tonight. They'd said things that made my stomach turn with a sick feeling as I wrapped my arms around myself, cold despite the heat that wrapped around me.

All my life I'd never been a good enough son for him. I'd never been strong enough, dominant enough to please him. No matter how hard I tried, I was always pushed to one side, Jonty was always better, stronger, faster. I was always doing something wrong, something that wasn't approved of. They had argued a hundred times and I had always thought that my father blamed my mother for how I was because she somehow encouraged me to enjoy the things that weren't seen as manly. What had they meant? Surgeries? Cutting off my dick? It made no sense, none at all. I had been a sick cub, my heart wasn't as strong as it should be, I had been told that from the moment I was old enough to understand what it meant, but for the first time I questioned it. What had been so wrong with me from birth that my father had even thought about tossing me into the elements like in the old country?

My eyes shifted up in the darkness of the bedroom, unerringly reaching the mirror that showed me my reflection illuminated by the street light outside. I tried to flick my eyes away as I had in the past, but I found myself staring at my own wide eyes, trapped in them. There was something wrong with me, something that had never been right, and my father knew what it was, my mother knew, and they had never told me. I reached a paw up to run a finger against the short stiff bristles of my growing mane, tracing along the edges all the way to my ears. My reflection echoed the touch as I dropped my hand to the back of my neck where the slightest fringe of hair had started to form along my jawline. My father didn't want me, he had never wanted me. I had always thought that once upon a time he had loved me, before the drink had ruined his life, before he had turned into a monster. I had thought that he had loved his family, but he hadn't, he had wanted to kill me.

Tears stung my eyes, welling up before I could stop them, tears that I tried to wipe away automatically, but they ran down the sweep of my cheek and matted down my fur. I wasn't right, there had been something wrong with me from birth and they had all but confirmed it. I wasn't meant to be this thing, I was never meant to be this way. My body had always felt like a too tight sweater, irritating and uncomfortable. If they had chosen to make me male, what had I been born?

I reached out to the glass and the young lanky lion that stared back at me and touched a finger pad to the smooth glass. My eyes ran down my body, the slender curve of my chest and belly, the slight spread of my hips, my too small sheath and balls resting between my legs instead of the proud bulge that my father or Jonty boasted. The tears blurred my eyes, making the form shift in the mirror, softening the edges while my fingers curled against the glass. Was I truly a thing? An it? Some sort of misborn child that should have never lived, but had been given this life out of my father's misplaced pity? My claws curled out to dig against the glass while my own mind gave form to my tear-blurred reflection, smoothing the imperfections, hiding the mockable mane, the reflection that should have been there. It was so easy to apply the perfection of a lioness to the embarrassment of my male body. And for the first time I wondered... was I truly wrong in seeing myself that way?

_I wasn't born a thing.... Was I? There has to be an answer. _ I blinked away the tears rapidly and stared into my own androgynous face, my ears pinned flat back with resolve. From somewhere in the house I could hear my mother crying, the familiar half choked sounds she made when she was trying to hide the sound in her pillow. She had never learned how to cry silently. But I had.