DISCLAIMER FROM 2024
At the encouragement of my readers, some of whom have followed me for twenty years, I have decided to reupload my old fanfiction stories. I do this with some reservations. I wanted to revise them before posting them again, but the sheer amount of words involved means that that would take me years to accomplish, and it would be better for me to focus on writing new stories instead. Maybe someday I'll go back and make the edits, but for now, I'm reposting everything, warts and all. So expect characters to be out of character, expect nonsensical sections, and expect there to be many grammar, punctuation, and spelling mistakes.
In addition, please understand that the story you have in front of you was written by a very different person. I was a teenager who was raised on 90's media, who lived in an abusive household and in a white conservative town. I was steeped in problematic beliefs and had an equally troubling sense of humor. Anything I wrote before 2010 will reflect that.
However, my understanding of the world has grown since then. I'm an adult now, out of the closet and firmly politically left. I'm also much better at my craft these days. It makes me cringe to think about how my earlier writing must have hurt some of my readers.
That being said, these stories were also ones that people loved and missed. If they can still make someone's day brighter, that's worth something. Maybe they can even inspire others by showing them how much someone's writing can grow with time and practice. Plus, my younger self worked hard on these. Even the darkest ones comforted her during a difficult time in her life. So maybe I owe her something better than burying her words.
So, without further ado, welcome to my old fanfics! You're in for a messy and melodramatic experience. As always, I hope you enjoy the read.
BENEATH THE RAIN
Dedicated to Meriah.
"The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden, a dim twilight, and a fountain singing to it. You and you alone make me feel that I am alive. Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough."
George Edward Moore (1873-1958), English philosopher.
"Feeling like a freak on a leash (You wanna see the light?)
Feeling like I have no release (So do I)
How many times have I felt diseased? (You wanna see the light?)
Nothing in my life is free...is free
Sometimes I cannot take this place
Sometimes it's my life I can't taste
Sometimes I cannot feel my face
You'll never see me fall from grace.
Something takes a part of me
You and I were meant to be
A cheap f- for me to lay
Something takes a part of me . . ."
- Korn, "Freak on a Leash."
On the evening her husband left for Saffron, it rained.
It poured steadily yet peacefully upon the estate she now called home, its lulling rumble filling the quiet that arose in his absence. For a time, she had watched it spiral from the eaves of the roof, had watched it wash over the stepping-stones and the shrine in the courtyard, had watched it bathe the trees of pomegranate and permission and cherry, all of which were heavy with gleaming fruits, whose vivid colors shown like garnets beneath the amber half-light of the half-hidden sun. She had gazed up past the storm clouds upon the everlasting orb, which had patiently coaxed the denizens of the garden into their elegant forms; it made the rain shine like falling copper and bronze, offering vast wealth to the harvest moon, which would soon reign over the lands enshrouded in late summer. For a time, she had basked in the wonder of the sight before her, so simple yet exquisite. Yet then she had reached to the gossamer curtains of window before her and had cloaked the glass behind them: between the blur of the rainwater against its surface, the encroaching darkness of night, and the misty fabrics, the events within the room would not be seen, even if anyone had been around to look.
Turning her back to the rain, she made her way to the vanity against the north-facing wall of the guest room, and began to light the red candles resting upon the mahogany wood, each cradled in lilac-tinted, crystal holders. The scent of jasmine soon pervaded the chamber, and she breathed it in with a quiet, breathy sigh, savoring the fragrance as much as she had when she'd been a child, her mother being the culprit to introduce her to the finery. Soon, the aroma filled every nook of the room: it slid within the closed closet to her left, about the decorated, locked door to her right, within the vast spaces and the plush carpet which encompassed the newly made bed, whose clothes bore hues near the color of her blue eyes. She swept her glossy, dark hair back over her shoulders, away from her neck, wrapping her crimson, silken robe about her slender frame closer: the faint cool from outside had managed to seep into the room, though she doubted this chill would be an issue for long. She then poured a glass of wine, but only one glass, and set it near the candles. Its bouquet of grapes and cranberries soon nestled in her nostrils with the jasmine, and within the firelight, the rich hue of the drink sparkled. Content, she took the black containment sphere, a Master Ball, from the vanity and kissed it softly…it was empty, of course, given that its occupant only resided within it to heal comfortably from his battles, but the gesture was one nonetheless given, if only to signal her readiness for him to join the one who owned him, his mistress in all senses of the word.
Perhaps he had been there the entire time, waiting for that kiss to summon him to her side – or perhaps it called him there from somewhere else within the grand mansion, such as his own rooms. Regardless, the creature approached her from behind, his features obscured in the mirror until he was close enough to touch her. And touch her he did; he slid his arms about her, nestled his muzzle into the crook of her shoulder, a faint rumble rising in his throat as he lay a soft kiss against the curve of her neck, his breath rolling over her collar like the warm aroma of cinnamon that his fur carried. One of his powerful legs slid between hers, his tail lashing behind them in a slow, lazy arc as he embraced her, and his eyes gleamed as she turned her face towards his, brushing her lips against his mouth. The faint flavor of dark chocolate, her favorite treat, burst against his tongue. And even in that moment, she shivered at the way his irises glinted sapphire in the dusk, though she was inured to the sight and even craved the primal glow of it. She felt desire begin to stir within her as he caressed her lightly through her robe, at the gentle nips her gave her, though his fangs and flexing claws would never leave a mark. Even during their roughest, most hurried unions, he was careful never to inflict a hint of a bruise upon her pale skin, for her husband would worry that she trained too strenuously, and might implore her to cease for a time – and without any excuse for them to be togetheraway from him, they feared that the part they nurtured within one another would wither and die, and along with it would their passion.
He took her left hand gently, slipping from her middle finger her wedding band. It was an act not done to slight the one who had given it to her, but done to, in some small way, keep the marriage they both respected clean of the sin they would indulge in soon enough. For that same reason, they chose to spend their time together in a room beyond her apartment with her spouse. Neither desired to harm the one whom she belonged to, nor wished to trespass upon the hallowed grounds the binding was founded upon. What they would share now was separate from him, something established within their cores that neither could resist any more than they could resist breathing. After all, it had been conceived far before she had been made a bride, and because they had forgotten its existence until they had found themselves facing one another again, it was now too late for them to destroy it. Neither now had the power or the will to do what was moral in the eyes of society, for the bond formed in the past preceded the bond witnessed by the public, and it could no soon be broken than the lawful union simply because it held a secret status. So instead they coped with their dual lives as best as they were able, balancing their loves and desires with the light of the day. Perhaps, in a more waking state, their minds would have been torn between the two roads they were expected to walk upon. But now, underneath the shroud of the rainy eventide, they felt at peace and whole walking down the spit of land held within the prongs of the forked path.
Still, her voice rose into the jasmine-scented air, barely heard over the rain: "…I need to talk to you about something, Mewtwo."
He drew back slightly, but only just, his paw cupping her chin, his thumb brushing over her lips. "…Can it wait?"
Sabrina closed her eyes, pondering it, and then nodded, opening her eyes slowly to gaze on him. "Yes," she said, and brushed her mouth to his, before murmuring against him, "For awhile, it can."
He was glad. It had been some time since they had last spent an evening together, and he had yearned for one deeply over the past several weeks. Yet he had been patient, as he always was, and would now be blessed for it. She turned about his hold, wrapping her arms about his necks, pressing her lips to his face, his shoulders, his bare chest, the soft, pleasant sensations akin to the wings of a dark butterfly fluttering against his thin pelt. Warmth spread through his torso and throat immediately, the vibration within him growing louder, at which the woman laughed. The sound, pure as the chiming of a bell, was lovely within his ears - he had missed it intensely, had ached for it, just as he had for the thrill of her touch, which now ran over his ribs, his sides, his inner thighs, teasing at the sensitive region between them. Though difficult, he resisted arousal just then. It had been so long since he had felt her that he wanted nothing more than to savor these moments, to stretch them out and make them linger within his soul and flesh alike. If they proceeded too swiftly, as exciting as it would be it would not be nearly as satisfying, and he sought gratification now, not merely an amusing ride. Still, he wished to enjoy the splendor of her naked skinnow, and he would not deny himself that any longer: kissing her soundly he reached down, intertwining his tongue with hers, undoing the looping ties of her robe and brushing the fabric from her shoulders. She quivered as it pooled at her feet, and he wondered vaguely how much of her trembling was due to the coolness of the room. But it was no matter: his fur would blanket her in warmth soon enough….
Running his eyes over her, he sighed in admiration: she was ever exquisite, and he knew it a blessing that many women her age cursed her for, for they did not realize how much effort she put into maintaining it. Rare were the moments when she allowed herself to indulge in desserts, only giving in to temptation when her husband was away, and during most other times, she sparred in the Viridian Gym with her pokémon to keep her muscles wiry. He ran his fingers, his palms over the results of her labors, at which she titled her head back and closed her eyes, her breath leaving her in soft pants: her flesh flushed and slickened, her breasts and nipples firmed, the nook between her legs moistened as he ran his tail up the backs of her legs and over her buttocks. She held back a curse at how easy it was for him to make her quiver with yearning, though she knew every trick he could perform upon her to arouse her so. His mate, for the short time he had possessed one, had taught him well how to pleasure a female, and by applying those to the woman before him and quickly learning her own likes, he knew just how to promote the fiercest responses in her. As precious moments passed under his ministrations, she felt the ache in her, the itch of lust, become increasingly insistent, her body's desperate plea for fulfillment in the ancient act of mating. Yet despite how much her being called out for him, his seemed reluctant to respond just yet, as if he enjoyed taunting her and listening to the music of her cries - which, of course, he did.
Yet he could not remain untouched by craving for long…her desire mounted beneath his own, elevating it, causing it to surface within his flesh, from his flesh, and with a heavy sigh he drew her up into his arms, feeling her legs wrap about his hips for support, and carried her to the bed in which they intended to fulfill their growing needs. He laid her out upon the pale sheets, which contrasted her dark hair distinctly, and nuzzled the lush strands, filling his muzzle with the scent of her: jasmine intertwined lavender, the fragrance laced in the soap she used. He kissed her eyelids, her face, her lips, trailing his mouth down her jaw and throat, his long tongue soon preening her. The remnant act belonged to his feline ancestors and, regardless of the godless manner of his birth, had been passed down to him, and he employed the act solely to prepare a lover for an even more intimate one. He licked her smooth belly, her navel, down her midriff, over the darker skin of her inner thighs, then tenderly at the soft flesh and the pattern of tiny curls between them, which she had ceased to shave away upon her lovers' independent, yet mutual comments that they found the silky hairs appealing to the touch. He smothered a chuckle at the little gasps and odd sounds she made in response to the lapping of his tongue against her – she tasted like the waters from a primordial sea, which of course it was meant to mimic. On occasion, her flesh quivered about him, and eventually she ordered him breathlessly to stop. He had done what he intended to do: arouse her until she could barely stand to wait for him to be equally prepared, until even the slightest touch made her sensitive skin pulse. As he leaned back, his irises once again flashing blue as they reflected the candlelight, she closed her glazed, half-lidded gaze with a faint moan. There was something so primal about those predatory, hungry eyes: they ever sent a thrill racing up into her belly. She wanted her lover to be within her now, but knew he was going to make her wait. That would be his revenge for the separation she'd made him endure for the past month.
And such was his version of foreplay.
But damn her if she was going to allow him to toy with her as he might a mouse…! She rose from the covers onto her knees, grasping his shoulders in her hands, pressing the whole of her front to him as she bit down, with relish, at his neck, ridding herself of some of her frustration. He, unlike her, was expected to have some scrapes and bruises from his occupation…which meant that she would set her teeth and nails upon him all she pleased for his daring to bring her so far and not coax her over the edge. Yet she had an ulterior motive, for she knew him to be someone who flirted with masochism and gained excitement from his female being a tad less gentle with him than he with her. Indeed, when he growled slightly in response, it was a pleased growl, and soon enough her exploring hands and mouth had reduced him to a far less tamed creature, who shuddered and burned under her touch. For she too had learned swiftly how to bring her beloved to his full pleasure, knowing just where to caress and how much pressure to apply. She trailed her fingers along him, grasped him, tasted him, ran herself against him until he knew the same intensity of lust as she held within her core. She keened with laughter as he took her shoulders in his paws and pushed her into the covers of the bed beneath him, his eyes glowing like hot embers from the fires of libido. A hand about her wrist, which he nipped at gently, he raised one of her knees over his hip with the other, then the next, sliding forward, for a moment teasing her until she made to tear marks down his chest with her nails. He chuckled at her mock attack before obediently gliding into her, groaning at the intense pleasure that raced up into him as her hot, wet flesh encompassed him. Her body arced beneath him at his entrance, her legs clutching him firmly and her toes curling - she pressed her head back into the pillows with a sharp cry. Her lover smothered her gasp with a passionate kiss…it could only convey so much of the emotion that filled him at being so intimate with her.
For her adored her more than he could communicate with mere, insignificant words. He expressed that as his paws clutched the sheets near her sides, as his face buried against her collar, as he thrust in her, shallowly and slowly at first, then delving deeper into her, the rhythm between them swiftly established, her pelvis rocking with his as they moved in practiced, smooth motions. Each dig made them shudder with bliss, the ecstasy of it soon growing almost unbearable as their motions sped, and as they purposefully let down the mental shields that they had been holding firmly in place between them. These barriers had kept their emotions and sensations separate, but now the intensity of dual feeling was a blessing they sought in the throes of passion, a gift bestowed upon them by the psychic bond they shared and cherished.Thiswas why Mewtwo's mate had deemed to leave, unable to tolerate his hunger for the female who now writhed in his hold, andthiswas why Sabrina could not resist her partnership with the clone…for when he had asked her, once, if her unions with her husband had left her fully satisfied, she had compared them to the forbidden, illicit union they had shared so many years beforehand…and had found no comparison.Thiswas what she yearned for, the pleasure of not one but two bodies making love, and the joy of not one but two souls finding the highest reaches of bliss together.Thisrapture was what seduced her being and his, and the one which made her cross countless lines to be able to experience again…!
And the fierce ardor and hedonistic delight they lavished upon each other began to overwhelm her. She clung to him and keened against his shoulder as pure bliss washed up from her core throughout her body, goosebumps prickling over her skin, her spine curling up into him as climax hit. He grasped her fully, yowling without regard to who might hear when he felt her peak, his own thrusts becoming far more powerful and desperate as he ceased to curb his own urges. He followed her over the edge, pleasure pulsating through him as his heat burst within her, his motions within her slowing and then ceasing as they sunk, shaking, into the welcoming sheets beneath them. Afterwards they lay in one another's arms, their fingers and mouths brushing one another in light, affectionate caresses now that gratification had been gained. They re-erected their mental barriers as thoughts began to surface, for though their very atoms had mingled and even now spoke to one another, they respected each other's right to the sanctuary of their own minds, since they valued one another first and foremost as separate entities. The clone closed his eyes and sighed into his lover's ear as one of her hands graced the back of his skull, the other sweeping down his side in long, calming strokes. She was warm and tender in his arms, and for several minutes they rested together, listening to the rain outside pouring down….
Eventually the clone withdrew, whispering for her to turn over onto her back. She obeyed, and sighed as his paws began to work into her shoulders and her back, undoing the knots clenched there. During this time, they did not speak…Sabrina merely closed her eyes, allowing him to ease away the forming tension in her muscles. After a time, content that she was relaxed, he sat back against the headboard where the woman joined him, curling up against his side. He kissed her hair, and then spying the wine left out on the vanity, concentrated his telekinesis and drew it to them, grasping it delicately in a paw. He took a sip from it: the flavor of grapes and cranberries flared over his tongue, and he licked his chops afterwards, savoring its delightful taste and its faint bite of alcohol. Though he only dared drink a little, for his bestial form could only endure so much of any strong beverage, he found dry, red wines pleasant, and knowing his appreciation, his mistress typically poured him some in celebration of the evenings they were able to share. With a tender look, he held the crystal glass before her, offering her some of the wine…but to his surprise, she declined. She could not drink what he presented to her. Her beloved raised a thick eyebrow at that, wondering aloud in a teasing tone if she thought a glass or two would turn her into an alcoholic, and if that was the case, she had best beware, for both of the males in her life found enjoyment in humanity's ambrosia. Yet she did not respond to his jibe; instead, she glanced away towards the vanity, spying the rainwater spilling down the windowpane through its glass. Her mood was dampened, as if it had been hung outside in the storm like a bed sheet. Discovering this, the amusement in Mewtwo's eyes dimmed, and he set the wine aside, asking her what troubled her. Then, very quietly, she confessed:
"I'm pregnant, Mewtwo."
A deep, unfathomable sadness blossomed within her as she said words which might normally be cause for merriment. Not able to meet his eyes, she wrapped an arm about her abdomen, which yet showed no signs of carrying an infant. However, he sensed the sincerity behind her declaration, as well as the edge of fear she tried to conceal from him…but of that emotion, he understood. His surprise faded swiftly when confronted with her sorrow and uncertainty, and he embraced her closer to him, wondering if she would voice the inquiry rising within both of them, or if he must. Eventually, realizing he must speak it, he broke the silence. "I see. Do you know whose it is?"
They both knew well that despite the difference in their forms, the replica was just as capable of siring a child within her as her husband was. After all, he had done so once before in their youth, albeit through immaculate means, for that had been a part of the bargain they had struck so long ago. Ideally, he would have gained the heir he had so wished for, a child whom he might teach all of his wisdom and abilities to, while Sabrina, in turn, would gain possession of the clone after their offspring had flown from underneath his protective wings. In the end, the chaos of life had polluted the dream: at six years of age, the little girl had perished in the Influenza Epidemic of 2005, which had made the sacrifices for her continued existence all in vain. It mattered not anymore that Mew had lost her freedom and sanity for the child and the father, whom the ancient had regarded as her truest love. It mattered not that Mewtwo had fled to Giovanni for escape from the huntress, for the man had promised him a life of devoid of servitude and rife with solace. Fate had twisted the beast's intents, and the pact remained intact: he became her slave, years sooner than he had anticipated. Only after months of struggling had he comprehended the truth: that honoring his vow would not demolish his pride or the richness of living. All those years ago, she had bound him to her not because she craved power and harbored dark ambitions; instead, she had merely been lonely, and so posed no threat to him. In fact, if he allowed it, she could offer him a status far above what his creators had envisioned: with her he was not tool of battle, but a man, a king, a god, for she made him into a complete entity. And now, one again, it seemed she might be offering him an even more treasured role: that of father. If the progeny was his, he could once again hold that blessed, holy title.
But was it…? Her murmur rose above the sound of the rain, answering his inquiry: "I…I don't know…."
The rain poured harder, nearly drowning out the whisper she uttered after a few heartbeats more:
"…But I hope it's yours."
He ran his fingers through her hair, considering that. "…And if it is? If this child is born from you with my likenesses, surely you realize how it will wound the man your love."
She flinched, not at his tone, for it did not condemn her, but at the consequence that he voiced – for she knew well that he desired the babe to be his as much as she did. Yet the fact remained that if it the child belonged to Mewtwo, her husband's heart would be broken, and she could not justify harming the man she had wed in such a way…for the truth was, the clone was correct. She did cherish Giovanni, the Gym Leader of the Land; she did love him and long for him, and admired him as much as he admired her: for both of them had survived broken youths, both of them had shouldered the weight of ruling shadow organizations, and both of them yet savored in the fineries of life now that they were free of the darkness of the past. And yet for all the joy she gained from being with her spouse, her friend…what she shared with her the male beside her transcended any feeling her mind could place a name to. Love, desire, joy, rapture - none befitted the sensation in which every fiber of her being became unified with the cosmos, at once primitive and ascended, at once infinitely vulnerable and empowered. If a child were to be conceived in any emotion, would it not be best for him or her to be formed from that indescribable bliss…?
However, if that meant she were to injure Giovanni, the man who kept her safety bound to the earth…! Tears stung in her eyes and her throat ached, for the thought of wounding the one who had given her so much, so selflessly, was unbearable. Likewise, she knew that her lover hesitated to harm the man, for in the passing years his once master had become his cherished friend. How many times had the three of them spent their nights traveling through the capital, savoring the vibrant experiences that life had to offer…? How many times had they shared laughter at the private jokes that they'd contrived during their ventures, which only served to frustrate those who futilely attempted to understand them…? They were all so close…and yet Sabrina and Mewtwo risked shattering the bonds they so cherished whenever they were together in this way.
But every time they began to doubt, every time they had lain awake at night, resolving to remain loyal to Giovanni's expectations…a haunting question arose in their thoughts and refused to allow them peace. It asked them, "Which is more important – happiness or love?"
Did that inquiry matter still? If the child stirring within Sabrina indeed belonged to the clone, their idyllic lives would be ruined regardless of its answer. It would be too late for them to conceal their betrayal if it had gained a form of flesh and bone, for both knew that the budding life would not be executed for the potential insult of its existence. All its mother and potential father could do now was pray for a reprieve: let dark hair dominate over pale fur, let onyx eyes rule over amethyst, and most importantly of all, let the child take after its maternal heritage if indeed it belonged to the pokémon. If indeed their trespasses could be pardoned, let them find forgiveness here…and if not, heaven grant them mercy. With a heaviness like lead filling the cavity beneath his ribs, the clone leaned over the female and placed a kiss beneath her navel: such was his promise to stand beside her, regardless of the parentage of the new life within her. Because no matter its father, the child washers, and that was enough for him to bless it. At the woman's consent, he rested his paws over her womb and allowed her to guide his empathic senses to the faint aura of the babe. Feeling the soft glow, the beast's gaze softened and he murmured that he believed the little one to be a boy. For the first time since their lovemaking, his mistress laughed, for that was just what she needed, was it not? - Another male in her life. However, even as she said that in jest, the notion of bearing a son warmed her heart, and she touched the pokémon's face and murmured, "You know I love you, don't you?"
He smiled, and it was beautiful."Yes, I know, 'Rina. That feeling is mutual between us."
Had it not been, these moments he spent with her would be accursedly hollow…and not as hopelessly lovely as they were.
At his words, the gnawing worry that tormented her was banished; soon enough she slipped into tranquil rest, allowing herself the peace found in the Gardens of Morpheus. Her partner however remained wakeful, and watched the gentle undulations of her chest as she dreamed for some time, before one by one he extinguished the low-burning candles with his telekinesis and pulled the covers over their nakedness. Then, into the hush of the morning, he cradled her with the care one gives only to the most precious object in his or her world…which, of course, she was to him, as she always would be….
As dawn arrived, gray and soundless, they placed the candles within the drawers of the vanity and locked them away, poured the wine down the drain and sent the crystal glass to the kitchens for washing. They bundled up the bedclothes they had laid in and stuffed them in the laundry, then threw open the windows to air from the chamber the fragrance of jasmine. They showered separately, for it defeated the purpose of coming clean if they left the purifying waters carrying one another's scents…and finally, the clone slid his mistress's wedding ring back upon her finger, an act symbolizing that their affair, for now, was concluded. But afterwards, defying the gesture, they kissed tenderly, letting the sensation linger so it might last until the next time they were in one another's arms, if indeed they ever again shared a night like the one they had so reluctantly just left….
And in the outside world beyond them, the rain had ceased to fall. Unnoticed by the duo, the sun rose from the east, making everything sparkle with gold…for the giver of life transcended sin, and purified all that was bathed in its hallowed light - it condemned no one.
Not even those who made love beneath the rain.