Drabble Challenge Omake
Sitting cross-legged in a chair, her laptop perched on her knees, a short young woman with dark blond hair let her hand slither underneath her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose; she had a headache pounding in her left temple and it was acting up again. Moving the hand pinching the bridge of her nose back to the keyboard, he raised her left hand and pressed the pad off her thumb into her temple hard in order to convince the threatening migraine that it did not want to stop in for a visit or she would find a way to make it very sorry for doing so. After successfully scaring off the migraine, she found her jaw aching as she yawned wide enough to make it crack- the heavy chewing muscles that were anchored to her skull right above the temples were worn out and sore from a variety of tough foods she'd eaten the day previously and the stretch from her yawn wasn't helping. It even hurt bad enough she had eschewed her addiction to chewing gum and she'd been forced to rely on a secondary addiction- her beloved coffee. Unfortunately the "good stuff" she loved was rather expensive and thus rationed, and since they were out at the moment and had just made the last pot, she had been allowed only one cup of the delicious brew. One small cup, that if measured would be a half-cup, rather than her usual massive, three-and-a-half-cup mug. Disappointed at her misfortune, she sipped her lonely little cup and pouted. Her assorted aches and irritations were making it difficult to be creative, and she wanted to stuff all this into one prompt rather than stretching it out over several; she had too many multi-part stories as it was, and this wasn't supposed to get nearly this out of hand anyway, and besides- GGGGGRRRRROOOOOOWWLLLLLL! Uh, and besides, she was apparently rather hungry. Noting the time to be eleven thirty p.m. the young authoress frowned as she tried to think of what would tide her over until she went to bed either around three or when her laptop battery ran out (she hadn't bothered to connect the cord because she hadn't planned to get this deep into her writing) but wouldn't be something she wanted to eat for breakfast.
In an all-too-practiced move, her left hand tapped the "Ctrl" and "S" keys simultaneously with thumb and forefinger to save her work. The move was so practiced and natural to her now for one reason- during the school year, she'd had a laptop failure and lost two chapters of notes from all her classes. Now, it was all stored on her USB drive (THE PRECIOUS, as she called it, and insisted that the title was entirely in capitals because it was just that important) and she saved again and again and again throughout her writing. She saved what must've been dozens of times over the course of each work just in case she ran into one of those times when her laptop went dead and wouldn't be able to retrieve the data she'd had unsaved. Setting her laptop on the small table he used for a footstool if her legs fell asleep but she still wanted room for the machine, she rose from the just-barely-soft-enough-to-be-called-plush chair and stretched, her spine crackling like crumpled tinfoil as she arched inward and twisted her hands together so she could force the shoulder joint back when she stretched them behind her head toward the wall. Satisfied with her little symphony, she straightened out her billowing attire (what she preferred around the house, particularly during the recent hot weather) and made for the kitchen. Her stomach roared, literally roared at her again, and she slapped a hand to it in a wordless order to shut up as she rummaged in the cupboard, emerging victorious when she found she still had a microwave Easy Mac stored there. They made a perfect late-night snack, she found. Instant ramen was also always an option, but it sat heavy on her stomach and when she ate heavy things too close to bedtime it had unpleasant effects in the morning.
Yawning again, she did not fail to notice that after a moment the padding of soft paws sounded on the linoleum and a loud meow made her look down to see Gizmo, the cat adopted from a local animal shelter. Crouching and balancing on the balls of her feet (not to mention cracking both knees and ankles), she scratched the feline's ears gently. "Hey baby," she purred rustily, her voice gravelly and hoarse after prolonged silence, "how's my pretty kitty doin' this mornin'?" She knew it wasn't technically morning yet, she was more than just a night owl- her aunt called both the young authoress and her mother "The Vampires". As far as she was concerned, eleven or twelve at night was her morning. At least, for the summer. Shaking off the thought of her eventual but not impending return to college, she removed the finished macaroni from the microwave and stirred in the powdered cheese. Hearing again the patter of soft paw pads on the linoleum, she smiled as she turned to look up at her other cat, who entered with all his hair fluffed out and his tail thrashing. "What's got you so worked up, Grimmjow?" The Espada, in his released form at the moment, took the brush his Authoress conjured out of seemingly nowhere and started trying to wrestle his blue mane into lying semi-flat again. He hated when his hair reacted like his fur would in full panther form. "Remember how we agreed I'd share yer Aunt's bed since you live on th'couch an' Ichi sure as hell ain't sharin' yer mom's bed when she aint usin' it?" The Authoress nodded- she remembered trying to arrange everybody's sleeping space when it was already rather limited (and she was not going to give up her couch and she sure as hell wouldn't share it; the thing was so old it would probably break from the combined weight). "Well," the Arrancar continued, "ya know how she likes ta leave the TV on so sudden noise don't wake her in th'mornin'? The channel she was on just ran their monthly emergency warnin' test and it startled us both outta a dead sleep. Now I can't seem ta calm down thanks ta the adrenaline jolt."
Silver nodded sagely, having had a more than a few rude awakenings of her own.
GET UP!
Come quick, the chair's on fire and you gotta help me get it out of here!
That was your father- he's been hurt and he thinks he might need to go to the hospital.
Shaking the memories off, she instead used one hand to absently pet Grimmjow's teal ears soothingly. She knew what it was to wake up and be far, far too wired to go back to sleep that day. Purring under her hand, the Pantera-released-form Grimmjow followed her back into the living room and sat on the floor in front of her chair so he could prop his chin on her knee. While very much a domesticated gesture, it was one he had learned did nothing to lessen his masculinity or the fact that he was an untamed beast in the Authoress' eyes. He knew very well that she had appointed herself his 'owner' until she was finished with him, which would be a long time coming if Bakura was anyone to go by, but he also knew she curbed his more destructive tendencies only because she had no love for repairing her own house. Her physical house, not the mansion Silva and the other Pets inhabited, which was where they were at the moment. Between spooning bites of her food into her mouth, she stroked his head and massaged the base of his ears, which he found soothing enough his hair started to flatten and his tail stilled (apart from the occasional tail-tip flick of satisfaction). Then of course, he heard her set down the plastic container and the metal spoon rattled in the cup, the sound making him wince. One ear twitched forward at hearing am odd sort of 'clik' that was too soft to be the tapping of nails on wood and too quiet to be the snap of a joint. She must've returned to typing, judging by the rapid-fire, nonstop sound punctuated by the 'ch-chk' of the space bar. Whenever she stopped to think, her right hand would return to Grimmjow's mane, scratching absently and petting gently. His eyes half-lidded, he purred for her.
She scratched more firmly, showing she appreciated that Grimmjow showed his pleasure even if it was in such a tame-cat way (which he disliked doing just on principle) and sat back a little with a sigh. "Only five minutes left before I run out of power. Looks like I gotta shut down." More clicks, this time the sharp sound of the built-in mouse, and after a moment it powered down. He could tell because the fans that kept the unit cool enough to prevent spontaneous combustion at last stopped whirring. Shutting the top and letting it latch closed, she used her foot to push the little table away and gave one of the deep sighs that meant she was contemplating something she'd written. Turning his cerulean gaze back up to her face, he raised an eyebrow to invite her to speak. "Well, I want to finish chapter six of ATRHATWT, but I'm sort of stuck in the middle. I'm going to devote maybe a week to it after I finish prompt 50. But 'Magic' is running away with me like these stories tend to do, and it might be a while before I even get that done." She scowled and Grimmjow chuckled. "The one with Demon Lord Ichi, right?" She nodded and he nuzzled her knee. "You like the image in your head, and the version of me in that one ain't found out Ichigo's the Demon King yet, so I'm not surprised it's runnin' off with ya." "Well I'd rather she finish that one," came a grumpy, half-sleep voice from behind them, "because I'd like to stop being a Demon King sometime soon. The horns make it rather hard to pull a shirt over my head so I've been wearing the same button-up shirt for almost a week. Can't I borrow one of your Dad's shirts, Silver? Please?" Silver chuckled. "No."
Gesturing Ichigo to kneel at her other side, which he did, she stroked his horns and watched him shiver beneath the touch. "I'm planning to finish that one after I wake up, so you don't have to put up with it for too much longer. Hey, how do you two feel about a merman theme in one or another of these? Y'know one of my favorite artists on Deviantart, Blackstorm? Storm did a drawing of Catfish!Grimmjow and now the idea won't leave me alone; he looked amazing." The two looked at each other over her knees and then Grimmjow asked hesitantly, "Who did you plan to make the merman?" She blinked. "Both of you, of course. I couldn't use the prompt I'm thinking of if it wasn't both…unless you would prefer just one?" Grimmjow tilted his head. "Well, since you're making 'Prayer' part of the 'Rider' series, I'll be a horse for a while. I wouldn't mind changing into a merman sometime after that." Silver nodded. "I started these prompts to try and exorcize some of the hundreds of ideas out of my brain, but the problem is when I don't have one ready for the prompt a dozen new ones crop up, so I've got almost as many ideas bouncing around my skull as I did when I started. In fact, a new one involving you and I and me teaching you about 'human dominance games' has been playing out in my head for almost three days, Grimmjow. If it stays much longer, I'll have to write it 'cuz it won't be going away." He winced- he'd had the misfortune of being thrown inside her mind once, and he knew the furious whirlwind of ideas and half-formed stories resided at the center of her being, the stronger ones playing in front of her eyes like a movie. If any idea stayed longer than five days, it would stick around until she wrote the damn thing. Ichigo looked thoughtful, then asked, "What about asking your readers for suggestions?" Behind her glasses, the green eyes glinted in the low lighting curiously. "Oh?"
He fidgeted; his Master's gaze was incredibly strong and she got that hungry look sometimes when she was coming up with something particularly intense for him and Grimmjow to act out. "Well, it would keep you from coming up with more ideas than you can stand," he said nervously, "and it might prompt more reviews. Plus, by making it interactive, you might even be able to net yourself more readers." The authoress twirled a lock of hair through the fingers of her left hand and chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. "Okay Ichigo, sounds like an idea. I'll post an Omake after I post number fifty so they know it might take a little longer than usual for their next ten prompts and so they know I'm taking suggestions for the next week after I post. I wouldn't be able to promise I'd do them all, because some things I'm just no good at writing, and some things I can't make myself write- like a detailed rape scene, I just couldn't bring myself to write that if someone asked. I'm too much of a hopeless romantic to do that. Blood, violence, war, torture; I'm good at those, detailed with them, but non-con and rape is shit I can't write in detail. Sexual violence, if enjoyed by both sides, I could maybe manage, though it probably would be C or B-ranked writing at best. Oh, that reminds me, as long as we're on the subject of sex, I finally granted you two your smut scene! Prompt 47- 'Season'. Grimmjow finally remembered to keep his mouth shut long enough for me to write it in full. Anyway, I made both of your dicks roughly the same size- seven inches long, an inch and a half thick. I'm trying to make you impressive, but not physically impossible in objective reality. Is that size reasonable?" Neither man was surprised at the question- it was one of her more reasonable queries in the time they'd known her. She was adamant on the details.
Ichigo answered first. "Well, you have to remember I'm fifteen. That's pretty big for someone my age, and I still have quite a bit of growing to do. I'd estimate I'd end up eight and a half to nine inches long when full grown in that case, though still around that thickness. I'm a scrawny guy, I'm not going to be all that thick anywhere on my body." "You're lean and wiry, not scrawny or lanky," she corrected him, as she often did, "scrawny people haven't any muscle and you've got plenty, honey." Grimmjow purred his agreement and then answered for himself. "I'm pretty broad so I'd probably be closer to an inch and three quarters in thickness, though eight or eight and a half inches is closer to a realistic length for that sort of girth. I'm taller than Ichigo, and to be proportionate my dick would be a little longer as well." She scowled. "I'm not giving you an eleven inch cock, Grimmjow. I'm trying to make it physically possible, goddamn it." Both men rolled their eyes- it was one of her pet peeves when an author or authoress gave the characters genitals that were physically impossible with their body structures and horrible sex scenes where they successfully used those impossible genitals to their satisfaction. One of the ones she's ranted about most spectacularly was one where the men had foot-and-a-half and two-foot long cocks and came in quarts and gallons. She had also ranted just the other day for almost an hour about Grimmjow being unable to have an eleven-inch cock because he just wasn't that goddamn tall and his hakama didn't have that big of a crotch. She'd also been making that argument naked, so it had been an entertaining morning.
Shooing the men off of her, Silver got up and stretched a little. "I'll ask my readers to comment on that too. Alright, everyone, let's get to bed. If the omens are right, we'll have a busy day tomorrow." The boys looked at each other, then gulped. Whatever "the omens" were, she usually read them right. The only trouble was, when she said they had a busy day ahead, it usually meant she'd be writing and they'd be making use of the bed that was conveniently placed in the basement until they passed out from soreness and exhaustion. They gave each other a fond nuzzle and hurried to their respective sleeping places. Hopefully things would quiet down while she held her little contest and they could get some rest after she worked them hard tomorrow. Settling down to sleep on her couch, Silver hummed thoughtfully as she planned the next day. "Perhaps I'll extend it to however long it takes me to put up the next ten drabbles…"