Fluttershy, would you kindly...

Summon your cutie marks out of my stomach? They're moving around something awful, and I don't think they have the right permits for a rave.

Yesterday marked the first day in nine days during which I didn't write anything; today was Edit Day. Not just the little "shit, I really am fond of Lavender Unicorns" stuff, but finding lost clauses, rearranging sentence structure, jumping the tallest assumptions in a single bound, sort of things. My longest, mostly discarded works of fiction prior have gotten to be ... uh, ten pages, maybe? Unless one includes my thesis, because, good gravy, was I trying to fake it until I made it. Wednesday before last, I had a moment of intense inspiration fueled by two of the most universal sources: revealing the world unfolding inside my head is the more noble, but the one with greater impetus was: the need to snap my kinks, like stepping into a Slim Jim, but with perhaps slightly less embarrassing hats.

That is to say, it's porn. And, alas, it's OC porn, with a number of attendant curlicues that I feel half afraid to write. Mind you, the poor OC in question does not get actual sex until several chapters in. The first ones to get sex on screen ... sort of, if orgasm control, foot/muscle worship, and intense non-rump-related Plotty Shenanigans can be really called sex, per se... have a relationship that in canon my SO describes as "not so much subtext as unspoken." A phrasing I find awesome and appropriate and squee.

I guess you could say the OC in question gets sex in chapter three; I'm not certain that having two female characters bring a male character to orgasm by implication, offers, and sheer in-your-facedness with a little bit of hardcore cuddling counts as sex. I'm honestly not even sure how to describe that in a trigger warning.

Nonetheless, there's all sorts of phallic proxy going on, even when phalli? Phalluses? Spellcheck says phalli, apparently, anyway, even when dicks aren't being directly involved. I hope I've created a character who is as fun to read around and with as he is to write for, but I am terribly aware of the fact that if I describe poor Shadow Hopper, he of the silver bunny on his butt, in simple sentences, he would trip all sorts of warnings. I bless a basic self-awareness here even as I curse it for my indecision; I have tried to take the basic concept and roll down and around, trying to make him a character rather than a walking solution and writer/reader's dildo. Sorry, kid, you were literally husband husbandry'd; no one involved will be taking much more than the mares in your life who already have your dignity.

I mean, it's harem muscle power exchange porn plus other stuff, with vague hints of plot on the horizon that are being ignored in favor of da plot in one's face, for the moment. Got both kinds outlined. Don't know how many bunny hops you're allowed over the OC line, Hopper, and I hope that frantic editing helps.

Why am I writing this? Am I asking permission of the world to unleash yet another OC that I can't promise won't avoid Gary Studom no matter what I do? I don't entirely know. I think it's because this is a blog, and it's late, and my stress is reaching catastrophic levels, and if-when I hit post blog entry, I'll have it up, and I won't need to worry about it sounding like repetitive crap, unless one counts my early LiveJournal phase. Something posted, something written to the world.

And dear, sweet pronking alicorns on pogo sticks, how the hay am I going to trigger warning Twilight's little boob ride? At least the manipulagasms I can name.