#hawksflatass thoughts

[hawks-flat-ass]

A softer Dabihawks is brewing. My nervous system said, “Let the bird and the arsonist have one calm moment.” So… fine. Those two idiots get to have a moment of tenderness.

[hawks-flat-ass]

Hard Truths You Need to Hear: Unhealthy Dependence.

Heads up: These will be raw takes, but this situation has been resolved for some time. The intensity is for emphasis and tongue-in-cheek humor, not drama or emotional escalation. This is just aggressive self-care from a tired adult juggling Pennlaw courses, work-related chaos, familial obligations, and a grand total of two self-care hours a day.

Continued beneath the break.

I had a situation where someone began to exhibit unhealthy dependence. It’s resolved now, but it’s worth highlighting for anyone who might be feeling “off” around someone and can’t quite articulate why.

To start: I am fucking busy. From five a.m. to midnight. Like Cyrus from Trailer Park Boys: “Fuck off, I got work to do.”

This isn’t new. It’s been this way for months.

People who’ve asked for beta reads know this. People I collaborate with know this. People in my servers know this. The person I’m describing knew this.

It’s not a secret. I’m extremely open about it.

And if I’m not busy, I’m dealing with a chronic pain attack. Cluster headaches, specifically. These are no joke. They’re one of the most painful conditions known to medical science and are poorly understood. Seriously, after spending the day in the ER at 14, a doctor burst into the room, plopped his ass unceremoniously onto a rolling stool, and said, “Congratulations, you have cluster headaches, or as we like to call them, suicide headaches. Meet your new best friend!” My life has been an escalating grab bag of rescue meds ever since. I’d rather have a migraine ad infinitum than another month-long cluster.

But throughout all this goddamn busyness, this person would message me snippets, world-building notes, lore, ideas, etc. Stuff I genuinely enjoyed seeing, but, ya know, I’m busy. And sometimes, not wanting to leave them unread forever because I cared about them, I’d skim and give them what scraps of energy I had left. Sometimes, that meant a simple “aww, cute!” or something not fully attuned.

Apparently, that meant I was “distant.” “Walled off.” “No longer warm like I used to be.” “No longer interested.” Surely, I must be rejecting them, right? Because the reality—that I was simply, predictably fucking busy—wasn’t sufficient.

And just to highlight the hypocrisy: this same person started bulldozing me in conversations, immediately pivoting to themselves the second I shared a win and had the unmitigated audacity to say “same tho” when I brought it up.

This, dear reader, is unhealthy dependence. And if you are finding yourself in a similar situation, heed the warning: It can become co-dependence if you let them pull you into a caretaker role. But it doesn’t have to cross over to that if you have firm boundaries.

And yes, sometimes that’s easier said than done. No good person wants to know their friend is hurting.

I struggled to be firm until far later than I should have. I avoided the caretaker role, but I was still too permissive.

If you find yourself in this situation, the best thing you can do is reiterate your boundaries. Be firm, not harsh.

In my situation, what I should have said was:

“I hear that my perceived distance is impacting you. As we discussed earlier, I have a very full schedule. I am not rejecting you, but I do not have the time right now to give you my full attention.”

Do not apologize here. You’re not doing anything wrong by living your life without orbiting someone else. (I personally am still working on this.)

Remember: You are allowed to live your life without giving more energy than you have.

[hawks-flat-ass]

Is it weird that, for the most part, I no longer identify with the phrase, "writing is hard"?

There are some exceptions.

But since March last year, I've been consistent.

Since Vieras, the floodgates opened.

Even when I'm not uploading, I'm still writing.

It's like some nirvana of fucklessness and profound liberation.

[hawks-flat-ass]

Talking to a friend about this new fic.

You don't have to destroy him 😂

Anyway, 1.2k outline done.

Time to start chapter 1.

[hawks-flat-ass]

For the Safety of the Public is eventually going to make its way to a side blog! This is planned to be a collaborative piece with @autumnmobile12, who has domain expertise outside my own (Regulatory Compliance, IT, Corporate).

I just need to come up with an overarching blog title that can encompass my additions as well as the additions of current (and future) collaborators... and tweak the styling so it looks all corporate rot n’ shit. Because if you’ve been to my AO3, you know I live in my custom stylings at this point.

I do have a theme set up for this, too. I just need to reach a certain point before I start uploading it there. You’ll see. 🤭

For now, in capstone veritas. I don’t have the full bandwidth just yet. But soon.

[hawks-flat-ass]

so many ppl copy u and u don't even see it

I don't usually entertain these types of anon messages. I get a lot, across all platforms that allow it. This one is from New Years, as are all the most recent influx of sussy anons.

But this one genuinely made me laugh.

Initially, my response was just going to be: I'm not so insecure that I'm threatened by this idea. The ass is here to share. 💙

But then I got to thinking about it, and came to the conclusion that this is symptomatic of a much larger issue in fandom spaces.

So, let's talk about copying in fandom for a second.

By all means, yes, your OCs are yours and if you're inspired by another, you should definitely say something. But fanfic, especially plot concepts??

Unless someone is lifting something scene for scene, or directly from you without credit, this concept is ludicrous because there really are no original ideas.

South Park S06E07, The Simpsons Already Did It, tackled this better than I ever could, especially flying off the cuff. But I'll do my best.

Let me explain.

We are all influenced by what we know and what media we consume. This is a fact. Inevitably, we will be inspired by an idea that we encountered in our daily life. We might not even remember it.

I myself pulled a line from Futurama that is pervasive in my every day vernacular for Azure Down: 'fired, out of a canon, into the sun.'

This doesn't mean I deliberately ripped off Groening. But this phrase is so natural to me that I included it without thought until someone said, "Hey! Futurama!"

But I've seen some weirdness first hand about whole ass concepts.

For example, I've had one writer adamantly accuse another of stealing from them in my DMs. Author A had written a story about an artist FL, and a different story with a drug addict ML. Author B wrote a story where FL is an art student and ML smoked a cigarette.

Christopher Booker also brings us the concept of the "Seven Basic Plots" which all stories follow in some fashion. While the story around those plots will vary, the core of the story has already been told.

Claiming ownership of a career concept is ludicrous. No one owns the idea of 'artist', and there are thousands of art student insert stories in AO3. Then to compare a single cigarette to a harder substance addiction is just a major leap that minimizes the experience of addicts. To take it a step further, this wasn't an original concept - there are plenty of stories where that exact ML is an addict of some kind.

By the logic of idea ownership, this would make Hunger Games a rip off of 1984.

There's obviously limitations to this. Robert van Winkle and Under Pressure is an example. You can't take Halo, replace Master Chief with Master Chef, and sell it. You can't copy someone's fic, change one thing, and call it yours. That's not how creative commons works.

But fandom writing isn't the same as copy written media. The whole point of fandom is to share. To have fun in low stakes environments, inspire each other, and explore our writing and world building abilities and concepts without pressure, deadlines, or expectations that can be the death of creativity many published authors experience.

If you are directly inspired, yes, call that out. Credit your collaborators. All that good shit.

But stop trying to hurt each other and just have fun.

[hawks-flat-ass]

You know, Minetas plea with Zen/AFO has me thinking.

These thoughts were met with some recent rumblings on Tumblr I wasn't even aware of because mostly I just do my thing. I go through life, trying to affect people as little as possible.

But, the Fumi/Shadow and Zen/Yoichi parallel.

It seems that the recent rumblings are because Mineta reminds Zen of Yoichi because he's largely considered a weakling.

I actually think it's because Fumikage and Shadow are what remind Zen of Yoichi. The plea is to please not separate them; they need each other. Zen has the powerful quirk, and Yoichi is helpless without him. Shadow is a quirk, yes, but it is also an entity (and I headcanon that Shadow is a twin absorbed in utero - the whole thing gives me Beyond: Two Souls vibes) that is vastly more powerful than Fumikage is on his own.

I think, combined with being affected by immature emotions - albeit because his brain is de-aging as well, Tomura's young mind, or both - it tugs specifically at his brother wound and he just can't. That tiniest hint of something - call it empathy, call it principal, it doesn't matter.

[hawks-flat-ass]

Systemized Worldbuilding & Somatic Proximity

How Resonant Writers Build Worlds from the Body Outward If Part 4 was the heart, then it’s time we talk about the craft. And maybe I’m wanting to do this now, partly because I have recently been asked a very pragmatic question: How in God’s name am I able to track 90-something different storylines at once and map out massive concrete project plans (like a 168-chapter series). To answer that, we have to look at the actual techniques Resonant Writers use. Not the underlying trauma mechanics or emotional architecture that enables them, but the craft-level engineering that emerges naturally from a somatic creative process. Because Resonant Writing doesn’t just change how we feel. It fundamentally alters how we build worlds, structure prose, and design narrative systems. This chapter will cover: - Systemized Worldbuilding - Biomechanical Realism - Somatic Prose - Objective Narrative Distance - “Writing without My Skin On” (and what I mean by that) We’re going to shift our focus from the nervous system to the craft it produces.

I. Systemized Worldbuilding Or, “Engineering the Matrix”

Worlds are built like operating systems, not playgrounds. For an Affective Writer, worldbuilding often happens through vibes, aesthetics, emotional tone, and imaginative play. The world is a flexible playground designed to facilitate immediate comfort. For a Resonant Writer, worlds are built like core operating systems. Our worlds are not “invented” so much as they are rigorously engineered from a single point outward, through internal consistency, biological logic, and unrelenting chains of cause and effect. These worlds emerge from a deep translation of:

Somatic logic

Internal architectures

Trauma patterns

Sensory memory

Biomechanical plausibility

Environmental constraints

Its system’s architecture is mapped directly from real-world observation. We’re not so much escaping reality, though it may certainly be part of it. We are taking our internal reality, decoding its structural laws, and adapting them to the fictional subject matter at hand. We are translating.

II. Biomechanical Realism

Bodies that behave like bodies, not marionettes of narrative. In Resonant prose, characters are never pulled along by the strings of a convenient plot or feeling we want to experience. We write directly from somatic memory, and our characters’ bodies possess that material reality.

The Somatic Rules on the Page: Characters have weight, inertia, and sensory load. They experience real-time autonomic responses, trauma reflexes, and proprioceptive feedback. Because we experience it for them as we write and put it on the page.

I do not possess the ability to use the whimsical “don’t think about it” logic. I genuinely envy writers who do. I cannot simply write: “He ran.” Instead, the system automatically documents: the physical shifts of weight, the torque of the hips, the specific breathing pattern, the sensory overload, and the kinesthetic feedback of the ground beneath their feet. It’s not a stylistic gimmick or choice, but an inevitability. When you write directly from the body, the body shows up on the page.

III. Somatic Prose

Prose that originates in sensations, not imagination. Somatic prose originates in raw physiological sensation, even when those sensations are prompted by the imagination. It is sensory-forward, interoceptive, and deeply embodied. It tracks respiration, muscle pressure, temperature, olfactory data, and autonomic shifts. This approach creates prose that feels exceptionally dense, granular, and atmospheric. It isn’t about describing what a character sees from a birds-eye view; it’s documenting what their body experiences from the inside out. Standard Prose: “He felt incredibly sad and defeated.” Somatic Prose: “The sudden hollowing of the chest and collapse of his diaphragm hit first, his vision blurring at the edges, before feeling the slight, cold slide into a dissociative state where he watched himself from across the street.”

This isn’t “purple prose,” but an unvarnished transcription of human physiology under stress.

IV. Objective Narrative Distance

The craft technique that keeps us from drowning in our own bodies. Resonant Writers’ routine defaults to close-third, objective-third, or multi-third perspectives with “somatic bleed.” This is a deliberately highly necessary regulation strategy. Why? Because first- and second-person are too close. These narratives collapse the distance between the writer’s body, the character’s body, and the internal part being expressed. This can quickly become...

too raw

overwhelming

too direct

unfiltered

Third-person gives enough distance to regulate, observe, translate, and process without taking us offline. I can still embody and feel what my characters experience: emotions, biofeedback, sensory details. But I’m not writing from a place of ownership. In clinical frameworks like IFS and TIST, blending occurs when a protective or traumatized Part takes full control of the conscious Self, hijacking your thoughts, emotions, and real-world actions. Writing a narrative in the first or second person collapses the necessary safety distance between the author’s real nervous system and the character’s wounds (or, in the case of anchors, whatever they contain for the author). This can quickly become too raw, unfiltered, and unwittingly dangerous. The Third Person Shield: Third-person pronouns provide the cognitive distance required to observe, translate, and process intense somatic material without triggering a real-world system freeze or emotional hijack. I can embody and feel what my characters experience, but I am writing from a place of stewardship, not ownership. Third-person lets me feel the character without becoming the character.

Objective distance, then, is not a stylistic preference, but a regulation strategy. It lets us write without being consumed.

V. “Writing Without My Skin On”

The experience of somatic proximity at its most intense.

When a Resonant Writer drops completely into somatic immersion, it feels, quite literally, like writing without your skin. It is the experience of writing from the inside of a body outward. You are writing from the exact location of the wound rather than circling safely around it. There is zero buffer between raw physiological sensation and the written language. This state feels incredibly raw, exposed, and deeply alive. However, it can only execute when the internal system is regulated. When the environment is safe, the relational field is stable, and the Anchor Character is safely online, the somatic channel can open wide. This deep somatic proximity is the primary engine of Resonant power. But it is also the highest vulnerability, and the ultimate source of our shutdowns. It has a deep cost, and it is the reason we burn out.

VI. The Takeaway

Systemized worldbuilding, biomechanical realism, somatic prose, and objective linguistic distance are not stylistic quirks, aesthetic preferences, or hyper-fixated overthinking. These are the craft signatures of Resonant Writing. They emerge naturally from our cognition, born of nervous-system logic and Parts architecture, and given life by interoception. It is the structural output of a cognitive system that processes reality through narrative. If your stories feel vast, real, dense, and uncomfortably alive, it is because you are building them out of the scaffolding of your own lived reality. You’re not “too much.” You’re not overthinking your craft. You are writing from the body. The system. The foundations of your own psychological survival. You’re not broken. You are Resonant.