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yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit · 10 months ago

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Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

#good stay out of our yard' and he didn't seem to know what to say to that #but other than that I don't think anyone in my adult life has ever seen me turn aggressive at all to the point where people 100% like to #play games of testing my patience and my boundaries because they think my tolerance is infinite #but like I have autistic rage tantrums on both sides of my family and they are just happening inside my head #And somehow it took me until now to realize that being that way was actually -expected- of me by my parents and especially my mother #and that by keeping myself outwardly level headed to be considerate I actually took away whatever signals she can understand #to have empathy for how I must be feeling #I mean it's still all on her #but it makes so much sense of why she's fucking *like this*#And why my sister thinks I hate her just because -she- stopped texting -me-#but that fucking guy #Every time I was like #In my adult life I have screamed at someone ONE whole time and it was 1000% deserved #And I threw heavy objects around one whole other time and in my defense I didn't do it in front of the guy he just felt the ground shaking #heard the thuds and came back to the logs blocking his path because that fucker wouldn't stop parking in our yard after being asked #and then TOLD not to about 10 times because he was acting entitled to just park in our yard and was crushing my plants???#seriously I don't know what his deal was but he wouldn't stop telling me how much the ground shaking scared him like it was supposed #to get my pity like I think this guy took one look at the logs I had just tossed down and was suddenly afraid of this “woman” he was #bullying in their own yard and so my ability to feel bad for scaring him had gone straight out the fucking window #I looked at him and said stop parking in our yard instead of your own you are killing my plants #he'd just fucking be like 'well the last people to live here let us D: :)“ and I'd be like ”good for them?“ ”stop“#and he'd just keep doing it #I was having a week of insomnia and was finally having the best dream #the kind of sex dream you have like twice in your life #and this fucker had just gotten some noisy ass little bike with a spoiler on it #and starts it up right under my window at 3am from IN OUR FUCKING YARD #so I had a nice long anger nap and just after he got home from work and was sleeping in his house #I picked up these chunks of deadwood tree from the back #there was like 3-4 logs that used to be a WHOLEASS fucking oak tree Like these logs were not as heavy as they -looked- but they were still #this fucker deleted half the tags I wrote and I am not retyping that fuck you tumblr so fucking hard

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bedforddanes75 · 9 months ago

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smh back related Filth here...

this isnt good enough for me to post on ao3 have it here instead. 18+ and stuff. ok anyway dont tell me if this sucks just leave and dont ever speak again

back fic? george doesnt wanna think and matty likes georges back. no im not projecting what do you mean. warning (technically) Unfinished and bad and idk man just read and again if u dislike (and i find out about it) then DIE im comign to get you. listne to pink floyd and chiiiillll the fuck out IM SO STRESSED i hate posting so much i cant stop speaking im trying to soften the blow (no blowjobs happen) but like i dont know Girl someone get me a gun I REALLY WANT A GUN oh my god OKok ko koko kok ok kok ok ok ok ok juts GO there its'heere

He gets George laid on his front, face pressed right into the pillows and chest fighting to expand under his weight. George keeps making these quiet, almost pathetic noises, whimper-esque, and delicate, and Matty can tell he’s fighting not to grind into the mattress.

“You can make yourself feel good, darling. Go on.”

George responds immediately with the shaky movement of his hips, and a relieved moan, goosebumps rising.

There’s nothing between them now, George already stretched out and far gone, his only thoughts being of Matty and Matty and Matty and Matty. Who is Matty to deny him that pleasure? He’s in awe at how someone can be so beautiful, staring at George’s back like it’s the sun, and it might as well be, because he’s radiating heat like a fire, so desperate to be touched and to feel good that the only outlet is there. George moves his hips slowly at first, and he’s so overwhelmed he thinks he might come just from that, the friction from the sheets more than enough for him.

But he wants Matty.

Matty runs a cold finger down the length of his spine, reverent and appreciative, and George shivers, the motion pulling another quiet noise from him. It’s silent, bar their breathing, and the rustling of sheets, but Matty’s heart is beating so fast that he doesn’t even notice. George isn’t trying to speak, not trying to beg for anything, because he knows if he tries, all that’ll come out is something garbled and stupid, but he doesn’t care, because Matty isn’t making him do any of that today, he just touches and pleases and makes him feel like he’s in heaven.

It isn’t long before Matty’s leaning down over him, letting himself press against George from behind, and whispering things down his neck.

“You want me to make you come? Want me to fuck you, darling?” And George might just cry. He does want it, but he just cannot form the words. Matty doesn’t make him, but when he doesn’t make any move to get off and start properly touching George, George knows that he won’t do anything until he does. He usually forces George to speak when they do it like this, makes him blush and whine and George lets him and loves it, but this time, he’s letting George do things in his own time, pressure all gone, (except in his groin.)

He’s got his hands on George’s waist, now leaning back just to admire him, and George can’t wait any longer. He tries to speak, just the word please, but it doesn’t come out right, and he’s just so desperate that he can’t think to correct himself.

“Just let me look at you a bit, you’re so gorgeous.” Matty doesn’t sound like he’s aware of the fact he exists anymore, so wrapped up in how beautiful George is that time and space no longer accept him as a being, he is simply a conscience left to its own devices, floating around and latching onto this angelic figure beneath where he should be. “Pretty,” he breathes, “So pretty,” again. He’s still drawing lines on George with his nails, like he’s tracing the muscles and all the marks made over the years.

George tries to keep his breathing steady, content with where he is but simultaneously needing more like he needs air, like it’s his only source of life, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t mind, really, he’s just happy to be touched, because every contact with Matty feels better than anything he’s ever taken, and he can’t imagine feeling any better than this. There’s static in his head, only just about covering the words he needs to make Matty do anything, and he wishes it wasn’t there, but he loves it so, so much.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Matty whispers eventually, after years and seconds and days and hours and George can’t reply. He wants it more than anything, but he’s so focussed on trying to figure out how to express that, that he can’t do it. A nod is all he can muster up, but he knows that Matty won’t let him just do that, he needs words, proper, full words. Then, there it is, “I need you to tell me, sweet. Words.”

He’s moved further down George’s body by now, and George didn’t even realise it was happening, but he’s pressing kisses to the dimples at the base of George’s spine, so he can’t complain. Not one bit.

Then, he moves drastically lower, kisses the very top of the line between his legs, just where the fat of his [ass] starts to rise, where his thighs turn from muscle to something soft, and he just leaves his face there for a while. He’s got his chin pressed into the middle of George’s thighs, and his hands still all over his back. That makes him speak.

“Please,” he manages, and Matty seems shocked at it.

“‘Please’ what? Need you to use words.”

George can’t, and he almost feels like crying, so desperate it’s making him shake, but he tries again.

All he can do is say, “You,” like a prayer, again, again, and Matty breathes something shaky in return. But he still doesn’t make any effort to move, just strokes the back of one of George’s arms. “Please, Matty.” It feels like they’re the only words he knows, now, really.

“Just need you to tell me what you want. I’ll do it, just tell me.”

Matty was always careful not to push boundaries and to be extra nice when George got like this, he wouldn’t push anyway, but he treats George like an ornament when he’s like this. George loves it. He likes being told he’s beautiful and being allowed to not think and just feel and feel and feel. It’s nice. It’s the best.

“You. Matty. Please.” Maybe they are the only words he knows, and he doesn’t care – they’re the only words that are important.

If Matty couldn’t understand it from that, he doesn’t know what he could’ve, but, that’s a useless thought, because he’s nodding against George, whispering “Okay.”

“Tell me if you want me to do anything else. Anything you want, sweet. Do anything. Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”

George nods.

He has to wait a while, Matty making sure he won't hurt George if he goes too fast, slicking himself up, but then Matty pushes into him gently, gripping George’s hand tightly to keep himself under control, and all of a sudden, it’s all worth it. He’s glad Matty doesn’t have a clear view of his face, then, because he’s bright red, sweating, and he just knows he looks an absolute state. But none of that matters at the moment, because Matty is inside him, and still, and he feels so good, so good, so, so, so, so, so good.

If he thought he couldn’t speak before, that was nothing. He can’t even see, completely taken by the feeling of Matty inside him and touching his back and touching his hair and touching him and touching. Matty is the embodiment of pleasure.

“Feels so good, darling,” Matty breathes, and he must’ve leant down, because George can feel his breath on the back of his neck. He blushes at the praise.

He can’t breathe properly with the pillows covering his face, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, and even the littlest of movements make him completely lose coherency, because Matty’s pressed right up against that spot, and he can’t take it.

Matty thrusts after a while, holding George’s hand and making sure he’s okay every few seconds, but when he does, George sees stars. He’s clearly holding back, because he keeps twitching inside George, and George only wishes he could speak more so he could tell Matty to do what he needs, to take as much as he wants, but, alas, he can’t, and he just settles on letting Matty do what he’s doing now.

The feel of Matty inside him is something he‘ll never get used to, it’s all consuming, feels like he’s turning into a star and becoming something otherworldly and living and dying all at the same time. He can’t word how amazing it is, like knowing he’s safe and letting Matty do whatever he needs, because he knows it’ll be good, and he trusts him.

He, eventually, does start to move properly, but only after multiple weak noises from George, desperate and pleading for anything. Matty grabs his hips, suddenly energised and no longer having the patience to be as gentle as he was, and George loves it. He’ll take whatever Matty gives with an open mouth and a chest left wide open, ribs all snapped to get inside, and this is like a knife made of solid pleasure, because there’s that tiny bit of pain, but it’s covered up by the heat that rushes all down his limbs, right down to his fingers, every single time Matty hits that spot inside him, and then everything is all okay.

Soon enough, Matty’s got his nails in the soft, weak skin of the space just below George’s v-line, digging into the flesh and wanting to claw him apart simply because it’s the only possible way to express how intense everything he’s feeling is. George lets the pain bloom and he whimpers into the bed.

“You okay?” Matty asks, and he nods, enthusiastic and truthful and just wanting more.

That’s all he needs, and he seems to lose some amount of his self control, because he starts fucking into George harder, one hand going back to his waist to keep steady, and the other going to his hair. He doesn’t pull just yet, but George wouldn’t complain if he did, taken by the pleasure. Matty’s nails are pressing slightly, and he welcomes the sting.

The sweet, soft, gentle Matty is almost fully gone now, and he’s changed back into something like what he usually is in just a few minutes, and it’s making George sick with want. He’s tightening his grip on George’s hair more and more by the minute, and by now, it’s starting to sting.

George doesn’t think anything’s going to change after that, just thinks Matty’s going to make him come like this, and he has no reason to think anything else. That is, until Matty yanks George’s head towards himself by the hair, and George can’t help the moan he lets out. It’s loud and undignified, but Matty likes it all the same, apparently, because he holds tighter, and keeps his head there for a second. George thinks he might come just from that, the feel of Matty in his hair, tugging.

Heat ripples from his scalp, and it’s not helped by Matty starting to speak. “Fucking back, so beautiful. Perfect. It’s so pretty, fuck.” He keeps speaking until he finally unthreads his fingers from George’s hair, but George can still feel the ghost of his palm. He fixes his grip properly onto his hips and waist instead.

He’s definitely digging his nails into that pale flesh, and it wouldn’t shock George if, when he moves, there’s skin left beneath them. He’s being gentler than normal, which George is grateful for, because he knows that if Matty did anything that was any more intense than pulling his hair, he’d be coming within a minute of him sinking inside.

He can feel heat building in his stomach, and, all of a sudden, he’s overly aware of the sheets rubbing against himself, hard against them, and he whimpers, eyes squeezing. Matty’s starting to stroke his hair, and ramble.

“You feel so fucking good, Jesus Christ. Fuck, George.” He’s digging his thumb into a space near one of the dimples on George’s back now, almost like he wants it to bruise so he’s got proof of it, like the proof isn’t George’s very existence.

George gets closer a lot sooner than he’d like to, but he just can’t help it, because Matty is telling him how good he feels and how well he’s doing over and over again, and there’s so much happening, like the feel of Matty hitting just where he needs every time and the feel of himself against fabric and the image of what he must look like in his head. It’s all too much. Almost.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Matty slows down, taps him, asks if he’s okay, and he just nods, nods like it’s keeping him alive, manages to turn his head enough to the side to say “Please, please, Matty, please,” and then his eyes roll back.

He’s so close, whining and whimpering nonsense and trying to form words to warn Matty, failing, but not caring, because he’s blinded by how good it feels, and Matty isn’t letting up, in fact, he’s fucking him harder, pulling George’s hips into his own with every thrust, determined to make him come.

It doesn’t take long before he’s right on the edge, just needing a tiny bit more, and then Matty fists a hand into his hair once more, and he’s gone. The combination of Matty fucking him so good, with the sharp pain on his scalp, is better than anything he could’ve imagined, and he cries out as he comes, over and over, moaning into the pillows and clenching his fists, begging with completely incoherent noises. Matty keeps moving for a bit, and George doesn’t have the mind to protest, nor does he want to, he’d rather lie in the afterglow and be only half aware of how overstimulated he’s becoming.

He doesn’t really notice when Matty comes, and he doesn’t notice virtually anything else for a while after, either, just lets himself be moved around as Matty tries his best to clean him, trying to manoeuvre him into some position easier to clean from, and not doing very well, because…well, the size of George.

sorry ending Shit possibly all shit but whatever i wrote most of it. enjoy life

#sorry this is short but also im not sorry i wrote this for MYSELF #if i manage to make it better then it will be promoted to the gods of ao3 #my hair feels soooo nice but i cant brush it 💔💔💔#if you like this you are legally bound to a contract that says you HAVE to tell me. or else #i wrote this in like 2 hours idk if its bad #blah blah!#gatty #BLEEGGGHHHHHH #autism is strong in this one #does this count as being nonverbal. like temporarily whats th word for tha FUCJ #nonspeaking? idk He just cant talk because he is So overwhelmed and pathetic and beautoful #i actually intended for this to be a Lot dirtier than i wrote it like but also idgaf i like it #idk it goes from Sweet nice to like Oh this is SEX #not a specific universe Btw idk if taht was uncelar #matty x george #blegh i hate that tag #ok aNyw #hope u enjoyed or whatever.#my fic tag

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