[Fic] S.O.S Ecrit Avec De L'Air
Rating: NC -17 for implied suicide attempt.
Fandom: The Avengers (2012)
Character(s): Tony Stark
Pairing(s): -.
Genre: Suicide note. Me being horrible to characters I love.
Note: So. I may or may not write more following this story. I have ideas but I don't know if I'll write them down yet.
Summary: Tony is possibly drunk, and definitely not in a good state.
Loki
I have no idea why I’m writing to you of all people but you know, whatever.
[A line is scratched out.]
I spend so much time trying to be someone I’m not.
Trying to be a hero, trying to be a good friend. I try my best and yet it’s never enough.
I can never get rid of this feeling that people don’t know me. That if they did, they wouldn’t want to see me anymore.
The truth is, I suck.
I push people away. I pretend I don’t care about anything, like nothing matters when in truth everything matters so much it hurts.
How do I tell people that I only tell them about 5% of what I feel because I don’t want them to realize how crappy I feel, how crappy I am?
How do I tell my friends that I’m terrified if I show the real me they’ll never want to talk to me again because they’ll finally realize that I’m actually 90% bullshit instead of the half they think it is?
How can I be worth their affection when they have people like Steve and Thor to look up to?
(sorry you probably don’t want me to make you think about him)
I’m not interesting.
I try to be but I’m not. I lie and I bullshit my way around and I drink way too much and when I’m not too busy doing any of this I sit in my workshop to build a toy that does what? Look good on pictures? Makes me feel better about myself for the five minutes it takes me to fly to wherever you’re wreaking havoc and then flies around while others do the real work?
It’d be better if I was at least kind or supportive or something but you know me, I just go around annoying people and I have the emotional capacities of a doombot.
I kind of feel like I can’t do anything without screwing up somewhere.
Like no matter how much I try, it’s never good enough, never as good as what the others do. I mean look at me: I’m Tony Stark, I’m a billionaire whose friends can literally move mountains and what do I do? I write a letter to the guy I’m supposed to beat down every other day of the week -which, amazingly, I also fail at.
And I feel so damn jealous of those people for just getting it, for being happy without even trying, because I should be happy too, I have everything I’m supposed to need for that, except I’m not and I feel so lame for not having that.
For not being able to allow myself to have that.
It should be easy to do.
To trust people, to let them in.
Steve does it all the time, Thor does it all the time, Pepper does it all the time.
But I don’t and I can’t and I feel like shit for not being able to do that.
The truth is, I don’t know how to make it better.
Sometimes I feel good, sometimes I can even feel great.
And then there’s gonna be a party or whatever and we’ll go and I’ll watch people make small talk and make friends while I get drunk off my ass and at the end of the night they give me that look the one where they don’t know why they’re still talking to me, the one where I ruined their night but they don’t want to tell me because they’re too nice for that.
Why can’t I do that?
Why can’t I just have fun and not care what strangers think of me?
Why can’t I be okay, why can’t I keep something for once instead of breaking it in the most spectacularly stupid way possible?
I don’t suppose you know how that feels, do you? What with all your magic and powers and stuff.
To stand next to someone you love and not be able to tell them. To stand next to a friend and feel like you’ll never be worth half their attention, let alone their affection.
To see the people you’re attached to going on with their lives and feel jealous because it looks so simple to them when it’s so damn difficult to you, and then just hate yourself that little bit more for being jealous of them when they’ve done nothing to deserve it.
I imagine you don’t know what it is to feel so bad it hurts, but being so afraid to talk to the people you love that you end up sitting alone in your bedroom and just cry for hours.
To feel so bad that you almost wish you were diagnosed with some kind of depression or mental illness or something so you know it’s not your fucking fault you feel that way.
That’s how I feel most of the time.
When I’m alone or when I’ve screwed something up again or when I see people smiling in the street or when we come home from keeping you in check and the best thing I’ve done is to ‘bring the party to them’... honestly, how pathetic is it?
I’m tired of feeling like this.
I’m tired of feeling like happiness is a duty I can’t fulfill. I’m tired of people not getting it of friends telling me to be more open when I’m trying and I can’t do it, of myself telling me to quit whining and being such a failure and beating myself down.
I’m tired of feeling so bad that I can never tell them about it.
I’m tired of fucking up every relationship I’ve ever had because I’d rather people hate me for my bullshit than for what I am.
I’m so very tired of that shit.
Please tell them I’m sorry.
[Anthony Stark’s names is printed at the bottom of the paper, splotched under a stain that can be tears, or gin, or both.]
Fandom: The Avengers (2012)
Character(s): Tony Stark
Pairing(s): -.
Genre: Suicide note. Me being horrible to characters I love.
Note: So. I may or may not write more following this story. I have ideas but I don't know if I'll write them down yet.
Summary: Tony is possibly drunk, and definitely not in a good state.
Loki
I have no idea why I’m writing to you of all people but you know, whatever.
[A line is scratched out.]
I spend so much time trying to be someone I’m not.
Trying to be a hero, trying to be a good friend. I try my best and yet it’s never enough.
I can never get rid of this feeling that people don’t know me. That if they did, they wouldn’t want to see me anymore.
The truth is, I suck.
I push people away. I pretend I don’t care about anything, like nothing matters when in truth everything matters so much it hurts.
How do I tell people that I only tell them about 5% of what I feel because I don’t want them to realize how crappy I feel, how crappy I am?
How do I tell my friends that I’m terrified if I show the real me they’ll never want to talk to me again because they’ll finally realize that I’m actually 90% bullshit instead of the half they think it is?
How can I be worth their affection when they have people like Steve and Thor to look up to?
(sorry you probably don’t want me to make you think about him)
I’m not interesting.
I try to be but I’m not. I lie and I bullshit my way around and I drink way too much and when I’m not too busy doing any of this I sit in my workshop to build a toy that does what? Look good on pictures? Makes me feel better about myself for the five minutes it takes me to fly to wherever you’re wreaking havoc and then flies around while others do the real work?
It’d be better if I was at least kind or supportive or something but you know me, I just go around annoying people and I have the emotional capacities of a doombot.
I kind of feel like I can’t do anything without screwing up somewhere.
Like no matter how much I try, it’s never good enough, never as good as what the others do. I mean look at me: I’m Tony Stark, I’m a billionaire whose friends can literally move mountains and what do I do? I write a letter to the guy I’m supposed to beat down every other day of the week -which, amazingly, I also fail at.
And I feel so damn jealous of those people for just getting it, for being happy without even trying, because I should be happy too, I have everything I’m supposed to need for that, except I’m not and I feel so lame for not having that.
For not being able to allow myself to have that.
It should be easy to do.
To trust people, to let them in.
Steve does it all the time, Thor does it all the time, Pepper does it all the time.
But I don’t and I can’t and I feel like shit for not being able to do that.
The truth is, I don’t know how to make it better.
Sometimes I feel good, sometimes I can even feel great.
And then there’s gonna be a party or whatever and we’ll go and I’ll watch people make small talk and make friends while I get drunk off my ass and at the end of the night they give me that look the one where they don’t know why they’re still talking to me, the one where I ruined their night but they don’t want to tell me because they’re too nice for that.
Why can’t I do that?
Why can’t I just have fun and not care what strangers think of me?
Why can’t I be okay, why can’t I keep something for once instead of breaking it in the most spectacularly stupid way possible?
I don’t suppose you know how that feels, do you? What with all your magic and powers and stuff.
To stand next to someone you love and not be able to tell them. To stand next to a friend and feel like you’ll never be worth half their attention, let alone their affection.
To see the people you’re attached to going on with their lives and feel jealous because it looks so simple to them when it’s so damn difficult to you, and then just hate yourself that little bit more for being jealous of them when they’ve done nothing to deserve it.
I imagine you don’t know what it is to feel so bad it hurts, but being so afraid to talk to the people you love that you end up sitting alone in your bedroom and just cry for hours.
To feel so bad that you almost wish you were diagnosed with some kind of depression or mental illness or something so you know it’s not your fucking fault you feel that way.
That’s how I feel most of the time.
When I’m alone or when I’ve screwed something up again or when I see people smiling in the street or when we come home from keeping you in check and the best thing I’ve done is to ‘bring the party to them’... honestly, how pathetic is it?
I’m tired of feeling like this.
I’m tired of feeling like happiness is a duty I can’t fulfill. I’m tired of people not getting it of friends telling me to be more open when I’m trying and I can’t do it, of myself telling me to quit whining and being such a failure and beating myself down.
I’m tired of feeling so bad that I can never tell them about it.
I’m tired of fucking up every relationship I’ve ever had because I’d rather people hate me for my bullshit than for what I am.
I’m so very tired of that shit.
Please tell them I’m sorry.
[Anthony Stark’s names is printed at the bottom of the paper, splotched under a stain that can be tears, or gin, or both.]