Upon rereading WSMB again, I’m reminded of how one of the best parts about it is Annie. Obviously it’s her story, she’s the main pov… but I think I and many other fall into the focus of Finnick and Annie as a package. Which is of course also fair, they are so obviously one unit in their love for each other.
But I was really thinking about this recently because I was rewatching the series with my friend before seeing TBOSAS in theaters and she’s never read the books so her entire perspective on odesta and particularly Annie was from the movies. I’ve explained to her all the little details and nuances that were left out from the books and I’ve even explained to her different fanfic interpretations of their story, and of Annie’s story, but her main perspective is the movies.
My friend told me that she feels like finnick’s death wasn’t as heartbreaking to her because they didn’t build their relationship as much as I built it up for her in all my retelling of the books and fanfics. I frustratingly see how Annie feels more like an extension of Finnick and his story particularly in the movies than as her own character. Key moments like her trip with Katniss to 12 or her interactions with Peeta/Johanna were cut completely, and the common watcher couldn’t connect to her and therefore to their love story.
So basically this is a long rambling way of me saying that your story told from Annie’s pov gives so much depth to not only their love story but to HER. I cry with Annie because I feel her emotions in your fic. I long for a happier ending for her but you wrote such a beautiful telling of the ending she got where I could mourn right beside her. So often she is cast as the mad girl (brought up much in WSMB of course) and you were able to prove that she is in fact so much more that that and so much more than the girl Finnick loves.
I curse the movies for doing her the disservice of not making that point, but I am happy to know that she gets her story told so elegantly and lovingly through you! You took my love for odesta 12 years ago from the books and skyrocketed into a decade long love for Annie, a love for Finnick, and a love for Annie and Finnick that I still don’t think will ever be beat by any other characters or love story in the future for me! So thanks I guess, you’re amazing💚
Hey! This is one of the best WSMB-related compliments I’ve ever received 🥲 thank you so much!! I’m always hoping my characters feel “real” (for better or for worse) and I tend to nitpick the HELLLL out of my old stuff so it’s always nice to know that the characters/characterizations did work for some readers and were enjoyed 🩵🩵
Summary: Soulmate AU. Some people went their entire lives without ever meeting their soulmates. You were one of the lucky ones, to have found and fallen in love with the owner of the initials tattooed on your hip. When your soulmate’s best friend struggles to deal with a tragedy in his own life, you discover that you might not have been as lucky as you thought.
Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader (Not MMF)
Warnings: (Series, not specifically this chapter: bad language, unprotected sex or sexual situations, drinking/alcoholism, drug use, violence, cheating, references to death, mutilation and trauma, maybe more.)
Words: 1228
Author’s Note: Friendly reminder that I’m not doing a taglist anymore! I’ll be posting a schedule in the near future. Sorry, my life is a mess and I’m garbage but I’m trying.
Master Part 17
There’s a warmth in your veins, settling in your chest, and at first you think it’s the fireplace. The flames lick the inside of the pit, bright and orange, your eyes focused on them as they crawl up the brick walls. They never reach past the cage, contained inside, burning slowly to ash.
It’s not just the fire. You know this, can feel it as you raise the wine glass to your lips and take a long, slow sip. You’ve had a bit too much to drink; not enough to be stupid on, but enough that you giggle at Steve’s jokes and sink into his chest when he wraps his arms around you.
Sitting on his lap in an armchair, you haven’t paid attention to the conversation he’s having with your father. His sweater is warm against your cheek, his arms around your waist comforting. You want nothing more than to lean closer, to let the knit fabric swallow you up. To sleep.
“Y/N?” You blink, the orange reflection of flames in your eyes as you wiggle to look over your shoulder at your mother. Her brows are raised, nose tilted to look down at you. “Should we do presents now?”
Nodding, you reach out to try and place your glass on the table by Steve. Noticing your struggle, he takes the glass from you and slides it onto the surface- just out of reach. He leans the chair forward so you can get up, trying not to step on the cat sitting by his feet.
The tree towers over your head and you kneel down, reaching for the gifts to pass them around. Boxes and bags in various sizes, a few different wrapping papers, go out one at a time. You had forgotten, until you find From: Steve, To: Bucky, that there’s another person sitting by the tree, leaning with his back pressed against the wall, looking like he’d like to disappear just as much as you had. Passing him the gift, his gaze meets yours silently. He does not smile as he pulls it into his lap, fingers tracing where the paper is taped down.
The last present, you realize, is the one you wish had gotten left behind. Even though you haven’t the slightest clue what it is, you’re still afraid of what might be inside. Hiding it between presents from your parents, you clamor back into Steve’s lap, legs tossed over one side of the chair. His hands rest on your lap, one thumb rubbing circles on your thigh as you tear into a present from your mother. The rest of the room takes that as the cue, the sound of shredding paper echoing loudly in your ears.
Steve kisses your cheek as he opens his gift from you, his stubble scratching your cheek. His eyes are bright as you tear into paper wrappings. The last gift, when there’s nothing more to mask it, sits heavily in your lap. Looking up, you make eye contact with Bucky. His arms are propped on his knees, his gifts sitting next to him, forgotten as he waits. There’s something unreadable in his expression and he swallows, eyes dropping as you slide your finger under the paper and, reluctantly, tear it open.
It’s a book. A sleek, blue cover, golden, shining letters scrawled across the cover. Your fingers trace the scrawling letters as Steve peers over your shoulder at it. “I didn’t know you liked poetry.”
You don’t answer him, running your hands down the spine and peering at the pages between the cover. One of them is folded in, bookmarked, and you almost open it to the page before thinking better of it. A tight smile stretched over your lips and you looked back up at Bucky, but he refused to look up again.
Steve cleared his throat, patting your leg. You stood up, clutching the book against your chest as Steve made his way toward the tree. “I did get you something,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. Your heart thudded in your chest, in your throat and in your head, as Steve reached into the branches of the tree and withdrew something from the branches. “I’m just, uh, sorry I wasn’t here on the actual day, but-”
“What’re you doing?” It came out a whisper, your tongue heavy and throat thick as Steve moved toward you with slow but determined steps. He stopped in front of you, lips twitching into a smirk. “Steve?”
“Y/N,” Steve mumbled, his thumb running over the velvet cover of the box in his hands. “I know we’ve only known each other a couple years now. But… You’ve been a part of me for my entire life. From the moment those letters appeared on my skin, I knew you. I knew your laughter and I knew your cries. I knew the sound of your voice before I could hear it. I knew that I loved the way you smile. I knew you before I even knew myself. When we met, it was like seeing the stars for the first time. I knew that you were mine.”
Steve’s tongue ran over his teeth and he chuckled to himself, fingers still playing with the box. He looked up at you, then, a million stars twinkling in his eyes; a million butterflies in your stomach, fluttering, their wings stretching against your insides as they tried to burst free. Were you going to be sick?
“I love you,” Steve said, mumbling, more to himself than to you. Then his smile, if it ever could, grew more and more, teeth bright. “I always knew that. I’ve always known that I was destined to find you, to love you, to let you be a part of me. To be a part of you. So, I gotta ask-”
Steve paused, a hopeful look on his face. Slowly, he knelt down at your feet, reaching up. His hand slid along your forearm and grasped your hands. His skin was warm, fingers laced between yours, and you gripped his hand for your life, afraid to let him go. Afraid that if you did let go, he would sink.
“Will you let me, be a part of you, for the rest of our lives? Would you marry me?”
It’s cold. Even with the fire roaring in the fireplace beside you, casting an orange glow over Steve’s face, the air is freezing. The hairs on the back of your neck stick up, your skin covered in goose bumps. Everywhere except for the hand gripping Steve’s is cold, barren; particularly your cheeks are cold and wet. Lips trembling, you glance, eyes dropping to the book still pressed tightly against your chest. It feels suffocating, cutting off the air in your lungs. The book presses heavy against you, the edges sharp as your other hand curls around it. The pages could cut you like a knife, could rip away your flesh and leave you bleeding.
Your eyes raise to Steve again, eyes weary as he waits for you to answer. His tongue darts out again, teeth biting his lip. His fingers, wrapped delicately around your hand, give you a squeeze and yank you back to reality. Blinking, carefully, you nod, slowly at first, your neck aching.
“Yes,” you whisper back, the air swarming your lungs, burning, suddenly hot and stifling. “Yes.”
I just read more wsmb did you guys know that. That happened to me that hasn't happened for close to two years I am blessed I live a charmed life I can't believe I was this lucky. Is this a dream
