Sirene

Featuring snapshots of the three most important road trips in Zemo and John's journey of working together.

Le notti a cercare buone stelle

Ritrovarsi in mezzo a strane sorti

Quanto siamo storti

HARKANSA PASS, ROMANIA

John loosened his grip on the steering wheel, leaned back into the leather-clad seat with a sigh. He took his eyes off the road briefly to look at Zemo from his peripheral vision. The wind was whipping through the man's hair, throwing it up into a wild brown halo, strands nearly shining golden where it was struck by the sun. Zemo's face had regained some color since their trip started two hours ago. The shadows had faded from his cheekbones and under his eyes, leaving the barely noticeable smattering of freckles behind. He had started slouching slightly in his seat like a cat, squinting against the setting sun.

The trees were whizzing past them, behind them, in front of them. John had wanted to track some of them down with his eyes, a stray bird there, an oddly shaped trunk there, but they sped away as soon as they came, leaving him disoriented and dizzy.

He asked if Zemo was comfortable, and that seemed to rouse the man out of some daydream, who had to blink several times to get the dazed look out of his eyes and process John's question, before nodding. Zemo seemed to struggle with himself, lips opening and closing wordlessly a few times, then came a hesitant question after a while, torn away by the wind, "Do you need me to take over?"

"At the next stop," John replied. The next stop would be a few hours away, but Zemo didn't need to know that. For good measure, he reached over and gave Zemo a little pinch on the back of the neck just to see the man squirm. "Thanks for asking."

"... Likewise."

John tilted his head slightly to make sure Zemo could see his smile.

The road around them was wide enough only for two cars, and that was enough since not many cars came around this road. The sun was setting, the clouds were low. They were paper-thin wisps in the distance, but dark sinking little pieces of debris above his head that looked like concrete rubble. They were so solid and impenetrable that the sunlight clung to their edges, never sinking in, making them a beautiful red. John thought beautiful, beautiful, beautiful over and over again till he thought he would pass out with the wonder of it all, the landscapes he imagined as a child.

In front of them, the mountains were falling away, the sides of the high cliffs were fading, the layers and layers of dirt and rock giving away. John found himself almost missing what had gone, the stupid little yellow trees perched on the side of cliffs, or the huge huge walls beside him as he drove, like they were carving a path through, and how the rays would slip out from the peaks of the cliffs, would splatter the hood of the car in yellow, and they would play with him, mischievous, slipping away into complete grey one second, and blinding him like a laser the next.

Yellow, yellow, like autumn, stretching up and up so high and high that if he lifted his head up all the way to see the tops, he would lose sight of the road. And he'd be so enraptured and hypnotized, eyes held up to the sky, not paying attention to their direction anymore, maybe not even caring.

The road swerved left and right in staccato in front of him.

"It's odd, John, to choose a road like this..." Zemo says.

"It's odd?"

"Not many roads are like this one. Not many roads, especially not roads to deliver vibranium..." Zemo murmured, trailing off. For a moment, the illusion was shattered and John was reminded of the six kilograms of vibranium in their trunk, his soon-to-be shield.

"Maybe odd wouldn't be the right word for it," The other man rectified. He was smiling. "Magnificent is a more apt description."

So the walls were falling now. Beside him, Zemo sits up a bit straighter, leans forward in anticipation. The moment their view clears, beside him, he hears a shaky gasp of wonder- beautiful, echoing his own thoughts.

Zemo looked like a child seeing fireworks for the first time.

It took a few seconds for him to realize that he had forgotten to revel in his own wonder and joy, or throw up his own love to the light, that first experience, the wonder and mystery beyond every singing of it, as your world opened up and drew you in; one gate closing and one gate opening, in a little bubble, a snow globe. He had missed it. He had missed the half-second that would lift the air from his lungs in a roar.

It wasn't the splendid view that imprinted itself into his retinas, it was another man's joy.

He tastes something bittersweet at the back of his throat.

He put his gaze back to the road, continuing to drive, but then Zemo tugged at him insistently. "Stop, stop," Zemo whispered. So he pressed on the brakes, the car rumbled to a slow stop. Zemo reached over, turns the ignition off, and without any other words he opened the car door and steps out.

The crunch of boots on a rock-and-asphalt road was a welcome relief to the hum of the engine. He moved out of the car, went to stand beside Zemo. And that was when he hears.

Everything was silent. Pure silence. Then it began. The wind started to pick up into a howl over the hills, darting through the trees and bushes, and all the around them there was such a loud overwhelming rush of leaves, the groaning and creaking of trunks, that John felt that the world was nearly trembling apart in his hands. The two of them were so minuscule in the large expanse of landscape, yet he felt completely in control.

And in front of him stretched mountains long and unending and ceaseless, fading away into the clouds, and at the closer slope of the valley, winding down roads, the sides were painted with trees, tall towering spikes of green shooting through the land like needles through a needle cushion, so tall that even in the distance they appeared huge, and if you were to stand under one of them you could not raise your head high enough to see the top, the trunks that you could not wrap your arms around, everywhere you looked half your vision would be smothered by wood and bark and pine needles.

They were the most beautiful brilliant shade of hunter green, like oil paint, a stark contrast to the yellow-green of the soft meadows below. That shade of yellow-green was like if he looked at a grass field of canola flowers and backed away far enough until everything blended together. Down in the winding roads, there was a small little farmhouse, red and dainty, its shadow cast long against the ground by the sun's rays. John was reminded, and he looked back, at his own shadow, both of their shadows. A little smile played on his lips as he realized that their height difference was made more apparent by the sunset.

In the distance, the mountains were the pale shade of blue cast over by the clouds. Blue and golden mixed in with the sunlight. Ah. Maybe he had an epiphany then, for John thought, blue. It was blue that he was smelling, blue and golden in the air all around them. He looked to Zemo again. There was the hazy swirl of pollen in the air, settling on his eyelashes and his nose, blown from the flowers down the valley. He was coated with it, that invisible perfume.

John laughed. "Pretty," he said.

"More than pretty," Zemo said. "It's magnificent."

John smiled wider and wordlessly turns to the horizon again.

The sun touched his skin, his face, leaving his back cold. It was just a saturated red bloom across the horizon line now, fading into the mountains. And it became dark so quickly, so soon, that John was surprised when he looked at Zemo once again and saw that the other man's pupils were black and dilated like a cat's. The trees seemed to grow taller in the darkness, stretched by their shadow. The grass shined wet and oily with the moonlight. The world became a lot bigger, as the blackness of earth merged into the blackness of the sky, spiraling into galaxies and constellations above them.

He pointed to Zemo the Big Dipper, the Cassiopeia, and finds Polaris, the true North. They were stars that he'd trace in the war zones, above the sound of gunfire, to get him home. Then the Orion, and to Mintaka, the first star to rise in the constellation. Through all this, Zemo listened silently, occasionally nodding or asking questions.

He draped a blanket over Zemo's shoulders. He let his hands linger there, tracing the edge of the fabric, then slipped one hand under his purple turtleneck, resting at Zemo's trembling hips. There were bruises there, in the shape of his fingers. Some yellow and fading, some new. This was more intimate than usual, tonight, a new game that Zemo wasn't used to. But it would be back to normal in the morning, and John would remember that there was nothing gentle about Zemo, nothing redeemable for all his cruelty and vengeance and loathing. And Zemo would hurt him, over and over, taking him apart bit by bit, only to lie in bed shaking and shuddering, screaming John's name as he came, snarling hurt me, make me feel it, in a twisted form of self-punishment.

But for now, he could savor the moment. Those pretty eyes hold his own, nearly black in the darkness. John knew they were the true shade of brown, pools of honey in the light.

Maybe poison or aphrodisiac would be more accurate, for who he really was.

He couldn't resist - "Pretty."

John didn't need gentle. He's learned that gentleness is only a disguise for something more insidious. He needed madness and sin. Zemo was both in spades, and pretty as a striking cobra.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Zemo laughed hoarsely, but pulled him down into a kiss nonetheless.

Inspiration and images were taken from:

Zion National Park, United States (Utah)

Black Canyon of the Gunnison, United States (Colorado)

Trollstigen, Norway

Transfăgărășan road, Romania

Karakoram Highway, China-Pakistan

Images were taken from Google, not owned by me. Harkansa Pass is not a real location.

Tags

landscape baron zemo road trip john walker HAHAHAHA zemo walkerbaron love and sin spent 4 hours on this

Daddy Issues

Zemo, as a young man, is frequently neglected by his father. When he grows up, he is extremely receptive towards approval from men older than him and subconsciously chases after their stray bits of affection.

---

Helmut finds that he converses more easily with adults. He leaves his peers behind, waits for them to leave the classroom before he goes up to the podium where his professor was arranging his papers. He tiptoes up to rest his elbows there, tips his chin up to smile at the man. The professor, Mr Weber, looks down at him curiously.

"Helmut, is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

Hearing his own name, a slow curl of warmth settles into his belly. Helmut resisted the urge to giggle- it would be unprofessional. This was already toeing the line as it is, he shouldn't try his luck. Instead, he handed Mr Weber his worksheet.

"This question, I don't understand it," he said softly as one does when they are savouring a moment. Here, he didn't have to be loud to be heard, didn't have to shout halfway across the manor to match his father's booming voice, didn't have to entertain any guests.

Mr Weber takes the worksheet, looks carefully through Helmut's calculations. His eyebrows are scrunched up in concentration, a single strand of hair slips out from where he's tucked it behind his ear. Helmut breathes out slowly, matching the rise and fall of Mr Weber's shoulders.

His professor frowns. "Helmut, we went through this in class yesterday," he chides. But there's no disapproval in his voice, no harsh rebuke, and Helmut preens under the tone like a flower facing the sun. He shuffles a little on his tiptoes, rubbing one foot on the other, wringing his hands. Sheepishly, he asks if Mr Weber could go through the question again, and his teacher complies with a fond sigh.

"Come a little closer," Mr Weber says, and Zemo complies. Standing almost side-by-side, his teacher is taller than him by a head, maybe even more. Helmut looks up in blinding adoration, but his eyes dart back to the worksheet shyly as Mr Weber starts explaining with that calming, instructional voice.

You could tell me to do whatever and I'll do it, Helmut thinks breathlessly.

He tries to understand the best he can, and gets it quite quickly when he actually listens. Mr Weber had taken him under his wing and taken a liking to him, as Helmut slowly worked his way down to one of the assistance-required and remedial-required students. He liked it, to be honest- it was a guilty pleasure to know that his teacher would take care of him, would give special attention to help him. He'd find himself leaving little careless mistakes on the paper every now and then, just so that he could hear those words - Helmut, you'd do so well if you would just check. Be more careful next time, alright?

At home, he must be tall and proud and stick out his chest. His voice must be like a bull's roar, it must be like rolling thunder. His father expects him to be a man, when all he wants to do is stay a boy.

But here, with someone else, that is what he can be.

He can be short. If he didn't wear high-heeled shoes, he would receive pats on the head from other men tall enough to rest their elbow on his shoulders.

Here, he can be stupid and dumb and slow on the uptake. If he wasn't manipulative or cunning, he would be confided with the small little trinkets of their secrets and feel oh so warm on the inside.

Zemo smiles easily at older men, for they give what his father denied him.

---

When he joins EKO Scorpion, he takes a shine to one of the older, more compassionate commanders, a man of 6 foot of solid muscle. Commander Muller. But now, twenty-three years old, it is time to be a man... even though he's never really received the nurturing love that would guide him out of childhood.

---

Helmut is a Baron, after all. He joins the political ring, plays coy games with a foreign ambassador twelve years older than him. Mr Lanto, he remembers. It makes the conferences bearable. He must be cold, cunning, ruthless. He speaks into the microphone with a sharp growl that makes the speakers tremble. But under the table, one of his gloved hands is clasped over the other, drawing slow circles on his wrist in the parody of a grounding touch.

---

Helmut marries. His wife is sweet and kind, her skin smells like flowers. She wants to have two children. He wants to be a better man than his father.

But sometimes, it's not what you want, it's what you know.

And when his first child is born, a beautiful boy with his wife's eyes, he panics. Helmut leaves to rejoin the military and EKO Scorpion, goes back to the days where he can stop thinking, where there are only barked orders that he needed to follow. The innocent, starved flower within him had erupted into a raging inferno, an animalistic craving.

Helmut stays faithful. But when he returns from the civil war, he brings back a determination that has doubled. This time, he gives his son the love that his own father denied him. He makes sure that his precious boy would never have to seek out warmth in the arms of another older man.

---

Sokovia comes and goes.

---

Helmut is broken out of the Raft by a group called the Thunderbolts. John Walker has broad shoulders and hands that can crush a man's skull. He is attentive and instructional when he points at the map and lays out their plans of attack. He challenges and provokes, so much so that Helmut gets dizzy trying to keep up.

The moment he realizes is on one winter day- when John drapes an arm over his neck, and he could feel the warmth of the man burning at his side like a furnace. Helmut's breath hitches, but John doesn't seem to notice.

The boy in him rears his head for the first time in years, and Helmut thinks- oh god.

Tags

im sorry daddy issues john walker zemo walkerbaron omfg the angst again this is SEVERE ooc okay yall zemo is out of character

18 notes View Post

obnoxiouslylongandboring

3 years ago

Agree completely.

Read the whole thing please.

I'm a say this one time but Wen-wu is a nasty assed butt. (this isn't hate on the actor, I love him)

I don't care how pretty he is or how much pain he is in bc he lost his wife. His kids lost their mom, they didn't go assassin. He should have been their for them. there is never an excuse for abusing your kids.

Example: Hank Pym(mcu) was not right but he wasn't completely horrible. it was the wrong thing to do but he was depressed. But HE didn't (a) physically and mentally abuse his kids (b) train them to be an assassin or (c) blame them

He deserves crap in my eyes. You can't watch a 7 year old punch wood until his hands bleed and think huh his dad's not at fault for basically encouraging this. Ok, but he healed his hands! uwu good dad! He watched as his kid was hit severely, not saying a word, and encouraging it in the name of strength. he watched and did nothing as his kid was whipped for hesitanting to kick wood with a hurt foot. He trained a 7 year old to kill. So many things are wrong with it. He sent a 14 year old to kill a man half way across the world. he neglected his daughter and was just a butt to her. he throws his son down to the stone ground for objecting to what he says, and throws his daughter down for trying to stop her brothers abuse.

and in case someone cries racist please let me inform you that I am currently in a both Asian and abusive household. So if you disagree with this. Block me. and dm me so I can block you back. I don't give a fish fried fuck about the actors face. This forgiving abusers is teaching kids that it's alright, it's normal, your abuser is in pain, they didn't mean it. You missed half the movie if you thirst over him or say he deserves a happy ending for being civil for 5 seconds to his kids. and if you use this as a way to hate on Asians I will fill you liver with uncooked spaghetti. This is the first Asian lead movie you better 👏step 👏it 👏up. You want to do better? reblog this, say it in your own words, hell I don't even care if you copy and paste this and claim its yours. I'm sick and tired of this fandom being like this. Do. Better.

153 notes View Post

obnoxiouslylongandboring

4 years ago

Currently working on a BaronWalker fic. I may never finish it but doesn’t hurt to try ;)

Aiming to get it completely finished before I upload it to AO3. If I don’t finish it oh well then it’s not going public. Oh my god it’s a challenge to write (Zemo does not make it easy!) since I’m endeavoring to explore every facet of him and every little ounce of his contradictions.

Episode 6 has made John’s characterization a little wobbly for me so I’m still wondering what creative direction to take in terms of him.

Also I’ve made the controversial creative decisions to keep John a married man, just because the moral conflict might be very juicy.

(I’m concerned over the fact that my blog has been taken over by BaronWalker)

Tags

oof fic fatws john walker zemo BaronWalker yes fic writing is hard wtf

5 notes View Post

obnoxiouslylongandboring

4 years ago

HI ARE YOU LONELY?

sorry i just wanted to tell you that i love the way you write tqm

AHHH THANK YOU <3 <3 <3 I'm actually planning on putting something else out today (the 2nd part to my roadtrip trilogy)- so im hyped that u like my writing! Also wanted to say, it makes my day when i scroll through the walkerbaron tag and see new posts under it XD i appreciate ur updates hehe

love u too! have a very good day 😊🍀

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obnoxiouslylongandboring

4 years ago

OH GOD HAVE I HAD ‘LET PEOPLE ASK QUESTIONS’ DISABLED THE WHOLE TIME? OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

I’m so sorry y’all

I think you can send asks now

😅🤣

0 notes View Post

obnoxiouslylongandboring

4 years ago

Bruh, yes

if Bucky calls Zemo doll, then John calls him princess, send tweet.

36 notes View Post

obnoxiouslylongandboring

3 years ago

To the person who was once called @niki-fucking-lauda, even though your account is deactivated now, I’m happy for you and I hope you’re in a better place off tumblr.

If you still happen to see this, all the best and good luck.

🍀

5 notes View Post

obnoxiouslylongandboring

4 years ago

Exams are over.

Be prepared for more WalkerBaron, y’all.

I’m gonna unleash everything I have.

These past two days I’ve been writing Zemo and John content based on songs (Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood, War of Hearts by Ruelle)

I have so many other songs I want to write for, and a main WalkerBaron long fic I’m working on.

Planning to explore other small AUs.

As always if you have any ideas feel free to send me!