Nnngh Yes, I Would Like That As Well

Brief Analysis on Zemo

The fact that I, as a fanfic writer, can go deep into a character’s brain and pick out every little contradiction they have, every filthy sinful evil shit they’ve ever done, and lay it out on a platter for my readers, gives me such a power trip it makes me high.

But see, even though I see the worst parts of them, as a writer, I will always unconditionally fend for them and be on their side. I will justify their actions, I will make them appear sympathetic, I will make them vulnerable and you will be seduced.

Of course I’ll still slip you hints, I’ll show you their true natures once in a while. But will you believe? Will you want to believe? That is entirely up to you. This is the internal conflict/dilemma that I want to create 😈

There is a reason why people (including me!) love Zemo so much. The writers of the show have carefully designed him and revealed what they want to reveal, in order to elicit a very very specific type of response from the audience. They could have shown the car bombing on screen in visceral detail but guess what, they didn’t. They could have enhanced the consequences of Zemo’s manipulations on Bucky but instead, the writers chose to move on. Even with Zemo’s subtle commentary, his royal lineage- that could have easily been portrayed as some sort of narcissism or privilege! But it wasn’t.

I don’t think the writers forgot about all the incredibly EVIL things Zemo did. I think they strategically tried to make us forget those things, to trap us into an illusion.

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.

There are many who have the same motivations as Zemo. His family probably wasn’t the only one hurt by the avengers. What sets him apart is that he chose violence.

There are many who also have the same motivations as Karli. After all, displaced people are all over the world. What sets her apart as well, is that she chose violence.

Wowowowow 🥵

It is good to support them! Leave a comment or a like or a reblog. But it is not your obligation to do so - because when creators make content, we don’t just do it for you, we do it for ourselves. If you read what I write and don’t leave anything, that’s perfectly fine with me. Writing fanfiction is not a service, you don’t need to feel like you have to repay us in reblogs or likes. But reception (positive reception) really gives that extra boost of energy, so if you can spare the time that’ll be awesome.

👏🏻 support 👏🏻 creators 👏🏻 or 👏🏻 they’ll 👏🏻 lose 👏🏻 motivation 👏🏻 to 👏🏻 create 👏🏻 things 👏🏻

I didn’t really like the previous oneshot that I wrote (Sirene), felt it was a little out of character. To re-orient myself I’m going to go back and continue writing my main fic for a while.

Hm... I’ve seen someone else do it and it looked fun, so you can drop a 🧠 in my asks and I’ll post a sentence from my fic. (Not too much of course, can’t spoil the story)

BTW

Daniel Bruhl’s character in Kings Man is such a rich bitch. I mean just- he either looks like a rich politician’s trophy wife or someone else’s sugar daddy. I’m convinced Daniel’s character wears so many layers of clothing just so we can strip him out of it sensually. There are stars in my eyes. You can’t see them but. They’re there.

Also Wyatt Russel in Overlord is so hot- SO HOT. I just wanna urghhhhhhhh I just wanna see Walker bend Zemo over and rail him is that too much to ask for? (Unfortunately I can’t write smut for the life of me so I guess it’s gonna be ‘fade to black’ with every sex scene)

Holy shit I sound insane. I sound maniacal.

Time to continue writing.

This is a very interesting concept! I’m not sure who von Strucker is, but I’m willing to find out. I love diplomacy and political intrigue.

Actually, this is something I would consider writing. Let’s see how long my fascination with Zemo lasts, hehe

Sokovian politics

So….in the MCU, von Strucker is german.

But what if, for fanfic purposes, he was Sokovian? Both him and Zemo (at that point still Heinrich, but the point still stands) are barons. They’d both be Sokovian aristocracy. They could be rival houses, with von Strucker bringing HYDRA into Sokovia and Baron Zemo hating it. There would be a lot pf political scheming and manouvering going on, some of it maybe involving EKO Skorpion, Helmut’s team.

Lmao I was laughing nervously in the theatre because I was like- guys, that was a CHOICE 👁👁

I saw someone pointing this out....(sorry I didn't know who you are anymore if you saw this please notify me) this must be part of Simu Liu's fault too because he literally can't take his eyes off of Tony Leung on set he was so star struck 🤣. Simu HE is your dad in the movie please.

Yup 🥺👉👈🚶‍♀️

tumblr friendships are hard to maintain like im sorry i know i havent talked to you in 5 months but you’re still super rad and i still consider us friends im just dumb

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.