Omg So Fudging 🥵 Hot

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.

Saved.

So, let me guess— you just started a new book, right? And you’re stumped. You have no idea how much an AK47 goes for nowadays. I get ya, cousin. Tough world we live in. A writer’s gotta know, but them NSA hounds are after ya 24/7. I know, cousin, I know. If there was only a way to find out all of this rather edgy information without getting yourself in trouble…

You’re in luck, cousin. I have just the thing for ya.

It’s called Havocscope. It’s got information and prices for all sorts of edgy information. Ever wondered how much cocaine costs by the gram, or how much a kidney sells for, or (worst of all) how much it costs to hire an assassin?

I got your back, cousin. Just head over to Havocscope.

((PS: In case you’re wondering, Havocscope is a database full of information regarding the criminal underworld. The information you will find there has been taken from newspapers and police reports. It’s perfectly legal, no need to worry about the NSA hounds, cousin ;p))

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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

Amazing work!

6000년만에 메이저잡엇으니까 ㅈㄴ 쳐먹기만할계획

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.

Bro this needs more attention, SO CUTE

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)

Interviewing Helmut Zemo, Prince of Sokovia

Written under the discord prompt: bird, peach, leave 🍑🦅🏃‍♂️

I had the great honour of interviewing - no, even being in the presence of Sokovia's Prince. He is rather fondly addressed as the Boy King by his fellow attendants, and Teufelchen (Little Devil) by his playmates.

There is not one person in America who has not heard about the great nation of Sokovia. The mammoth cereal brand Sok-Oats comes to mind, as well as Washington DC's obsessive mania over the gigantic feathery dreamcatchers that are infrequently gifted to them as a show of solidarity. I myself have one hung over the bed as a mantlepiece. However, this is not all.

Rather interestingly, Sokovia is one of the two remaining nations with a population of over 80% winged-folk. The other is a small island a few miles off to the north of Ireland, Jarthun Landon. Its size comparable to the Vatican City - the size of a pea compared to the likes of the USA.

Sokovia is a different story. Though less industrially developed than the USSR in 1917, it still resisted both the alluring grip of Communism and our very own Marshall Plan in the aftermath of the cold war, a near impossible undertaking. What resulted was a country ruled under a rather democratic-leaning monarchy (not nearly as tyrannical as old British imperialism).

Wilhelmina Zemo was a Queen who carved her name onto to the wall of fame in history, lying beside the likes of Germany's Otto von Bismarck, China's Sun Yat-Sen, and Britain's Winston Churchill. After taking the throne of Sokovia, she sent the country into a transition into statecraft (ie. strategies for securing national interest in the international arena). In eight years, she had built up a missile defence system modelled after Israel's Iron Dome.

However, the world was encountering another change. With a slippery launch into the 21st century, wings were starting to be seen as clunky, primitive contraptions rather than the sky-soaring, apex-predator tools as they once was. What was once regarded as a second limb for us had now become a burdensome weight, lead weights rather than a propellor. To quote the infamous poet Allen Duten, "Wings are the tools of destruction, of anarchy. They are unnatural. They represent elitism, classism, every antithesis to meritocracy. Would we turn those with chicken wings into poultry? Would we give a gun to every eagle-winged and tell them- 'off you go, this is what you were born for'?" Mr Duten's concerns were understandable, given that he himself had been born with the wings of a dodo bird.

Eons ago a kilometer square of air space could safely hold no more than twenty free-flying avian-folk. Now, it can hold three planes, and one plane can hold three hundred.

Additionally, after WW2's atrocities with Nazi Germany, it was understandable that eagle wings fell out of style as fast as the toothbrush moustache.

Wilhelmina's son, Heinrich, anticipated this change and prepared Sokovia for a long hibernation of isolationism. The monarchy was determined to preserve the avian-folk. While the rest of their world's wings grew small and brittle and shrank (suffering a fate similar to the tailbone), citizens of Sokovia preserved their original lifestyle and never underwent a similar change.

Currently, this country the size of Singapore, faces a slow population decline. Today, I will dive deep into the heart of Sokovia and figure out some of the most controversial questions involving this nation.

Heinrich's son, the sixteen year-old Helmut Zemo (aptly named after his grandmother - both their names translate roughly to helm or protection in Germanic) has reached out to me to hopefully answer some of those questions.

--------

As soon as arrive at Sokovia, I was escorted in a black military truck to the palace. Sokovia forbids all filming, so unfortunately no footage was captured.

A young man greets me. From the photos, I already knew what to expect - yet he still took me by surprise. He had no suit nor tie nor fur collar coat, nothing but a wide-brimmed hat and liquorice curls of amber-brown hair below that. Yet this young man had all the makings of a young royal - his eyes were nearly black in their intensity, and the catlike curl of his lips graced him with an enigmatic, inscrutable air. He gazes at me like observing an exotic creature, then steps to the side to converse with the guards in hushed whispers and minute gestures.

Of course the second thing I noticed about him were his wings. The Sokovian aristocracy was a long line of Eurasian magpies. And before this, I had never known that a magpie's feathers had that iridescent shimmer, now magnified to match the scale of a young adult, which shifted from purple to green to blue with every rustle and twitch. A joyful fluttering of the wings by the young prince revealed a stark white underside.

"Come with me," he says, and walks into the shade of the palace gardens, his feathers fading in their colour, a layer of vibrating black oil spilling over his shoulders and down to the back of his calves. It is times like this that I wonder whether we as a species were rather foolish to lose these magnificent gifts of nature.

"Did you enjoy the journey here?" The young prince asks me. His voice is clear and sweet, with the compelling style that is distinctively crafted for nobles and royalty. Faced with this gentle question, I felt a sudden urge to both reassure and impress him.

"I thoroughly did. Sokovia is even more beautiful than the pictures," I added, feeling rather pleased with my lie.

Much to my surprise, the young prince let out a silvery peal of laughter. "Nonsense. As soon as you came out of the airport, we stuffed you into a windowless shuttle bus for three hours. You must be tired."

He left me in the dust, completely bewildered. This was not the innocent cherub of a young prince that our media depicted him as.

"You're different from what the papers depicted," I told him dryly, feeling very foolish from stumbling into his trap.

The little prince slowed his pace and narrowed his eyes (although I spied a dangerous little smirk dancing on his lips). "Well, you're here to set the lies straight, aren't you?"

It was at this moment that the nickname Teufelchen started to make sense to me.