Zemo - Blog Posts
*Sam talking with Sharon*
*Bucky walking in being hot*
Sam*staring*
Sharon: *laughing*
*Bucky now leaving*
Sam: Do I have daddy issues?
Sharon:*now laughing histercally*
Zemo*popping out from nowhere*:Did someone said Daddy?
Sharon*rolling her eyes*:Every single time
Zemo: The jail is being fumigated, so Sam and Bucky invited me to stay here for a few days. I’m really excited to have 72 hours with this one.
Bucky: We Don’t get to spend much time together, well since he’s in jail...
Bucky: But I know We’re going to be like Uhm,
Zemo: Fred and Ginger?
Bucky: Who?
Zemo: Movie night *screaming*
Bucky: Ah!*screaming too*
*more screaming*
*in another side of the house*
Sam: Is noisier than usual around here...
MONEY THINGS
Sharon: I'm so rich, that when I walk, people bow down.
Zemo: I'm so rich that when I cry, my tears are 100 €. And I let it on the floor.
Sharon: Well, I could buy whole Netflix If I wanted to.
Zemo: I could buy a whole country, and get everyone a pizza.
Sharon: Man, you're a god of money.
Zemo: I know, but if that helps you're starting well.
Sam: I can't even afford a boat, and my boyfriend can't even afford a proper bed. What the fuck?
Bucky: It's ok babe.
-SamBucky Drama-
Sam: What’s wrong with you?!
Sam: I’m reaching out to you despite everything that you put me trought and you still can get of your own ways.
Sam: God I feel sorry for you!
Bucky: DONT TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!
Sam: I should turn my back at you ages ago!
Sharon: So thats a no to Macdonals?
Zemo: Do you want the company? Because I could get you the company.
Sharon: No...a burger.
Sam: bucky and i were crossing the street and this dude drove by and honked at us
Zemo: *sighing* what did he do?
Sam: he chased him to the next red light, then reached into the window and...
Bucky: WHO WANTS A STEERING WHEEL?!
marvel really just posted a hour long cut of zemo dancing
they’re really here trying to make up for all the trauma
they literally look like a boy band
yeah i’m sorta loving this team up
also i know this was supposed to be a serious scene but it was kinda funny how the first thing zemo did was to try and trigger him
i’m sorry for laughing
pop off zemo, show em your moves
About Zemo’s vision. He met Steve earier and much closer in Germany and it’s a reference to that time. As for the phrase itself I thought it was not about eyes exactly (or not only about eyes) it was more about this difference between Steve Rogers and Captain America persona.
When I watched TWS I noticed one thing. When we see Cap’s painting in museum it’s so perfect in every way. What we see is a very beautiful angelic blond boy, so pure with those sky blue eyes directed upwards. It doesn’t have character. Because they didn’t want him to have personality. They wanted him to be a perfect symbol. They just made him a set of averaged “perfect“ (in someone’s opinion) characteristics in terms of his looks and personality. And Zemo just says that CapAm is a big lie if Steve Rogers is so real and imperfect as any mortal human.
PS I really hope I expressed my thoughts adequately because I’m not that good at English
the flag smashers when karli says in ep6 that she's ready to die for the movement and so should the rest of them
this move gave me major *german male over 40* vibes
like,,, that just gave me flashbacks to every Schützenfest I’ve ever been to
Bucky: I don’t use pet names.
Sam: Sure… Hey, can you give me that?
Bucky: Doll? Why…
Zemo: You called me, James?
Bucky: …
Sam: What did you say there?
Bucky: Shut up.
How about THAT Bucky and Zemo?
.
“The King's Man (2021) & Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)”
Fuck Winter Soldier
Fuck Winter Soldier
Zemo: James, there are rumors that we slept together.
Bucky: who the hell is spreading them?!
Zemo: me (:
Zemo: *stumbles and falls to the floor*
Bucky: *enters the room*
Zemo: *lies dramatically*
Bucky: are… you okay?
Zemo: yeah, sure. Why?
The fact that Zemo decided to interrupt the family tradition and his family line was immediately interrupted…
I feel like collectively we are sleeping on the Star Spangled Man track from Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Just take a listen. Maybe I’m just a sucker for drum lines but dang it’s jazzy
Finished my Zemo drawing. This is a new style I have really enjoyed exploring recently!
🎶 Cuz mama I’m in love with a criminal 🎶
Zemo was definitely making some points in the last episode. Pardon the first image, I didn’t use a reference until I was almost done with it, which seems counter intuitive.
God damn it Zemo!
![[This Has Probably Been Done Before, If Yes, It Wasn’t My Intention To Unrightfully Copy Anyone]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1354d2b8764974dcde79951a19c15df7/1ebde86749796776-9f/s500x750/46aedf74ee0e91f90963b3f578cda6face1aa100.jpg)
[This has probably been done before, if yes, it wasn’t my intention to unrightfully copy anyone]
Bucky: Okay so, I have good news and bad news
Sam: Alright, what’s the good news?
Bucky: Walker’s dead
Sam: … And the bad news?
Bucky: I may have broken rules 1 and 2
Sam:
Sam: So you killed him?
Bucky: Yep
Zemo: Fantastic
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.
He's My Collar
Featuring snapshots of the three most important road trips in Zemo and John's journey of working together.
I take her down to somewhere drab and naughty I clear my system, I don't need no other This is my persona, secret lover (She's my collar)
WARNING. Before you move down any further, there are some disclaimers. The content below contains:
- discussion of cheating, infidelity
- unhealthy/toxic relationships, abusive behavior
- derogatory language, slut-shaming used in an intentionally derogatory manner
- attempted suicide (in slight graphic detail)
I am not advocating for any of John or Zemo's toxic behavior. Please treat your loved ones with kindness and respect. Cheating is unacceptable and should never be condoned. I will always try to explore the psychology that drives people to do different things, but this is not meant to be an accurate representation of reality.
That being said, if you choose to continue, ENJOY <3
JONES GALLOWAY ROAD, AMERICA
“You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch,” John spat. He slammed the car door shut, making the entire car rattle. Crossing over to Zemo’s driver’s seat, he yanked the door open and motioned angrily. “Get out. I’m driving.”
It made Zemo’s skin crawl - usually, John’s displays of violence would leave his spine (and his cock) tingling pleasantly, but now, directed against him, it’s been whittled down to fear. Fear, fear, fear.
“No,” Zemo ground out, unable to hide the contempt in his voice. “What are you afraid of? You’ve hidden us from her, after all.”
John’s eyes widened - Zemo had struck a nerve, and the thought gave him pleasure.
“There’s nothing between us. It’s just sex.”
“Just another word for infidelity."
"Infidelity," John repeated, but Zemo knew that he did not fully understand the implications.
Before he could say anything else, he was gripped harshly around the wrist and dragged out of the driver's seat. John shoved him into the passenger seat on the opposite side with little care, and he bit back a whimper at the sharp jolt of pain that raced up his arm. Just another few ounces of pressure and Zemo's shoulder would probably be dislocated from his body.
John looked as if he wanted to end the conversation right there, his face like thunder, dark and unbridled in a way that a man was when his honor was at stake.
“I love her,” he said.
Zemo laughed, hollow and mocking. “Love is just a four-letter word.”
The long road to John’s house in Michigan was full of splendor, with great yellow rock dunes resembling that of a desert mesa, and a smattering of lichen and bushes coating the land, so green and dense they looked like moss from afar. Zemo watched the landscape drift by, gaze unfocused. What a shame, this beautiful oil painting spoiled by the foulness of their destination.
John spoke, after half an hour of driving. Zemo wasn’t entirely looking at the clock, but the dullness of the sun told him of the time that had elapsed. “It’s pathetic how you pretend to be so morally upstanding when you whore yourself out to a married man. Hypocritical bitch. You’re just as disgusting as I am. Don’t even pretend that you give a shit about fidelity, we both know that’s not why you’re doing this.”
The words stung. It was with the vulgar, careless way that John had said it - that made him feel dirty, used, like a ratted old washcloth wrung out too many times. Zemo carefully kept his face still, so that nothing would give him away. He swallows thickly- “Care to elaborate?”
“I think you’re doing this because it makes you feel better. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? The moon and sun revolve around Helmut Zemo. I think you’re insecure because you know I’ll always choose her over you. And you think that the fact that I keep secrets from her means that I have more to lose? That gives you power over me? Give me a break. Newsflash - if I stop giving a shit about you, Zemo, there’ll be no one else who wants you. Or will ever want you.” John snarled, his face contorted in anger. Zemo had to turn away, heart trembling in his chest. He felt like he was hyperventilating - with the anger, the fear, the humiliation of having his trust betrayed, his willing intimacy taken and strangled in John’s fists. He brought this upon himself.
“You’ll save her life over mine?” He’s addicted to pain the same way he can’t stop chewing on an ulcer or pinching a bruise.
“Won’t you do the same for your wife?” John countered.
Zemo did not answer, instead buried himself in deep thought, recalling Heike’s beautiful ideas and soulfulness, her supernal form of love that could knock Goliath to its feet. Soon, he had no more bitter recrimination left in him. John sat beside him in morose silence, anger dampened by Zemo’s tepidness.
After a while, the urge to speak became too great, “If she and I were held at gunpoint, who would you save?” The question was childish. Zemo asked with the tenuous expectation of someone who couldn’t quite accept what they had heard and doubled back to demand a different answer.
“I’ll save you both.”
“You can only save one.”
“Then I’ll save her since you’re experienced enough to get yourself out of the situation.”
“We’re both unconscious.”
“I can’t answer this question in a way that makes you happy, Zemo.”
The hardness in John’s eyes made Zemo pause and bite down everything that he had wanted to say. There would be no more discussion here.
“I know,” he confessed, feeling oddly magnanimous. “That’s why I asked.”
John Walker couldn’t be fully trusted to protect him - this fact Zemo understood from the very beginning. John Walker had been a tool to be used, playing the part of shield and sword to perfection.
Trust is quixotic in nature. John still had dangerous attachments to others in his life, attachments that could put Zemo’s life in peril. The convenient removal of Lemar sent the already untethered man afloat, spiralling further into his orbit, and if he managed to put a bigger schism between John and his wife...
Zemo itched to crawl over John, rip those clothes off him and wrap his legs around his hips, burying his nails into skin and muscle. He laid his palm on the warm glass of the car window, imagining it to be all around him, just staying there forever in the soft afterglow. Just like that one night in a Pakistan motel, where they made love over the rough sheets, uncaring of the chill or the consequences of their actions - single-mindedly sating their bloodthirst and hunger and nothing else. John had fallen asleep holding him close, one hand circling the column of his throat, another splayed across his soft belly, as if at any second Zemo could fall off the face of the earth.
He fell asleep to a nightmare that showed him: once those hands were lifted, his intestines would spill out from his stomach, the blood would bubble like a geyser from his slashed throat.
And when morning came, he wished that he could fall into a dreamless sleep forever. As if in a daze, he had reached for the gun in the bedside drawer, only to be pulled back into a cocoon of warmth.
“Stay,” John had said, voice muffled from burying his face into Zemo’s hair. His exhales were warm, lulling Zemo back to sleep like the gentle rumbling of a steam engine.
John Walker was strong enough to save him from himself, and that made him valuable - Zemo wished he had the foresight to see this from the very beginning.
There’ll be no one else who wants you. Or will ever want you.
That’s why you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine. I will always have a pound of your flesh.
Before he knew it, the sky was falling grey. They were passing under a big storm cloud. The wind whipped up the powdery dirt around them, whooshing and wailing like phantoms in a blossoming sandstorm, only to be struck down by the fat raindrops that pelted down from the sky. John slowed the car down and heaved a sigh, drumming his fingers on the dashboard as they plowed through the muddied road.
From the squelching beneath them, Zemo could not tell how many microscopic life forms or frogs or snails that they had rolled over, leaving a trail of destruction.
“Fuck!” John cursed loudly when the car spluttered to an abrupt stop, causing Zemo to jump in his seat. He sat still and silent as John ran out into the downpour, and simply watched the water droplets on the window gather in mass, congregating, then roll down the glass. If he were to glance outside at the hazy cliff edges, his vision would go fuzzy with the mad frenzy at which rain was pelting down - so many that they stayed suspended in his vision as one thunderous shower of water, changing in direction as the wind blew. With the rest of the world tuned out to a soft hum, he was left alone with his thoughts.
Zemo hadn’t realized that he drifted off until a loud groaning of metal made him jolt, followed by John’s groan. “Jesus fucking Christ. Now, of all places.”
He rolled down the windows slightly - “What’s going on?”
John soon emerged into view, his hair and clothes soaked and plastered to his skin. “Get out. Car broke down, so we’re walking.”
Zemo wrinkled his nose, but complied nonetheless, knowing that John was in a foul mood, one that meant he should be best left alone. He left his coat in the car, not wanting the extra weight or the soggy feeling of it. The rain trickled into his hair, drawing a wet, cold line down his scalp. His cheek stung, giving the phantom feeling of being slapped, even though he knew it was just from the raindrops. Trying his best to ignore the discomfort of his clothes steadily getting wetter, he went to the trunk and helped John retrieve the essentials - the vibranium shield and Zemo’s important documents stored in a waterproof bag.
“How long will this take?” He risked a question.
“An hour.”
They began walking, and with the water dripping down into his shoes, his pants turning wet and stiff, Zemo’s initial indifference was starting to sour. He resisted the urge to kick away a stray pebble, not wishing to devolve into the same brand of childishness that John retired to once all options were exhausted.
Zemo was starting to shiver. “We should have stayed in the car,” he thought aloud.
“Go back if you want,” John said with cold indifference.
“Walker,” Zemo moved even before meaning to, fisting John’s shirt in his hands. “I’d advise you to watch your tone.”
John cocked his head. “You’re the one who started it.”
“If I recall, earlier, you said that I was whoring myself out,” Zemo said each word delicately, dragging it out with excruciating slowness and waiting for each one to sink in.
“You never had a problem with it in bed,” John laughed. The sound tore through Zemo like a bullet. If it were anything else he could have stayed indifferent. But this was his naked body being pinned down like a butterfly specimen in a dissection class, exposed for everyone to see. He let John touch him, degrade him, under the unspoken condition that what went on behind closed doors stayed there. He had never expected this. If John said these things now, what would he let slip in front of Contessa? Hammer? Starr? In a fit of fury, he might announce everything that they did together. Or perhaps he already had, in a conspiratorial voice- guess what I found out about Zemo? Perhaps Zemo had been the butt of the joke the entire time, unaware as the rest of the Thunderbolts stole glances at him and pictured him on his knees.
John took a step forward, uncaring that they would collide, and Zemo’s feet shuffled back involuntarily to keep the distance between them. In terror, he tried to pull his hand away, but John had a vice grip on his wrist. He reached out for Zemo’s throat with his other hand, snarling- “You can’t do anything to me.”
It all happened in a blur after that.
His palm stung. John was stumbling away, broken out of his violent stupor, one hand on his reddening cheek. The relief poured into Zemo, filling his lungs with oxygen.
“Oh god,” John sobbed. He curled in on himself, a wretched, broken thing. The rainwater was still running down his face, so it was only when he covered his face with his hands that Zemo realized he was crying. “Oh my god, I… ”
“Stay away from me,” Zemo said. His own voice was hazy and far away. Almost mechanically, he pulled a knife from his boot and pressed it to his wrist. Droplets of blood beaded up on the surface of his skin, a thin bracelet of ruby crystals. “Don’t move closer.” What the hell am I doing?
“Stop!” John wailed, his voice nearly unrecognizable in its desperation. “Please, please, I won’t move so stop!”
Zemo was so tempted then, to tear the knife down his arm anyway, just to demonstrate to John the price of broken promises, of fractured trust. He gritted his teeth in preparation for it, but… oh, fate, godforsaken fate, had the blade slip from trembling fingers. And life had a way of creating its comedy, because staring at the dirty knife on the ground, Zemo felt too tired to pick it up again.
Saved by a fucking tremor.
“John,” he called weakly, and let himself fall. The impact never came.
---
When he came to, he was somewhere warm and dry, dressed in a clean cotton bathrobe. The fireplace crackled away merrily in the corner of the room.
“This is a small inn. I took a detour from our route,” John said. He approached Zemo cautiously, waiting for silent permission before offering a glass of water.
“I’m sorry,” John said again, his voice small. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said those things. They weren’t true. I’ve never, ever thought of you that way. And I lost control of my strength and my temper...”
“Did you tell anyone?”
John looked up, startled.
“Did you tell anyone else that you and I - that I was a-” The word, meant to mock, lodged painfully in his throat. Zemo looked away, unwilling to let John see his weakness.
“No. Never. I have never told anyone else about us. I know that after today, you probably won’t believe me again. But please just… take my word for it that I have never told a single soul. And I may have complained about you to others, but never like that. I never used that against you, never will.”
John let out a pained sigh. “God, I sound like such an asshole right now. We can stop this arrangement, I mean it. I understand if you don’t want to do it anymore.”
“Look at you, being so serious, trying so hard.” Zemo murmured, trying to relieve his gnawing discomfort. “Are you forgetting? It’s just sex.”
John didn’t respond. He reached for Zemo's wrist, stroking the bandaged skin tenderly, and when he looked up, Zemo was shocked to see that his blue eyes were wet with unshed tears.
John’s touch burned, searing his bare skin. Zemo squirmed and trembled from his ministrations, his body vibrating like a plucked violin string. “Don’t. Don’t try to be... better for me. Save that effort for the woman you love.” I don’t deserve it.
He leaned forward to lick the tears off John’s lips as they started to spill over, letting the salt hit the back of his throat like a whisky shot. “Hurt me. I can take it.”
No guilt.
No strings attached.
That’s the reason you keep coming back to me, and not anything else.
Don’t spoil what we have, John. If you tire of me and run away, who will be there to save me from myself?
You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you’ve never had the courage to commit.
“Don’t apologize to me. I hold no grudges against you for what you did. We merely exploited each other. Selflessness is not in our nature unless it’s to those who we truly love. For them, we can do anything.”
“Yeah.”
“Olivia, do you truly love her?”
“I do.”
Zemo could read John like a book by this point, and he knew that it was the truth. His chest felt light from the hope of seeing young love flourish, and he smiled a genuine smile that made John flush red in embarrassment. Yet it felt like a needle had been plunged into his heart. It was a reminder of things that he could never possess.
“Heike was just like that. We two can only hurt each other, but people like them will always make you a better version of yourself.”
“You know, I feel that Olivia fell in love with a version of me. A version that’s no longer there, or buried so deep that I can’t dig it out. I'm just an imposter. And now…”
“Now you don’t feel worthy?”
John’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he said breathlessly. “Yeah, how did you know?”
Because I once felt the same way. And I wasted my time trying to figure out the answer, while death stole her away from me.
“Give her that best version of you.” Zemo pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear. “Your home is not a battlefield, leave the violence here with me. And when I’m gone, take it to your grave.”
---
“Zemo, I’ve been thinking...” John lit a cigarette. “...Is it really just sex?”
Zemo turned the question over and over in his mind. “It’s codependency,” he said carefully.
“That’s a big term that I don't understand.”
“A man can’t part from his preferred choice of drug, for the withdrawal will destroy him. That’s what we are.”
“Addiction, you mean.” John took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly. Zemo watched the way his throat bobbed, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.
“Something like that.”
“You know, an asthmatic guy can’t part from his inhaler either.”
“In this metaphor, are we the asthma or the inhaler?”
“Hey, I tried my hand at being philosophical. It’s more of your thing. It's because you’re a smartass who likes showing off, and you’re also a bitch,” John retorted without any real heat.
“I think the word you’re looking for is an affliction.”
“Like I said, smartass.” John put the cigarette out, leaned forward, and gave his forehead a playful little flick.
---
John left in the middle of the night. Zemo heard his footsteps down the stairs and saw from his window a car pulling out of the driveway. Tomorrow John will greet his wife on the porch, and inform her that unfortunately, his colleague couldn’t make it.
When the roar of the engine had finally faded away, Zemo allowed himself to cry - deep, rattling sobs muffled into whimpers.
He cannot bring himself to hate a woman whom John loves.
He cannot bear to separate them.
From midnight into the morning, he laid there paralyzed, cold and alone, clawing at the cut in his wrist until it bled, wishing there were strong arms around him.
My ending thoughts: Is it really just sex? (Hint: It's not)
This is the official end of the three-part road trip series. Thank you all for staying till the end. I will be uploading all 3 parts to AO3 for easier access as well :)
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.