Me Just Looking At All The Posts That Are Going ‘WHERE ARE THE FANFICS???? I Want To Read The Fics

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.

Hey everyone.

It’s time to promote my fic (again)

Cutting straight to it: Weeping Willow, Flowering Plum 【你是柳树，还是寒梅】

- ShangChi x Wenwu.

- 30k words and counting.

- Slowwwwwww burn.

- Character Study

- No smut yet, although I might try it in future

- languages are Chinese & English, English majority (translations provided)

If you find this ship interesting, give it a try. I think the slow burn makes it more accessible to read :)

If you don’t like the ship, please don’t come for me.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33830596/chapters/84106825

Holy shit. Holy fudging shit. This is so good and poetic. WTF. Do you have golden fingers because this is amazing. WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK THIS IS SO GOOD? AHHHHHH??!?! Dude i- i just... i... THE WAY YOU USE WORDS IS AMAZING DUDE I WISH I COULD WRITE LIKE YOU

Last Rites. Zemo. Angst. His fate is inevitable; no matter where he goes, he is driven by loss.

Two roads diverge and in one moment, Zemo and the Baron split apart. There’s Zemo on one side of the great divide, watching his whole world crumble around him. There’s the Baron who said fuck the mission and took his family on holiday someplace far away and quiet; he hears the breeze sighing in the long grass and holds his wife just a little closer.

What could’ve been. What could’ve been. What could’ve—

It’s a sigh like a dying curse and Zemo hears it every moment of every day. It flavors his coffee and wraps around his ankles to bind him in his cell. It tells him listen, when she said she felt so scared, what did you say?

(I’ll be home soon)

But there is no home, not anymore, not since he stood on the threshold of the end of — not the world but his world— and saw the ruin of everything. What is a man without a country? What is a man who smiles despite the knife in his gut?

The Baron watches the seasons change across the wasteland and he sees his son grow up. He says all of this is yours, every stone and every blade of grass. He hears about the city’s fall and is somehow unsurprised; Avengers are synonymous with ruin, with trails of destruction left behind while they retreat to their tower and lick their wounds. The Baron says all this is yours, every smear of blood and every shadow; when I die— not if, but when— don’t follow. Build a better world. He says— he says— but all his words are wasted.

Our father, who art the source of malice, gathers every thread and pulls us close. We pray the devils take us, for they at least are honest; they at least have made no promises.

And here comes Zemo with a face like a summer storm, wild and torn by thunder, all his ghosts around him like a mantle and if he smiles it’s only because he senses his nearness to the other side. He walks like a man who has nothing to lose because he doesn’t — his heart is gone, all the bones of his dear ones buried in the earth far from home because the family crypt was crushed and all its many sleeping dead thrown about like so much straw. Here comes Zemo with his gloves and his coat and even if he hides his face his eyes are still there, dark and piercing, every blink an indictment and every tear a curse.

Here comes Zemo, the trinity of ghosts: father, son and spouse; he sees the other side and doesn’t wonder why couldn’t it be that way because there is no time; he sets his plans in motion and shepherds them to the outcome he wants (the outcome he needs; he has the grief of love, of lovers, of someone who’s only ever known violence as a tool, who doesn’t fear death or pain but only the shards of his shattered heart that pierce through him)

Our father, who shows us the back of his hand, who curdles our milk and picks the lashes from our eyelids, our father, who shows us a door that’s locked and barred—

The Baron sees his people scattered, broken; he traces the threads of their dissolution back to the source, which is the Tower; he hears their cries for mercy and for aid and somehow, somehow, he is the last of their royalty, the last one with enough pull to do something (enough money squirreled away, at least, and the implacable cruelty needed to show no mercy). He says I’ll be home soon and goes to carry out his duty. If I let it go, if I let it go,

(We’ll be together)

We will never know peace. We will never know the satisfaction of looking at the stars without wondering who will descend to tear us apart.

When the Baron returns with blood on his hands (how they fought, but cleverness and tech and all the money in the world are no match for the calculated rage of a man who kills to protect, who will ruin angels to tear their prying eyes from those he loves)— when the Baron returns—

(I’m home)

—it’s to a quiet house and blood on the walls; the last of those he loved now dying on the floor and there’s a message. There’s always a message. You couldn’t protect us. So many dead, and when we looked to you, you’d fled. And then you left to chase your dragons, but the wolves slipped through your door. The Baron doesn’t cry. He can’t cry. He buries his dead and closes up his country house; he will find those responsible and share his suffering.

Our father, who maketh us to lie in green fields, who draws the stars down to drive them through our flesh. Our father, who pulls fate’s threads and cuts them free. Our father, king of filth and decadence.

Zemo lets his beard grow and thinks about what could have been. It’s a petty, weak indulgence and it makes him ache; it makes his hands twitch with the need to hold a gun again, to act, to move. He reads, he listens to the radio, he waits. He pushes the sleeves of his hoodie up and leans against the bars.

Zemo has a visitor. He sees his way out and he smiles his crooked smile.

Our father.

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

I’m lonely

Reblog if I can go on your page and write stupid things in your ask box whenever I'd like to.

do it, I fucking dare you

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.

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.

🍀

If in Thunderbolts, Zemo and Walker team up (WalkerBaron), I’m headcanonising:

- Walker calling Zemo a ‘lil bitch’ on the daily

- Walker raising his shield to protect the both of them from falling debris and Zemo just standing under the shade in mild wonder

- Zemo bitch slapping Walker

- Walker pours Zemo’s finest wine into a cut to ‘disinfect’ it, Zemo letting out an unholy screech, and downing the entire bottle in response

- Zemo bitch slapping Walker again

- Walker trying to undermine Zemo’s authority by looming over him, Zemo responds by purposely walking in front of him and suddenly stopping just to make John crash into him

- Zemo calling Walker ‘Agent’ instead of ‘US Agent’ out of spite

- Zemo sidestepping John’s advances like siiiiiike we gotta be pRoFfEsSiOnAl

Then later justifying their relationship by saying “It’s a mutually beneficial exchange.”

- Zemo always trying to discreetly keep John in his peripheral vision, because that man was his temporary protection and lifeline

Bonus:

Zemo tries to guide Walker down a bad path to justify killing him eventually. Walker takes the bait. But little does Zemo know, the man drags Zemo down alongside him, topples Zemo’s little moral pedestal right into the depths of depravity.

Now that’s a relationship I’d love to explore.

I’ve been waiting for someone to say this for a long ass time

When Daniel Brühl's hair does that thing where one slightly curly bang falls out of place and on his forehead reblog if you agree