#baronzemo

(as Baron Helmut J. Zemo)

The house was suffocating in its stillness. The curtains hung heavy, filtering the afternoon light into muted streaks across the bed where Zemo lay half-reclined, one arm bent lazily behind his head. The ankle monitor pressed uncomfortably against his skin, its silent weight an ever-present reminder of how far his world had shrunk. Sure, it was vastly better than the raft - where the 4-by-4 cube reinforced by tempered glass held him like a caged bird. He had been granted freedom in exchange of co-operation by the dark haired, talkative, self-absorbed, barely tolerable lady whose impulsion to have her name be pronounced correctly would likely surpass all priorities - heck, even if the world were to be headed steadily to its own demise. Miss de Fontaine seemed to have conveniently forgotten to mention the exact parameters of this 'independence' i.e., the clause that required Zemo to be on house arrest for at least a year before he would be permitted to taste any hint of actual freedom.

He had already exhausted the stack of books left within reach, their dog-eared pages now abandoned in a loose pile on the floor. The chessboard sat untouched in the corner, its unfinished game mocking him with frozen strategy. Even the bottle of wine at his bedside had long since lost its appeal.

Restlessness crept into his posture—the slow shifting of his legs, the idle graze of his fingers against his lips - and occasionally coiling around, toying with the slim chain of gold (a family Heirloom) around his neck. The way his eyes roamed the ceiling as though searching for cracks. Boredom was an enemy he could not outmanoeuvre, and it gnawed at him with quiet persistence.

The faint creak of the floorboards outside the door stirred him from his reverie. His gaze shifted, sharp and alert now. The only movement made was that of his hand reaching for the 9 millimetre that had been tucked underneath the pillow. This time, it was the baron, himself who had deliberately failed to mention having it in his possession. And once it idled steady in his grasp - he didn’t move. Whoever had found their way here—ally, intruder, or something in between—would soon break the monotony.

Read to comply.

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Zemo is: Indilven_cosplay

Bucky is me.

2026 Topps Brooklyn Collection - Captain America 85th Anniversary

Returning back to painting bit by bit. I am still thinking hard about @fleshtonyart Alienist vampire!au, but tbh lately I havent been in a mood for sadboi gothic vampyres… Rather was quite hard leaning into angry baroque feral monsters (imagining what w∆r cr|m€s they could commit to enemies of my people, let the girl dream for a bit after yet another week of "great news"). Also practiced with unusual (for me) portrait lighting+colors. Not sure I'm totally pleased, but it's also part of the process - accepting the end result and still letting myself enjoy the process and acknowledge it as a small victory.

✨Baron Zemo✨(feel free to comment)

It was rare for the baron to experience nightmares but when they happened. It was usually terrible. And that night, he was experiencing one.

His body was covered in sweat, his breathing heavy and a little uneven. His jaw was clenched as he tossed and turned. The dream being of when he found his family.

Pet Alpine to see clearer image