voordeel on YouTube makes the most bomb edits I have seen. Thank you, wherever you are, for this masterpiece.
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HYDRA can bite my bum. Curse this friggin Nazi organisation.
Half an hour in New Orleans, and we've already encountered six HYDRA agents, evaded three police officers, and I'm pretty sure the two ladies trying to scam me before were witches. How eventful can one city be?
A rest was well due after all the shenanigans that went down in Atlanta. After the overnight stay at some shabby, seedy motel which I'm 98% sure is actually a front for some drug cartel, Buck and I managed to make it to New Orleans by midday the next day. And oh, the music, the people, the French Quarter buildings...
The colourful array of Nazi terrorists immediately bamboozling my brief lapse of peace and tranquillity.
Sitting cross legged on the floor of the completely inconspicuous black van parked in an obscure, sketchy alleyway, I attempt to ignore the five bodies in the opposite corner of the van, not even really sure I want to focus on the one alive HYDRA agent currently asphyxiating underneath the immense pressure of Bucky's boot on his throat. Nimbly and nervously, my fingers twist and fiddle with the edges of my denim jacket, which is presently slipped on over my jet black skinny jeans and black t-shirt with the Hufflepuff insignia on it, reading 'Everyday I'm Hufflin'.
#hufflepuffpride people.
"I'm sorry about the, ah," I stumble over my words, awkwardly gesturing at his predicament in a way that could be described as a reminiscent of Captain Jack Sparrow's own quirky hand gestures, "... strangulation. We're just a lil bit curios about how you knew we'd be here, is all. I, for one, thought we'd been really inconspicuous up until this point."
The unnamed HYDRA agent aggressively gurgles and chokes on his breath, even when Bucky offers him a little leeway to answer my question. "You – literally— were just captured – by police – yesterday—"
"Right, well, that's not the point," I gently albeit defensively interject, uncoordinatedly flailing my hands about in an attempt to cut him off and salvage my dignity yet again. "The point is, what the frick frack is HYDRA doing here? You were obviously here before us...."
Wait.
Wait.
Gears twist and grind in my head, a niggling, horrifying thought rousing in the depths of my subconscious. Surely not... I desperately pray, hoping to whatever deity that is listening out there that for once, just once; that the worst case scenario playing in my mind isn't what's actually happening.
My heart is in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it down enough to spit out the end of my sentence "... so, you're not... HYDRA isn't involved with the recent spike of voodoo and witch doctor activity, are they?"
Please Morrígan say no, please Morrígan say no, please Morrígan say n—
"You witches were –" the man splutters inelegantly under Bucky's boot, hacking up his words "—too stubborn, too prideful. HYDRA – HYDRA had to look elsewhere."
Most people describe earth-shattering news such as that in a way akin to 'the world slows to a stop' when realistically, the never-ending, near infinite amount of new thoughts and questions take mere milliseconds to fire away in your brain. And for me, that admittance hit me quicker and heavier than a truck in a crash.
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In the Dead of the Night || Winter Soldier
Fanfiction"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." - F. Scott Fitzgerald ~ Victoria Morana Kingsley is average in nearly every aspect of her life. She isn't a great fighter. She isn't a brilliant genius. She doesn't have the greatest paying career. And...
