Just a few months after Natasha has been cleared for active duty at SHIELD, she comes face-to-face with a challenge. The solution surprisingly comes from her partner.
“’Tasha, c’mon, we’ve got to go!” Clint hollered for the third time. He’d put on his stupid, fancy-pants suit and had moved on to the shinny shoes and fussy cufflinks. Yet Natasha hadn’t so much as poked her head out of the bathroom with an update. She still needed to put on the deep emerald gown hanging in the hotel’s provided closet.
Now Clint knew it took time for a woman to get ready – a previous marriage to Bobbi Morse had taught him that particular lesson. But they had a strict timetable to stick to and it was quickly closing.
“Nat!” he tried again, knocking on the bathroom door. It remained closed and silent. He didn’t want to think that maybe she’d bolted, but this was only their third mission together and it was a possibility to consider. Never mind the fact that they were seventeen stories up and there was no fire escape – he knew she could find a way out just as, if not easier, than he could.
“Nat, I’m coming in,” he announce, picking the lock on the door and creaking it open, prepared to see an empty bathroom and an open window. What he found instead was Natasha in front of the vanity mirror, hands covered in cosmetics and face a mess.
Her eye shadow was too green; her lipstick was smeared around the edges; her eyeliner was uneven. Too much too-pink blush dominated her cheeks, and a tube of mascara lay on the ground with the brush broken off.
“You okay?” Clint asked hesitantly.
“I…” but she didn’t finish. She looked at him, eyes too wide to be on the face of the famous Black Widow.
“Do you need help?” Clint tried, shutting the door behind him and taking a step further into the room.
She shook her head fiercely, gaze turning angry. But her shoulders soon sagged and she replied quietly, “I tried to learn. I watched the other women in the locker room after workouts, looked at videos online, but…”
Clint approached her carefully and reached around her to grab a washcloth. He wet it with warm water and handed it to her. “How about we start over?”
She nodded and took the cloth, scrubbing at her face while Clint laid out the needed supplies from SHIELD’s arsenal of makeup. He didn’t even know what some of it was, let alone what it was for or where to put it on one’s face. But this wasn’t his first rodeo with a makeup kit.
Natasha watched him as he set up shop, a question seeming to be lingering on the tip of her tongue.
“Ready?” he asked.
Nat raised a brow.
“Don’t give me that look. What? A guy can’t know how to do makeup?” He dabbed concealer onto the dark circles under her eyes, gentle around the delicate skin there. “Circus, by the way, before you ask. And no, it won’t be clown makeup. I promise.”
She cracked a tiny smile, tilting her face upon his instruction so he could blend foundation from her face to her neck with a sponge.
It was a while before she confessed, “They never taught us.”
Clint’s hand stayed from where it was deftly applying a gold eye shadow to her lids.
“They thought we’d use it to disguise ourselves and escape.” She pulled in a breath. “Or something like that.”
Clint had learned long ago the Red Room wasn’t big on sharing details, especially about their reasoning. “Who did your makeup for missions?” he inquired, blending the two shades of gold with a brush.
“They’d hire someone. I think. That’s what I did when I was on the run anyway. I’d make an appointment with a professional, go to a salon or studio.”
Clint hummed before asking her to close her eyes as he shook a tube of liquid eyeliner. He’d been the best at it in the circus, steady hand and all that.
Blush, lipstick, finishing touches. “There.”
Nat followed his guiding hands to turn around and look at herself in the mirror. She was stunning: eyes glittering and lined with perfect wings, lips a deep red, blush accentuating her cheekbones.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“No problem. Now, get dressed.”
She dashed out to the main room, slipped on her gown, and adorned the transceiver earrings and camera necklace she’d picked up from SHIELD’s tech division.
“I could teach you, you know,” Clint offered.
Natasha slipped on a killer heel before looking up at him. “I’d like that.” She smiled then, something real and rare that had Clint feeling privileged to be on the receiving end.
“Ready?” he asked, extending his arm for her to take.
“You tell me,” she answered a bit coyly, slipping her arm through his.
He made a show of looking her over. “Yeah. I’d say you’re picture perfect.”
[SR04] The Poster and Main Boss Kenzan returns with a not quite fusion of two of his classic ace monsters! SR04-JP001 究極伝導恐獣［アルティメットコンダクターティラノ］ Ultimate Conductor Tyranno Level 10 LIGHT Dinosaur-Type Special Summon Effect Monster ATK 3500 DEF 3200 Cannot be Normal Summoned/Set. Must first be Special Summoned (from your hand) by banishing 2 Dinosaur-Type monster from your Graveyard. (1) Once per turn, during either player’s Main Phase: You can destroy 1 monster you control or have in your hand, and if you do, change all face-up monsters your opponent controls to face-down Defense Position. (This is a Quick Effect.) (2) This card can attack all monsters your opponent controls once each. (3) At the start of the Damage Step, when this card attacks a Defense Position monster: You can inflict 1000 damage to your opponent, also send that Defense Position monster to the Graveyard. Reprints include: Prohibition Fossil Dig Quaking Mirror Force Super Conductor Tyranno Survival of the Fittest Black Brachios
Warnings: Hospitals, Gore, Inappropriate use of scripture, messiah complex
AO3 <<<Previous
Day 4
you woke up with extreme nausea and stomach pain. You ran to the bathroom, not caring if any noise you were making would wake anyone. The pain seemed to worsen as you heaved into the toilet. You were vomiting blood.
The noise managed to wake Sister Ruth, she rushed to your side, holding up your hair and rubbing your back. You couldn’t see the look of horror on her face.
“I think we need to take you to the hospital; you might have some internal bleeding.”
You tried to shake your head no, not wanting to be subject to the poking and prodding. The pain was debilitating, curling up on the floor as Sister Ruth went to get help.
////
The lights of the hospital were blinding. You wanted to keep your eyes shut and drift back off to sleep. The people around you were talking to you, encouraging you to stay awake and respond.
You replied in mumbles and broken words, but enough for them to decipher.
The pain had begun to die down, you were given medication regardless. A series of invasive tests were to be conducted.
One of the doctors addressed you directly, “We have to lift your top to have a look, okay?” her voice was gentle. You nodded in response.
As she lifted your top, the look of confusion on the doctors’ face worried you.
She quickly jotted something down, whispering to the nurse present. The nurse left and came back with Sister Ruth.
You tried to look down to see what they were looking at but were gently pushed down by the nurse.
“Y/N, have you had any surgery or injury to the stomach before?” asked Sister Ruth.
You shook your head ‘no’.
The confusion around the room seemed to get stronger.
You finally managed to sit up and look.
Your stomach had two large, jagged scars all the way up. You didn’t know where these came from. They were slightly tender to the touch but looked like they had been there for years. You didn’t have them the night before.
You began to panic, mumbling to the people in the room, delirium washing over you. You tried to get out of the bed and run somewhere. You wanted to be far from this country, away from the convent. You wanted to be held by your mother and be told it was all going to be okay. You couldn’t bare the thought of completing the six weeks here. You were sure you were going to go insane.
Your movement became weaker as you thrashed around. You fought to stay awake, but the medication was kicking in.
The hum of a lullaby could be heard in the distance.
////
“I think we need to send her back home as soon as we can”.
“I think that’s the best idea, but she can’t be taken back unaccompanied, especially not in her condition.”
“I’ll take her,” Sister Ruth suggested.
“That is all good and well Sister, but the feast day of the assumption of Mary is this Sunday, and on top of that, the bus to the airport doesn’t run until the Monday after. This is an important weekend in our diocese so emergency travel is almost impossible.”
Sister Ruth sighed, her colleague was right, the girl would have to hold on a little longer before she would be able to get home.
Before the conversation could continue, the girl in question began to stir.
“Good afternoon Y/N, feeling any better?”
You nodded in response, trying to figure out where the hell you were.
“We’re in the Convent’s infirmary again. You discharged with a clean bill of health, so we brought you here just to keep an eye on you,” Sister Ruth smiled at you.
You were told to freshen up, the cold water felt like heaven when you washed your face. This was the first look you had in the mirror since you came here. You felt like your face had changed a little. It seemed a little more mature, your resting bitch face seemed more intense than ever before. You blamed it on the lack of sleep and strange happenings around you, you were sure you’d be back to your normal self as soon as you left this forsaken place.
However, the only thing you cared about now was what you were going to eat and what Claire was up to.
////
The rest of the girls were off-site today. The sisters had decided to not put you in a sermon today due to the complaints of your snoring. The thought made you giggle.
You decided to wander around the grounds of the convent, to finally take in the unique architecture and maybe find some hiding places for you and Claire along the way. You missed your friend and you needed someone to share your strange dreams with.
Each arch of the of building was so meticulously carved. Every motif and line of scripture meant something. You could understand it but could not tell anyone what you understood.
You hummed a tune from your dreams as you aimlessly wandered through the corridors, your fingertips running over the stone walls, taking in every detail and mapping the structure in your head.
A voiced joined in your humming, suddenly snapping you out of your trance. The voice stopped as soon as you acknowledged it. Your mind was playing tricks on you again. Yet it sounded so familiar.
You decided to head back to where the sisters were, maybe being alone wasn’t the best idea in these circumstances.
However, there was one issue.
You had no idea where you were.
The corridor seemed endless, with no exit or entrance. You span to look to the other side, finding only a single, red door.
Your brows knitted in confusion, you didn’t open or close any doors during your wander, you were sure of it.
Yet there seemed to be no other way out, so you headed towards the door.
You took a deep breath and looked back one more time, before pushing it open.
You were expecting something horrific, but instead you were met with a little chapel. This must have been one of the smaller chapels in the Convent. The candles and incense were still burning. The smell seemed familiar.
You took in the beautiful surroundings and tried to figure out if this chapel was dedicated to anyone in particular.
Standing in the centre of the small room, you looked up to the stained glass. It was a large effigy of Saint Michael. The setting sun made the image glow. The hair looked like spun gold, the eyes a dazzling blue, starring into the depths of your very soul.
You had started to hum again. Thinking to stay just a while longer to figure out why the face looked so familiar.
////
“What do you think Sister Y/N?”
“hmm?” Sister Y/N stopped humming.
“I asked, how do you think we should go about the repairs?”
Sister Y/N had been given leave from any physical labour after being found passed out in front of her room. The following days were filled with intense stomach pain and coughing up blood. Mother Superior said it was a test from God. The boar an illusion created by the devil. Her recovery was attributed to a miracle, but Sister Y/N knew the truth. She had just mustered up enough strength to collect the necessary herbs and create a remedy. Herbal medicine was one of her strong points, just not one she could practice publicly.
She now stood in the old chapel with some of the senior Sisters, the convent was in need of repair and the Monseigneur had requested for all the proposals to be complete before his return from the Vatican.
The sisters looked at her expectantly.
“I’ve been having strange dreams recently,” she started.
“I’m wandering through the convent, but it looks so different.”
The Sisters leaned in, paying more attention to the words.
“Each stone, each wall, everything is so meticulously placed. As if the convent is protecting something. The arches are etched with scripture of protection, they seem to be a reminder of something, but I don’t know what,” she finished.
“Did you see this room?” One of the sisters chirped up.
Sister Y/N nodded.
“The chapel is small but beautiful, hidden away, only those that are meant to find it will.”
She looked up the window, “The most beautiful stained glass of Saint Michael watches over us, providing his divine protection,” she finishes.
The sisters began muttering to themselves. “These dreams could be sign from God, maybe he wants us to improve the Convent in a certain way,” one of them suggested.
“Maybe you could draw the plans up so we can all visualise it,” another suggested.
Sister Y/N nodded in agreement, she had nothing better to do anyway and this would be the perfect excuse to enjoy the library before the bane of her existence returned.
////
Sister Y/N wasn’t sure if she really believed in the divine, but she did believe in dreams. Her mother had taught her that the dreams of a witch could be a message from the future, a look into what is to come and a possible path to take. Such a detailed dream had to mean something, she hoped drawing out her plans would bring some clarity.
The library was silent, only the rhythmic sound of a pencil or the lighting of an occasional candle could be heard. Y/n drew well into the evening, missing dinner, and evening prayers to perfect her work.
The peace did not last for long after.
Humming interrupted her work. She knew exactly who it was.
“Sister Y/N, you’ve become bold, haven’t you?” he stood behind her, watching her work. She fought the childish instinct to cover her papers.
A gloved hand pulled a sheet from the pile, “Missing your evening prayers, and now boldly displaying clairvoyance in a house of God?”
“It was a dream Father, nothing more,” she replied.
He finally put the papers down, leaning across her in a cat-like manner. He brought his face level with hers, his nose almost touching her cheek. He studied her, all the little twitches, the way she looked at him through the corner of her eye before quickly looking away.
What caught his eye, however, was a strand of hair poking out from beneath her veil. She flinched as he reached for it, pulling the long strand out from its confines. The length and softness seemed to give him an idea.
“I said I’d find a suitable punishment for you when I returned and I think now is the perfect time to start.”
Sister Y/N was bout to protest, he silenced her by yanking the strand of hair.
“change into your nightwear and come straight to my chambers. Failure to comply and the village will wake to a pyre”
She didn’t need to be told twice, already in his bad books, scurrying away.
Michael looked at the plans again, his grin widening with every page. A few tweaks and they would be perfect.
////
Sister Y/N ran to her room, her heart rate at the highest it had ever been. She tried not to slam the door as she got to her dorm. She noticed something strange about the room.
Sister Carissa was nowhere to be found. She should have returned with Father Langdon but wasn’t here. Not even her bag.
Before she could dwell any further, the words of the Monseigneur rang through her head again. She feared even more punishment for being late, so she ran to his chambers.
////
Father Langdon had asked her to come in before she could even knock. She slowly opened the door, hoping deep down inside that it was a vivid dream. She stepped inside, fiddling with her hands and awaiting instructions. The man took great joy in her nervousness.
“Fill that bowl with warm water and bring it over here,” he pointed.
Sister Y/N nodded in response. As she grabbed the bowl, Michael gripped her wrist, raising a brow.
“Yes Father,” she responded.
He let go of her, making himself comfortable on the edge of his bed.
She brought the bowl back, waiting for instructions on where to put it.
He pointed at his feet.
She knelt down, placing the bowl. She began to question how this was a punishment. She was going to find out.
She began to rice but was stopped by the man. “Did I ask you to rise?”
she shook her head.
“Kneel”
She did.
“Do you recall the story of Jesus at the pharisees house? Tell me what was significant about it.”
“The woman with the alabaster jar, washed and anointed the Lord’s feet with her hair,” as she finished recounting the story, her eyes widened in mortification. She prayed that this wasn’t her punishment.
Michael gently grabbed her chin, tilting her head so she could look up at him.
“Some in this convent would scalp you for this opportunity. Hurry up now, you have morning prayers in a few hours.”
Sister Y/N hesitated. This had to be the worst form of humiliation and sacrilege, she was unwilling to give this man the status of a god.
Her hesitation annoyed him. He let out a huff before tugging at the roots of her hair, almost pulling her up to her full height.
“I will ask once more or so God help you Y/N,” she growled.
She quickly wiped her tears when he let her go. She pulled her hair to one side, the sight of her exposed neck made Father Langdon shiver.
She finally put her hair in the water, washing his feet just like he had ordered her too. Her eyes were blurry, and her nose was stinging with the tears she was holding back. Michael paid no mind to her comfort, running his fingers over her exposed neck. He was sure he could get drunk of the satisfaction he was feeling in this moment. No drug could recreate the euphoria.
When she was humiliated to his satisfaction, he pulled his feet away.
Sister Y/N let out a shaky breath, she wouldn’t wish this upon her worst enemy.
Father Langdon tilted her chin up again, this time she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
“Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes Father.”
His thumb traced her lips, before he pushed it inside her mouth, relishing in the velvetiness he wanted to feel elsewhere. His cock twitched at the thought of it.
“Next time you run that wicked tongue of yours, I’ll cut it out and maybe then you could take a vow of silence.”
He pulled his finger out with a pop, smearing the remaining saliva on her face. He pulled back completely, standing, and walking to the other side of the room. He let out a shaky sigh. He was facing away from her; she couldn’t see him palming himself in her presence.
“Now go before I punish you further,” he barked.
Y/N got up on shaky knees, before darting out of the room. She wished to forget this night.
////
The convent was shocked at Sister Y/N turning up on time. She attended all morning prayers and evening masses. She avoided any eye contact with the Monseigneur, however. She did not need to be reminded of that night.
However, something was eating away at her. She hadn’t seen Sister Carissa at all. At first, she thought it was due to her finally being on time for things. Then she asked the Mother Superior; apparently Carissa had stayed behind for some reason.
Y/N didn’t buy it. Something was wrong.
Maybe it was the new swarm of flies driving her crazy. They had turned up a few days ago, no one knew why.
Sister Y/N went back to her room for the first time in a while. The last few were spent in prayer or shed be found in the library.
A rancid smell had taken over the room, making her gag. The swarm of flies was the seemed to be terrible in there. As she looked around the room for some clues, she noticed the ants on the floor, all heading towards her friend’s bed.
She got down to take a look, hoping to find a dead bird or some other animal of the sort. The countryside was prone to these things.
Instead, she was met with the most grotesque sight.
Sister Carissa’s lifeless eyes stared back at her; bone exposed from the rot.
A shriek rang through the convent.
