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marvelstarker-mha98 · 8 days

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The Invention Left By A Little Stark-book 2 Chap 2: The Presentation

Pairing: Tony Stark & daughter!Reader, Darren Cross & anonymous men, wolfgang von strucker and Dr. List Summary: Secret Meeting somewhere in San Frascisco Warning: Animal experimentation, Daddy issue

Co author with: callikc Tag: @venomsvl @geeksareunique @huntective-kyeo, @klc13, @natsbiggestfan1, @carellmcu, @laura-naruto-fan1998, @fansformentalydistroyedmen The passing of a year is a tricky thing.

Sometimes it can go by in an instant and sometimes it can drag on in the most mundane fashion known to man. There really is no middle ground. In some places it passes faster and in some it takes forever.

The city of San Francisco had its year in a flash. It was always busy. It was a big place after all, not a resort, so it was crowded all the time. Fisherman's Wharf and some other tourist-centric areas were probably a bit more busy, but one doesn't really notice the crowds in the neighborhoods.

It was filled with life.

On one particular late afternoon there were slightly less cars buzzing around. People were hanging out in bars before the weekend and the young adults were going out with their friends.

Overall it had an almost calm vibe.

However, the main focus would have to be great big headquarters in the middle of the concrete jungle. Suits and egos and not a smile that wasn't painted on.

Cross Tech.

The interns had been dismissed already, the day employees were skipping off home after a grueling day, and the only signs of life were the patrolling security guards practically armed to the teeth.

Only one man was moving around inside the entire building. That was in the presentation room.

CEO, Darren Cross.

He was clicking through a video, explaining his latest innovative design while on a hologram call with several others. In the center of the room was a microscopic super suit.

"Well, I was inspired by the legend of the Ant Man." He was explaining to the call party. "And with my breakthrough shrinking inorganic material I thought 'could it be possible to shrink a person? Could that be done?' Well... It's not a legend anymore."

His entire face was lit up and he looked positively ecstatic at his own apparent brilliance.

Since he was alone in the room, he had no choice but to observe the holograms for a reaction. Some seemed hesitant, some seemed intrigued, and some simply just looked like they would rather be anywhere else but there.

"Distinguished guests, I am proud to present the end of warfare as we know it." He stepped to the side to reveal the tiny suit inside its container. "The Yellowjacket."

The front screen of the container zoomed in to allow the conference better viewing. It was intricate and seemed flawless, yellow with black accents. It resembled a wasp or a bee, especially with the extra pairs of mechanical arms sticking out of the back.

"The Yellowjacket is an all-purpose weapon of war, capable of altering the size of the wearer for the ultimate combat advantage."

Cross pressed the clicker in his hand and a new video began to play in the background with a narrator.

"We live in an era in which the weapons we use to protect ourselves are undermined by constant surveillance. It's time to return to a simpler age, one where the powers of freedom can once again operate openly to protect their interests. An all-purpose peacekeeping vessel - the Yellowjacket - can manage any conflict on the geopolitical landscape completely unseen."

The video began to show examples of the suit's capabilities, from shrinking to avoid weapon fire and lifting incredible weights to incredible surveillance and sneaking through locks and crevices anonymously.

"Efficient in both preventative measures and tactical assault, practical applications include surveillance, industrial sabotage, and the elimination of obstructions on the road to peace. A single Yellowjacket offers the user unlimited influence to carry out the protective actions. And one day soon, an army of Yellowjackets will create a sustainable environment of well-being around the world. The Yellowjacket."

The video ended with the display of Cross Technologies' logo.

After a moment of Cross staring up at everyone expectantly, one of the men finally spoke.

"This suit..." He struggled to think. "I find it hard to believe you've thought of everything."

Cross smirked. "Well, I did."

"This would be a huge advantage for our soldiers. Does it have any other abilities? How can it shrink with a wearer inside?"

"One at a time, please." The CEO chuckled. "The abilities are all as described in the presentation video. However, I believe with the proper application of resources and time we can further improve. As for shrinking organic matter, I've spent sufficient time studying and researching the particle to ensure all hazards are overcome and dealt with. I assure you, the risk is all but none. I've tried it myself."

"I trust you understand our reluctance." Another man from the call spoke up.

Cross nodded. "Which is why I prepared a demonstration."

"A... Demonstration?"

"Yes. Allow me."

He pressed another button on the clicker and stepped even further back into the room, allowing a second container to rise from the floor. Alongside the Yellowjacket suit was now a live lamb.

"Gentlemen... Prepare to witness history."

He took a Cross Tech tablet from a holder in the wall and began sorting through intense commands before finally finding what he was after. He set up the arms of the lamb's container and synced them to the tablet. When that was done, he tapped one of the vials of golden-yellow serum the arms held and then finally an action button on the tablet.

With a loud whirring that echoed within the room, the serum contained within the machine drained and eventually shot out in the form of beams. They engulfed the bleating lamb and in a bright flash, the animal and the container seemingly disappeared into thin air.

Cross wasn't deterred. He actually seemed proud.

This was proven to be valid when he leaned down and picked something up off the floor.

It was the lamb inside the container - both shrunken to something that could easily fit within a person's palm.

It worked.

Cross even flicked the container and watched in glee as the lamb jumped and hit the glass with a panicked bleat.

The room was silent.

"Speechless, huh?" Cross teased the members on call. "I was too."

"H-How?" One of the callers mumbled.

"I had a good mentor. Dr. Hank Pym, his name was."

"The Ant Man?"

"Yes, the Ant Man. He taught me everything, working for what used to be SHIELD and fighting against HYDRA. He was the founder of this company. When I took over for Dr. Pym I immediately started researching a particle that could change the distance between atoms while increasing density and strength."

He played one more video for the audience.

"The ultimate secret weapon. Why this revolutionary idea remained buried beneath the dust and cobwebs of Hank's research, I couldn't tell you. But just imagine. A soldier... The size of an insect"

The video displayed old footage of enemy militaries being beaten and wiped out by what seemed to be an invisible force. On the other hand, once zoomed in, the tiny silhouette of a man in a suit could be deciphered.

"Dr. Cross, I personally would like to know Dr. Pym's thoughts on this little project of yours." One of the callers said.

"As would I." Another agreed, soon followed by several more. "What about the leaks from last year?"

"I can't see him cooperating."

"I assure you Hank is not a threat." Cross told them, refusing to go into further detail. "He is very much alive and kicking but his opinions don't matter to this company anymore. It's mine now. You can thank his daughter voting against him for that. Gotta love a girl with daddy issues, am I right?"

Hank's daughter - Hope - while indeed having forced her own father into an early retirement, was not involved in this meeting. Cross trusted her, but still made sure she was on annual leave by the time this presentation was due.

As he continued to reassure and defend his Yellowjacket, there was something else in the room that everyone missed.

A little bug sticking to the wall.

It was a quiet thing as it rested there, almost as if it were observing Cross and his holographic companions. In fact, it actually seemed to be listening patiently as he promised to deliver suits overseas if the right price could be offered.

When everything seemed finalized, the bug took off and flew towards a small vent, easily slipping through the grates.

Across the globe in a snowy wasteland stood the now familiar Eastern-European castle.

Baron Von Strucker and Dr. List traversed the gothic halls in deep conversation. Their voices were hushed but argumentative as they discussed the Yellowjacket suit they had just witnessed.

"I would advise against pouring money into this." Dr. List said. "This is a fruitless endeavor of chance and luck."

"Aren't all experiments?" Strucker shot back.

"I have to protest-"

"The deal will be done."

"If you would just listen-"

"It is done." He repeated more sternly.

"But we have what we need." Dr. List insisted. "We have armor and guns and tanks, and we have our own experiments. Our own success."

"And it will never be enough!" Strucker exclaimed. He took a breath afterwards, calming down. "Doctor, I appreciate the concern, but this suit will aid us. It will tip the scales in our favor as Tyche did for the Greeks."

"The others did not care for it."

"The others are idiots. Imagine yourself with this particle, imagine what this serum could do when combined with our own. Those abilities together... We would be gods!"

Dr. List was not in favor. He didn't trust the Pym particle to do its job. He was always one for science, but this seemed too risky.

Yet no one could argue with Strucker. Certainly not if they wished to keep their life.

"And Dr. Pym?" He questioned in the end. "What if the Avengers were to stand against us?"

Strucker merely laughed. "Pym is old and useless."

"But his daughter is involved with the company. If she were to-"

"She hates him. As for the Avengers?" He grimaced. "They are far too busy chasing wild geese and other strongholds. This isn't their jurisdiction or their business."

"So... We are safe?"

"Of course, doctor. There is no power on this earth that would make Hank Pym and the Avengers team up.”

#tony #tony stark #ironman #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark & daughter! reader #darren cross (mcu)#struck #baron von strucker #mcu #marvel #avengers

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never-enough-whump · 8 months

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On Rumor of Treason

Whumptember Day 6: Behind Bars

Summary: News from the front reaches the village guard first. Or, the consequence of Rumple's actions.

Read on AO3

Footsteps crunch on the snow outside. Milah ceases her soft humming and looks up from her sewing. But no knocking or friendly voices follow the steps. Instead, a trio of guards burst through her door.

“Come with us,” the first guard orders. “Now.”

Milah presses back against the back of her chair. “Why?” she asks.

The guard yanks her roughly to her feet, her sewing dropping to the floor. He backhands her across the face, and she yelps and stumbles. “Because I say so,” he snaps and before she can reach for the tender spot, he’s twisting her arm painfully behind her back. The second guard smirks, as if amused by his companion’s cruelty, but the third scowls and spits into the hearth.

“Hurry it up,” he grumbles. “She’s not worth the time.” The second guard springs into action at that, grabbing her other arm and wrenching it behind her as well. Pinned on both sides by both guards, her struggling is useless and she stills. Satisfied by this compliance, the third guard dumps her water pail over the fire, plunging the house into darkness.

The guards march her outside without her cloak. Two torches wait for them, stuck into the snowbank by the door. The third guard picks up both and leads the way through the frosty night to the guards’ fort.

Milah isn’t dressed for this weather. The cold worms its way under her dress, making her shiver.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks again, with new desperation. She wants to go home. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“When you give me answers.”

There’s a shifting behind her and one of her arms is passed from one hand to another. She’s spun forcefully around to face the first guard.

“I should have known better than to expect respect from the likes of you,” he says, and slaps her again. The crack of his hand against her cheek is loud in the quiet night and so is her cry of pain. Milah looks to the ground, not wanting to know if anyone in the nearby houses has come to see the commotion. Her face burns with shame as well as pain. “You will be quiet,” the guard warns, “or we will beat you when we get there.”

Normally, Milah might have pushed the issue. She might have found knowing the reason for this mistreatment (and what the guard meant by “the likes of you”) worth the risk of a beating. But now she shudders to think what a beating would do to the baby inside her, the fragile life that can only withstand so much damage to her body, and she obeys.

In the dungeon of the fort, she is shoved into a cell. Not hard enough to fall, but nearly, and she stumbles to the back of the cell before catching herself with a hand on the wall. She turns to face the guards, looking back at them through the bars of her cage.

“Please,” she whispers, exhausted and drained of nearly all her dignity. “Let me go.”

The guards only laugh at her obvious terror.

“A coward, just like that bastard she took up with,” the third guard accuses, and spits again. The second guard clicks the lock shut. With the sound echoing the finality that she is trapped, the guards turn as one and leave her there.

Milah leans back against the wall, all but collapsing into it. The baby kicks and she rubs at the spot, trying to soothe them both. It’ll be all right, she thinks to the baby. We’ll be out of here soon. But she isn’t so sure. She doesn’t even know why this is happening. How can she predict how well and how soon it’ll end?

She eases herself to the floor of the cell, shifting futilely for a comfortable position that doesn’t exist before giving up and settling for the best she can do. She needs to focus on tonight, not worry about the distant future. She’s still shaking from fear and, more concerningly, cold. She tries to curl tighter around herself, to preserve the warmth she desperately needs for both her and her baby, but the very bump she’s trying to protect makes it difficult to tuck her knees in tightly enough. Tears rush to her eyes and though she doesn’t want to cry, she’s just as powerless to stop her sobs as she is to do anything else.

Shouting and rattling of the door wake her the next morning. She’s surprised, not having expected herself to fall asleep. She blinks, the dungeon only coming into bleary focus with one of her eyes swollen.

Two guards stand outside the cell, and Milah flinches when she recognizes the one who enters as the cruel guard from the night before. To her relief, he doesn’t hit her again, but he does hurt her, fingers probing for the spot on her arm that makes her wince the most and digging in before he pulls her from the ground. Stiff and sore from cold and uncomfortable sleep, she drags behind him for several paces before getting her balance.

The guards take her to a chamber where the duke and the captain of the guard are waiting. She’s shoved roughly to her knees in front of them and the guards take their own places, standing silently behind their seated superiors.

“You are Milah, yes?” the captain asks. “Wife of the spinner Rumplestiltskin?”

“Yes,” she nods, “that is correct.” Turning imploringly to the duke, she says, “my husband has answered your conscription. We’ve paid our tithes at harvest-tide and committed no crimes. Your Grace, if I may ask, what is this about?” It is a risk to speak so plainly to the duke, but she hopes that she might get out of this by reminding him of her innocence. Anger flashes in the duke’s eyes and Milah quickly ducks her head, seeing that the risk has not paid off.

“You most certainly may not!” the duke thunders. “Remember your place, peasant. It is only I who gets to decide if and how you have displeased me.”

She tenses, expecting pain in retribution for her mistake. When no blow lands, she relaxes slightly and gives a small nod that doesn’t raise her head. “I understand, Your Grace,” she says meekly. The duke owns this village, and it shows in the way he rules. He can decide to take more than his usual share in tithes, order harsh floggings and lengthy imprisonments for the smallest slights and pettiest crimes, even steal people away to be his personal servants. It isn’t cowardice or defeat to defer to him like this, merely sense. Everyone fears the duke.

“Your husband has been injured. Oddly enough, in the war camp just before his first battle.” Milah’s mind skips right past the implication in the captain’s words and focuses on the fact that Rumple is hurt.

“Oh gods,” Milah breathes, raising from her bowed posture. “Will he be all right? Is he well enough to travel? He should be here, so I can tend to him.” So he can tend to me, she adds silently, for having to endure this ordeal. As much as she wants out of this damned fort, she hates that she’ll return to an empty home without her husband there to hold her.

The captain ignores her concern and asks more directly, “Rumplestiltskin is known for being a coward, is he not?”

Milah shakes her head. “His father was,” she corrects. “But some people don’t give him the credit for being his own person.”

“Perhaps because no credit is due!” the duke cuts in impatiently. “I will say this in a way that your stupid peasant brain can comprehend. If your husband maimed himself that is not only cowardice but the very worst sort of it – treason against me!”

Treason.

The word settles heavily into Milah’s blood. It seems she’s finally been given her explanation, but instead of relief she feels only dread.

“I - ” she starts, voice cracking under the weight of her scattered thoughts.

“If you attempt to obscure the truth, that would be aiding in treason and your punishment would be nearly as severe as a traitor’s,” the captain reminds her. “I’d consider carefully what you are about to say.”

“I don’t need to consider.” Her voice is assertive and confident, though she feels anything but. She does need time to consider – not over whether Rumple is guilty, but to process the enormity of it all. But there could never be enough time for that. Treason. They could kill Rumple if she says the wrong thing. “My husband has lived his entire life under the shadow of his father’s cowardice. He’s never wanted anything more than for people to see him for more, to see him for him. He wanted to go to war, to finally have a chance to prove he wasn’t that man. He hated the label of coward so much, why would he run to it now?”

The duke makes an unimpressed hmph sound. But the captain gives her a terse smile. It’s not warm or encouraging by any means except that it isn’t a look of outright anger. That’s enough for her to take it as a good sign, though she tries to tamp down her small glimmer of hope. It’s the duke that needs to be convinced, and he clearly doesn’t want to be.

“I grow sick of this,” the duke says, proving her thoughts.

“Of course, Your Grace.” The captain nods in his direction. “We have heard what we need. Guards, she may leave.”

Milah staggers to her feet, wincing as her knees unbend. Luckily, the guards don’t grab and drag her this time, nor do they follow her out the front door of the fort. They spare her the indignity of being seen as a prisoner, but they needn’t have, for rumors have already reached the village, leaving everyone to see her as something much worse – a traitor’s wife.

#whumptember2023 #whumptember2023 day 6 #day six: behind bars #whump #lady whump #fear #capture #punishment #struck #once upon a time #milah #fanfic #my writing

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