HADES // T. STARK DAUGHTER // MARVEL I.I

Drafts (Pt. 6)

A/N: This is a Ant-Man's daughter fic, here's everything I wrote.

ONE

IT'S STILL DARK OUT when I wake up. My phone still chants sentences in Russian over my headphones, and I had drool on my hand. Sighing, I shut off the verbal-lessons and cracked my back. I could swear that I used to be fluent in the awful language. My mother's boyfriend rarely spoke anything but Russian, and she had learned it in High School or from her parents or something— I couldn't really remember.

"Otkuda ty?" I butchered, rolling off the bed. "Vy govorite po-angliyski?"

I stretched, joints popping and cracking with my movements as I mumbled to myself in the foreign language. Understanding the words was a lot easier than saying them, somehow. Squinting at the digital clock next to my bed, I sighed, realizing Liz would be up soon. I fought to wake myself up, pushing aside the shower curtain of the messy bathroom I had taken over and switching on the water. I wrestled my way out of my pajamas, using the counter as a holder for the glasses I had forgotten to take off the night before.

Without waiting for the water to heat up, I stepped under the spout, trying to wake myself up further. I needed to be focused— or at least somewhat coherent.

~

By the time I had finished showering and somewhat dried my hair, Liz was knocking at my door. I couldn't believe I was late. I mean, not late, obviously, but late for when I usually was up. The night before was spent listening to language lessons and attempting bad artwork. Now, I was behind the schedule I'd made myself.

I shouted confirmation that I was awake to my cousin, falling onto the hardwood floor as I yanked on a pair of dark jeans I decided were clean enough. I slid a random t-shirt on, pulling my jean jacket on over it as I searched the room for my contact case. Liz's mom— my Aunt Doris —insisted I got my hair cut before I started school, hoping I would try to put more effort into my appearance, I think. But the new bangs were a pain to wrangle and I kept forgetting where I put my contacts. The sheer number of shelves was crazy— two of my walls were full of books and storage space I had no need for. Apparently, my uncle remembered that I liked to read. I was more into it was I was seven, but the thought was what counted.

By the time I had shoved my books into my backpack and found both of my shoes, it was nearly seven. School didn't start for almost an hour, but I liked to avoid the throng of students shoving past each other, and I had yet to pick up my new schedule. While Liz was attending her fancy science school, I was going to Newton Memorial High School, a public school two blocks from hers. I wasn't exactly a smart person when it came to things like math or science— and it turns out you can't really talk your way into getting an A in most classes.

I shoved my skateboard into my partially-zipped backpack, stumbling down the stairs and jumping the last two, nearly tripping over an untied shoelace. I coughed, straightening myself, as my uncle eyed me from the kitchen.

"Careful, Dean," He warned, semi-seriously. "Don't want to miss your first day of school because of a head injury."

I rolled my eyes, stepping into the kitchen. "Ah, what a shame that would be."

Liz was already at the table, a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. I grabbed a strip of bacon from where the plate sat on the counter, intent on leaving as soon as possible. Skipping the goodbyes, I made to walk out the door, intent on making my way to the nearest bus stop, which was only a few blocks down. Of course, just as my hand touched the nob, my uncle's sixth sense kicked in and I was being herded back to the table. I sat across from my cousin, hesitantly eating the eggs and toast set in front of me. I wasn't entirely used to having breakfast and dinner with the Toomes' yet, even after nearly a month with them.