These Scarred Walls :Part 2:"So, what do you think?"These Scarred Walls :Part 2: by jimnorth
Quinn looked up from her textbook. "About what?"
"She's nice. I like her."
Daria nodded, and they went back to work. The only sound for the next few minutes was that of pencils scratching quickly across paper.
"So you don't think she just wants something from us."
"I'm just saying-"
"Gawd, Daria!" Quinn huffed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "Weren't you the one who said we should try to make friends?"
Daria quirked an eyebrow. "Actually, Dad said that."
"Whatever. Come on, seriously, Jane's the only person that's been nice to us so far except the teachers, and most of them are all, 'Oh, look at the poor little girl with the scars, it'll make us feel like we're helping out the less fortunate if we're nice to her!'"
"I don't remember any of them using those exact words."
"You know what I mean," Quinn said, jabbing her pencil in her sister's direction
The Night Series: DariaNight Terrors: DariaThe Night Series: Daria by thatLONERchick
Pull the Plug
The thick, round black glasses slipped down the brunette's slim nose as she studied her boots. Shy excitement rouged pale cheeks as she chanced a furtive glance at the object of her apprehension and a guilty thrill went through her when he caught her eyes. He smiled in his lazy way and leaned as close as his position would allow; his warm, spicy scent wafted over her in a way that almost seemed calculated to drive her to distraction.
"C'mon, Daria," Trent Lane cajoled gently as he took her hand, once again using his influence over the younger girl in an attempt, he thought, to convince her to engage in a much-needed act of rebellion. "You only live once."
Just as he planned, the unexpected contact had the desired affect and Daria gave a tiny nod. Under Trent's expert tutelage, the reserved Miss Morgendorffer managed to climb aboard the 1988 Harley Davidson without incident. Before she could begin to grapple with the concept of gripping T
Cold ComfortCold ComfortCold Comfort by thatLONERchick
In her heart of hearts she knew she was wrong.
She stared herself in the eye, the mirror throwing dingy light back on her tired face, and the deep blue of her irises were muddy with lack of sleep. There were dirty smudges under her eyes and her skin was pale, hair mussed from lack of attention.
She was wrong. But it did not matter now.
The funeral had been a week ago. She had not gone.
She turned her head to the left and there was her new piercing, a fourteen-gauge captive ring hanging from the lobe. Triplet silver hoops lined her ear above it. The skin of the ear was still an irritated red, most likely caused by sleeping on the fresh wound. She flicked the ring now and frowned at the tiny needle of pain that shot through the side of her head.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She ran long fingers through tangled, inky hair and brushed it back into a ponytail. The rest of her running attire was already in place. Now with her hair out of the way, she was ready to go.
|alt.lawndale is a group that was created to make a home for alternate universe/alternate reality Daria fan fiction and art. |
Recolored Daria pics will not cut it.
Regular fan art will not qualify.
If it is alternate--be it gender bent or the entire cast as sea monkies--it is welcome here.
Welcome, and make yourselves at home!
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