Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Confliction.

Daria and Jane were at Pizza King, their usual spot, talking about their usual topics. Lawndale was just as mind-numbing as before, with some random fad taking over Lawndale High – what a sight for the ages. The two would criticize the student groupthink of the week, and nothing was wrong. Jane would soon ask her " beloved” angel:

“Hey, I heard there’s a new movie at the theater. It’s a feisty romance. If you’re that interested.” 

“I hope it involves a hit-and-run. That’ll be me if it gets too cheesy.” Daria replied in her usual demeanor. 

“Look on the bright side, we could be hearing Trent run through a single song for rehearsal.” 

Daria would jokingly shake her head in disappointment. 

“Jane, you’re giving them too much credit; they’d spend the whole night planning the song, and wake up forgetting what they came up with in the first place.”

Jane would begin pleading out of boredom. “You got me, Morgendorffer. Now can we watch the rom-com?” 

“Okay, fine, but it’s only to prevent you from pleading a ‘pretty please’ with your cute face.” 

Did she really say that? It seemed a little… out of the blue for her.

“Heh, I figured. Let’s go, amiga.”

Shortly after standing up, Jane would begin holding hands with Daria, who was clearly confused. It was a welcome change, but Daria felt wrong. Something was wrong. 

And then Jane kissed her right after. 

Daria felt wrong. Was this really happening? In her mind, she kept hiding her true feelings around a special someone next to her. The kiss was just the straw that broke the camel’s back: a confliction strongly wrung in her tight-knit heart. Daria couldn’t push her emotions aside anymore because she knew what would happen; she’d eventually spiral and spiral into her old habits (re: Highland), with those self-destructive social skills pushing Jane away.  

Daria would soon break free of the hand holding, trying not to rock the boat. Her friendship with Jane was one of a kind, with virtually little conflict between the two; Jane knew how to poke Daria around, and Daria didn’t pretend to be someone else around Jane. It was all natural. Nothing would, or ever could split the two apart. 

At least, that easily. 

All of a sudden, Daria tripped on a nearby backpack. It unfortunately belonged to Kevin, who was scrounging through his locker for a pack of gum. Her glasses fell off her face and onto the ground – she’d be daydreaming all this time. 

That wasn’t real.

“Hey, Daria! Here’s your glasses!"

Kevin enthusiastically hands over her cracked pair, with subtle scratches around the plastic and huge cracks in the middle of each lens. Daria sighed, unable to mutter an ounce of gratitude back to Kevin. She just wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone’s business today, even if they were being nice to her.

She was just wondering where her spark in the dark was.

Chapter Text

Mr. O’Neill’s class. The ideal academic setting to panic over the potential ending of a friendship. Daria, as embarrassed as she was, suddenly had to answer a question.

“Daria, what do you find important in your life as a writer?” Mr. O’Neill inquired.

Daria was a recurring victim in her eyes.  Chosen for her honesty, Daria was one of the few in his class to actually answer any question. While she had prowess in prose, her word choice was the real quicker; even if her replies were forced – she still managed to give a prophetic response (ahem, the Misery Chick incident). However, her Achilles heel had been her perpetually high standards; Mr. O’Neill would give Daria special assignments or questions to poke at her honesty, trying to push her to improve her people-skills. But this would be a herculean effort on her end, always requiring some truth or meaning if it meant appeasing her teacher, or more importantly, herself. A big example being the self-indulgent story about a game of cards that she refuses to continue, despite her mother's numerous requests to do so. 

“Uh…” Daria was certainly placed into a predicament of the century. The longer she waited for an answer, the longer her peers would hear a reality that she wished to keep under a lock and key.

She began answering: “Look, I hate being put in this position, Mr. O’Neill. But the truth is…” 

...Before she was then rudely interrupted by the bell, incessantly ringing over and over, and over again. 

“I really wanted to hear your thoughts, Daria!” Mr. O’Neill quickly shouted as Daria fled the scene. Although by the time he called out to her, she’d already vanish among the sea of students. 

Mr. O’Neill would sigh in defeat, vowing commitment in his resolve to help Daria out, once and for all. He really wish to help Daria, given his own past (that he refuses to elaborate on), but he also didn’t want to intrude the boundaries of his teacher duty. Even if he inevitably did in some way or another. But sooner or later, Daria would figure it all out for herself - the ugly truth had to be discovered. 

Jane, who was just as confused as Mr. O’Neill, would ask her own question before heading into the hallway: “You have any idea what’s going on with her?”

Mr. O’Neill, confused by Jane’s inquiry, replied: “I thought you’d know, Jane. This is a little unusual for Daria, so I’d assume you’d reach out.”

What the hell really happened to her? Beside the glasses, which were an obvious sign something was going on, the fact Daria had been avoiding her all this time had Jane deeply concerned – and it wasn’t like they weren’t on bad terms. Far from it. They still hung out whenever she wasn’t busy with him. 

Oh. 

They stopped having fun together a while ago, and Daria being in the midst of their interactions certainly complicated the break up. Jane could only hope Daria wasn’t trying to date Tom, not only as a disservice to their friendship, but the fact she enjoyed talking to Daria more. 

Jane felt as if she lost someone special while dating Tom, who had his own issues entirely. She just found it more comforting to have a friend who, despite the upfront issues with vulnerability, tried saying everything they could. At their worst, they could be resentful with one another. On the other hand, Tom had only so much to say. It only became apparent the more time the two spent together that they weren’t that compatible. They came from two backgrounds, and had two ways of living their life. It wasn’t made to last without deep compromises. 

Daria, though, was different. She was better than Tom at being witty, and knew how to spark that flame in Jane’s heart. Both creatively and emotionally, albeit rarely for the latter, at least. Jane just hoped Daria also reciprocated those feelings back.

Chapter Text

(The week prior…)

“Hey.” Tom sat down at the Pizza King with Jane on a Thursday evening. She called him on his phone the night prior, asking to talk about something serious. He could already guess that this was the end of their relationship, so he’d oblige to get it all over with.

“Hey to you, too.” Jane replied. 

There was a chill coming from the door crevice across the restaurant, adding to that freezing atmosphere that Jane observed. To Tom, it was merely just an additional detail to the breakup.

“So, my folks are sending me off to another conference. I heard it’s going to be just as lousy as the last, where I have to supervise a bunch of people at the Arts Center. It just goes to show how torture is just as effective, even after you anticipate the worst.” Tom began to rant with a stereotypical Daria-esque attitude, except his tone was always a little too… relaxed. It just came across as a flat, milquetoast replica of someone cooler than him. 

“Yeah. That’s cool.” Jane wasn’t here to talk about Tom’s trivialities. He was a nice guy who could stand up for himself, but he wasn’t all that interesting in the end. Her succinct response was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Tom, whose mind confirmed everything he needed to know. 

“Eh, it’ll be a minor inconvenience if you’re there with me.” Tom threw his shot in the air, with it quickly deflating away once Jane awkwardly smiled.

 It was time to tell him. 

“About that… I think we should break up.” Jane set aside her Daria-related crush to express her desires, laying her lack of feelings in front of Tom; it was a honest, straightforward breakup that both parties expected in the end. Their arguments ranged from minute scuffles to general disagreements that they couldn’t put aside. The relationship was a swift roller coaster; it began, had its heights and then finally ended right at the emotional climax. Both parties wanted it over for their reasons that they really didn’t have time to disclose to the other. 

Tom, sensing Jane’s strong loyalty to her best friend, told the truth as is: “You know what, yeah… I think we’ve had a good run – no offense. I’m glad you told me as is.” His face was neutral, not really expressing much. It was obvious he really couldn’t do much because they were already on the rocks as is. The parade was really one of many small examples accumulating on their nerves. 

“It’s just what I do best, Sloane.” Jane proudly smirked. 

“I just wished you showed up for the arts conference. That’s all.” Tom merely shrugged, trying not to force a decision onto Jane because, he really wasn’t that worried – in fact, he really hadn’t had a clue of what he was doing anymore. Just going with the flow, he guessed. 

“Eh, I’m good. Your folks would hate me anyway, and I’d just hate them even more. Mingling with those people would be a nightmare.” 

Tom simply nodded. Not really much more to say, so he shifted onto praising Jane a little before they would both leave. 

“You’re sweet and all, but you really should focus on Daria. I think you two deserve each other more than I could ever provide to you.”

“And I thought you’d be remotely interested in dating her for a second.”

“I mean, I thought of doing so after we talked for a while. But then again, she’s a little too much for me to handle.” Tom signified his disinterest; he really didn’t mind their friendly conversations, but beyond that, Daria proved herself to be invulnerable to most people. Well, except for Jane, who she frequently asked smaller life advice to whenever her mother was absent (usually talking to a client at the office, or Erik on the phone.) Jane just rolled her eyes at Tom, though in reality his comment was a blessing in disguise. 

“That’s the Daria I know. And care about… deeply.” Jane began to blush in response.

“Hey, Jane. Before you go, I know it’s a lot to ask – especially because we broke up, but… do you still want to be friends?”

“...I’ll think about it.” 

In reality, Jane really didn’t think about his request; Tom wasn’t the person you could constantly go out and do something with, and it would be awkward to continue being friends at the current moment. In fact, Jane and Tom weren’t even friends before their sudden date after the Mystik Spiral concert, so building a friendship was certainly odd. Beside that, Jane would gently smile before thanking him for everything, subsequently leaving Pizza King to hang out with Daria to watch some Sick Sad World. The usual. 

(The Present)

Jane would arrive at the Morgendorffer household after school, where after ringing the doorbell, Quinn would open the door. The Fashion Club were discussing the latest fashion senses, and Jane, totally uninterested in their conversation, would ask:

“Is she here right now? I need to talk to her.”

Quinn reluctantly pointed upstairs before going back to her conversation about the latest skirt trend – Jane took Quinn’s gesture in grace, climbing the stairs up. She opened the door to Daria’s room, where Daria gave an unexpected smile. A slight smile, but nonetheless, a smile. 

A smile? 

Jane, utterly confused, made no effort in addressing the elephant room. Instead, she quipped just like old times. Maybe for the last time. But that was a potential reality none of the two wanted to face. 

“A little birdy told me you were here.”

“Quinn? I figured. She’d tweet her mouth about anything I’d do.”

Jane would then pry open the can of worms. She wanted to know how the hell things turned from “a-okay” to “the walls are building between us” – was Daria really trying to hide herself like usual, or was she protecting herself from Jane? 

“Daria, look–”

“I know. I’ve been avoiding you because I have my own issues, okay ?” 

“But I don’t know why you’ve avoided me. If it’s because of Tom… well, we broke up.” Jane gave her a reserved look before looking at the window for a split second. She merely only hoped for the best, but to Daria, it looked like she regretted her relationship with Tom. It was somewhere in the middle. 

“You guys broke up?”

“Yeah… like a week ago. Look, just be honest with me – if you like him, I’ll be fine with it.” Jane was obviously hurt on some level; if her suspicions were real, Daria would risking their camaraderie for a guy who wasn’t on great terms. Not a great look, but Jane knew something was off about Daria’s facial expressions. She actually began to express some level of anxiety and embarrassment, her hands shaking with legitimate terror – Daria was not that girl to give into her emotions that easily, especially toward Jane. 

Well, there was the Tom in the room. At first, Daria thought he forced himself into the duo’s friendship. Her assumption was partially correct, given the circumstances of Jane and Tom quickly dating after that Mystik Spiral concert. Turns out pigs can fly after all, even after her initial objections about the two dating. Tom was weird, though, as his strong quirks made him a little unbearable to deal with on occasion. He wasn’t the worst, far from it – but he certainly made it harder to talk to Jane. Especially when talking to Jane involves confessing those feelings. They both needed to reach the same consensus, but were constantly misinterpreting each other despite their mutual crush. 

Daria was a little apprehensive, soon blushing – an uncharacteristic move on her end. She tended to bury her feelings with wit, or some semblance of burial, typically one to control herself. But this was too much for her. But she quickly realized something: “Well, I’m really not interested in Tom. At all. We’re from two different worlds, even if we share the same taste in jokes. There’s no way I’m going out with that guy anytime soon, I promise.” 

Jane just gave an emotionless glance before continuing to talk about her relationship with Tom. 

“Either way, we were on the titanic for a while. I thought you paid attention a little more before I drowned.” Jane gave Daria an inquisitive look whilst expressing a slight shock. Was she really unaware of what was going on between the two former lovebirds? 

Surely not. 

“I tried to, believe me. I just escaped with a life preserver; you didn’t.” Tom brushed off Jane’s facial expressions and 

“It’s all cold water out there, Morgendorffer.” Jane further remarked. Daria really did try to keep up with Jane when they hung out, but Jane often ran off with Tom. It was somewhat understandable; Daria couldn’t hold Jane hostage, even as an off-handed remark in one of their usual conversations. What else could she do when Jane didn’t communicate her relationship struggles? 

“Okay, so if isn’t Tom, why you’re trying to–” 

She’d soon receive an unexpected hug from Daria. Very uncharacteristic, but not unwelcome. Their hearts would soon begin to metaphorically glow with affection, before Jane started to speak: 

“Uh–”

And she got that brief, brief kiss from Daria, too.

Chapter Text

It was faster than a bullet from a gun, quicker than the blinking of an eye. That electric jolt of dopamine entered both their brains, a rush of understanding finally was understood between the two. While Daria was the one to initiate the kiss, they both enjoyed every second of it; Jane, however, was befuddled with such a thought. Daria really did surprise her in the end, being a rare moment where Daria would openly admit her emotions with a grand proclamation of love and admiration. To Daria, she just suddenly happened to destroy the invulnerable walls around her to get the whole “I really like you, and I mean I really like you ” message across. Well as easily as possible, given the weird confusion (and to avoid spontaneously writing a whole essay about her feelings to Jane, but alas).

“Does that answer your question?” Daria glared at Jane for a second before turning on Sick Sad World for the two to watch together. A straightforward reply, courtesy of a kiss. But someone wasn’t happy with that answer.

“Yeah. Now, why me?” Jane was still a little hesitant – their kiss was spontaneous, sweet, but a little sudden for her liking. Maybe it was a bit too perfect, like a dream she’d wake up from in a split second. It felt like hell discerning what was real for a moment, but she sat down on Daria’s bed before hearing an answer. 

“You make life bearable.” The truth in its’ full glory. Well, before Jane would further inquire again. 

“Now the real answer, please.” She was really beginning to be fed up with Daria’s antics. By now, the sun was setting in front of them – but the two really didn’t pay attention to everything around them.   

“Well, that was part of it,” Daria, acutely aware she had to continue her long-winded diatribe, needed a second to reprocess the kiss beforehand. “But you just make anything we do a lot better. There.” Daria continued to stall out her real response, but Jane wasn’t having any of that behavior from Daria. 

“C’mon, I really do want to know… you can’t just barge in here, not act lovey-dovey with me, and then expect me to want a legit answer.” Jane stood, crossing her arms firmly with a stern huff. 

“Well, you showed up to my house… fine, you win. Does that make you feel happy?” Daria would finally reveal the thoughts in her head to her Pisces lover. (was Jane actually a Pisces? Daria never actually remembered contrary to her elephant-like knowledge) Well, as soon as the commercial break began. 

“When I moved to this stupid town, I thought I’d be alone with the crap I dealt with in Texas. It wasn’t until I met you where life finally picked up steam,” Daria had never talked about Highland to Jane before. The life she lived then was a closed case, shut from discussion when they talked about the past. Which even then, the past seemed like a rarity between the two – a mystifying presence that alluded any mention. She would then continue:

“I felt, well, nice for once with someone who could push me along when no one else cared. It wasn’t until the ‘misery chick’ thing where we finally got into some fights, but honestly? It was for the best; we’re growing up, and that makes me a little scared of what’ll happen to us.” 

“Don’t even get me started. Kinda glad we didn’t fight for Tom, though. Leaving this town will be a huge relief after college. Together.” Jane reassured Daria that through thick and thin, the two would support each other. No matter what, when, or how. 

“Yeah. A hundred percent.” Daria nodded, with a newfound resolve in her mind.

The two lovebirds would chuckle at Sick Sad World for the next hour or so, leaving all worries behind them. For now, at least. It was only until Daria checked the clock where they both realized the passage of time existed once more – 7 o’clock. The evening had already rapidly approached Lawndale as the illuminating street lights were guiding them to the bright moon. Daria, now at the window, knew it was time for Jane to leave. 

Sighing, Daria solemnly announced to Jane: 

“Hey, you gotta go. My parents will probably be home sooner than later, and I’d like to prepare for…”

“The talk? Yeah, I get it – just be ready for the boycott against your parents.” Jane warned of the potential disaster was on their hands. Although the Morgendorffers were hippies, they became as square as any adult could be. At least, on first glance. Especially the ever-dense Jake Morgendorffer, whose profession was… something , alright. 

“I already have spare nunchucks somewhere around here.” Daria would open up her closet, where a small box was on top of a piece of wood. She grabbed a nearby stool, pushing it toward the closet – climbing toward the box, she smirked. Two pairs of nunchucks would spawn in Daria’s hands (yes, two pairs of nunchucks. Daria simply forgot she had an extra pair of nunchucks for... some reason.)

“You? Out of all people? Where the hell did you get a nunchuck from?” Jane slightly raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Who would ever figure out that the antisocial brain of the town would keep such a prestigious item? 

“Highland. It’s always Highland.” Daria replied bluntly. All the ‘magic’ Americans lived there, hence the need for nunchucks. All the magic people with all the mercury in the water… what a recipe for success. After placing the nunchucks away, Daria would stand next to Jane, who would deliver one last kiss on the cheek before departing off into the twilight. After hearing the front door close. Daria merely watched through the window, smiling from above as her girlfriend would walk back home.

Today was a pretty good day. 

Chapter Text

Assemblies. 

It was an average Friday morning. Daria and Jane were forced to attend this compulsory activity (some would say it was a chore, with the exception of missing class time) after making out the night prior. Assemblies were trivial and pointless beside the inefficiencies they brought to the students and their essential education. If they wanted to promote prom and athletic events, the school newspaper would be a better option. Well, if it wasn’t for the low literacy rates amongst the student population. Daria would quip with Jane throughout, until Principal Li would exclaim giddily: 

“Because of popular demand, we have provided the nearest equivalent of the Foo Fighters! Here he is~”

All of a sudden, the Randy Newman would walk onto the stage. There was a brief set of applause, forced from the student council. He didn’t care that it was for a bunch of high schoolers who didn’t care for him, instead strutting along with his huge top hat. Mr. Newman carefully placed the hat on his head before setting his hands on the grand piano. He’d then play Political Science off his Sail Away album, a song about dropping the “big one” to pulverize America’s allies and enemies alike. Despite the grim subject matter, the jocks would fanatically cheer when Mr. Newman would ‘spare’ the Australian kangaroos.

At the end, when citing cities that would go ‘boom’, small fireworks were supposed to be set off into the sky above the empty student bleachers. However, a random student would angle the dispenser incorrectly, resulting in immense property damage (but hey, there’ll be no one left to blame but themselves). After the Lawndale Fire Department arrived to survey the damage, which thankfully were only a few pennants and the occasional trophy, Principal Li would subsequently reveal the prom theme and date. Prom would take place before graduation at the Arts Center, with a fairy tale theme. The audience went silent once more before Mr. Newman would bow graciously, appreciating the audience for their time – even if they didn’t get his work.

“Thank you for laughing with me, Lawndale.” And then Mr. Newman left the building; with that, the explosive assembly was finally over. What a relief.

Daria and Jane were walking from the auditorium back to class. They were both surprised by the sheer hilarity of the situation, believing the assembly was little more than a hallucinogenic cacophony of visuals, splattered onto a disjointed canvas known as ‘life’. That experience was jarring for a Friday, to say the least. But at the end of the day, it was a historical Lawndale High Friday for the ages; nothing could top that journey of a lifetime. 

“Wow. I would never expect Kevin to cheer at mutually assured destruction.” Daria remarked in jest before Jane further commented:

“Who knew he had the guts of imperialism inside him? All this time I thought he was brainless… now he has zero morals, too.”

After everything was said and done about what happened earlier, Daria would curiously shift the conversation into an entirely different direction: “So, uh, prom.” Daria glanced at Jane nervously, with both realizing the other wouldn’t mind going to prom. It wasn’t on their agenda, but the thought of going eased into their minds.  

“So, do you really want to go to prom?” Jane happened to be a little apprehensive. Daria was not that type of person, and never in a million years would she ever be. Jane was different, though; she could be a social butterfly if she wanted to, and the ‘if’ was an important clause in her case. She really didn’t mind people, but she did mind how she was treated by other people. Another surprise in an already surprising day so far. 

“As much as I’ll regret it, sure. You can beat me with a baseball bat if it all goes wrong.” Daria was committed to this option. Who cares about the consequences if the idea has some humor to it?

“Got it.” Jane was ready to kick Daria’s ass if the prom went horribly. Well, it was an unshakable promise now. They both remembered the ensuing snoozefest that was the school dance last year. Better than Highland, but worse than any other average school event. Daria brushed it off, walking back to Mr. O’Neill’s classroom with Jane. It was there where everything would change. 

Again.

E nglish class. Mr. O’Neill would finally ask Daria his centennial, special question: what makes you inspired in your life?

“I can only say that the people surrounding me are a part of how I write. Other than that, it is a natural, insurmountable force that keeps me haunted every day and night, making me strive for bread crumbs of satisfaction. And then pizza, too, as a side dish of stimuli.”

Mr. O’Neill secretly shed a tear inside his head. Did she really break free of her self-contained social shell after so long? Of course Daria was more than capable of a complete answer, but this was different . She had a glimmer of hope within her eyes, a sparkle of light that Mr. O’Neill never (and he meant never) saw beforehand –  it was some sort of determination, or newfound confidence reborn into her realistic soul. He would then joyously exclaim:

 “What a wonderful answer, Daria! Writers often get their message across through the heart. That’s what keeps us rejuvenated for another day, like smelling the beautiful flowers when it isn’t too warm, or when it isn’t allergy season…” Mr. O’Neill continued rambling about the eternal beauties that life brings, which were disgustingly saccharine as one might expect; Daria found it similar to songs found on The Beach Boys’ Sunflower , or hell, any nauseating flower-power psychedelic album (she metaphorically coughed at Oasis’ All Around the World , which she heard at the mall once with Quinn. Damn it, she remembered that traumatizing experience – who the hell would listen to a nine-minute song, and then a reprise at the end of the album? Her mind wished that memory was locked in a dungeon forever, never to see the light again). Finally, Mr O’Neill would snap out of his ‘yappings’, heavily embarrassed by the whole ordeal:

“Oh, dear.” His face was a bright, beet red. “Where was I again? Right. Now, I want you all to practice your imagination in a… constructive manner! Do what your heart desires, and make sure to be punctual! Your assignment should be a page long at a minimum, but feel free to write more!”

The bell would ring. Before Daria could leave, Mr. O’Neil would praise Daria once more (like he had always done, but this time it wasn’t to make Daria ‘feel better’):

“Good job, Daria. I’ll be expecting nothing less of excellence coming from an esteemed writer like yourself!” He’d give a thumbs up, showing confidence in her abilities, but that didn’t raise Daria’s spirit in the slightest.

It left Daria feeling a little… nervous by the whole ordeal. There were finally expectations placed on her, and that made her accountable. Maybe a little too much for a newly quasi-optimistic individual, who felt the assignment was definitely eating at her soul. The goal was generic – just write to your heart’s content, or whatever Mr. O’Neill perceived as ‘writing with passion’, but this quickly became too much for her. Doing what her heart desired wasn’t abnormal given that paper, but this was different. Somehow. It kept gnawing at her mind, festering throughout the day until she couldn’t handle it anymore. Once returning from school, Daria went straight to work writing, and writing, and writing…

Her perspective had changed. She couldn’t write the same scathing, loathful pieces of literature like she had (at least, for now). It simply wasn’t the same anymore. But then a thought burst open into her mind – why not write about change? There had been change around her, ever since the summer. Quinn found herself merely tolerating the Fashion Club after the tutor incident (which she thankfully got over David, even it took a bit on her end), Jane and Tom broke up, and Daria realized more of her own potential after the summer camp. It was a strange fall, especially as the winter was right around the corner. 

But the words weren’t coming out like she wanted it to. The more she wrote, the more she became disgruntled by the results of her endless scribbling. Daria had enough, putting on the radio – the local FM station was on their 70s programming block, with the announcer addressing listeners from Lawndale:

“Hello folks. Tonight is our ‘Yacht Rock Block’. Get it? Well… anyway, here is a great pioneer of the American people – The Beach Boys, with their 1973 single, Sail on Sailor ”.

The song was special. At least, in the moment. It was a message from their leader, Brian Wilson, that despite the years of drug dependency, he would continue to sail on. The song began like this:

I sailed an ocean, unsettled ocean

Through restful waters and deep commotion

Often frightened, unenlightened

Sail on, sail on sailor

Daria related to the lyrics immediately – she felt like she was sailing into the unknown, far away from anyone in her mind (even if it wasn’t exactly the case). She was making it with the leftover stamina from years bygone, and it didn’t matter that she had help here or there; for Daria, she did things alone, and that’s how it always was. Always devoid of true passion, Daria carried herself to her destination alone – the cabin in Montana. A life leaving all the marauders of Highland and Lawndale behind. The song would continue while she wrote, suddenly inspired by the music:

Caught like a sewer rat alone but I sail

Bought like a crust of bread but oh, do I wail?

But being in a relationship complicated matters enough for Daria to reconsider the Montana option, merely shelving it as a backup just for personal safety. She no longer was alone. Which that was the scariest part – she didn’t want to solely carry the weight of a relationship on her back, but could she trust Jane enough to share that love between them? In her mind, Daria didn’t want to face that fact head on. It looked like an ugly truth, but one she needed to look at with her eyes open. 

Uninspired, drenched and tired

Wail on, wail on sailor

Daria began to tear up on the inside, her heart facing the wave of newfound struggle. She felt lost within herself the more she looked in; Quinn couldn’t even do this deep of a self-reflection, but there she was in the summer, facing her fears of self-perception. Why couldn’t Daria do it herself, especially now out of all times? She depended on it, but the words weren’t thriving still. The song was near its’ end, with the lyrics expressing some self-pity and the ever-present questioning of your resolve. The motivation that Brian Wilson faced was at an all-time low within the Beach Boys, instead retreating into his Bel Air room where he’d rarely finish a song, let alone start a song for the Beach Boys. With the help of previous collaborator, Van Dyke Parks, Wilson would write Sail on Sailor to get back into the funk, even if it was temporarily for the time being. 

Always needing, even bleeding

Never feeling all my feelings

Damn the thunder, must I blunder?

There's no wonder all I'm under 

Daria would finish an early draft of her writing once Sail on Sailor finished playing, but was still unsatisfied. The writing wasn’t up to snuff for her standards. Not even close. It left her in a mental scramble, immediately calling Jane to stay over at Casa Lane for the night (the atmosphere around Daria wasn’t helping). Jane would quickly agree before she’d slightly clean her room up, knowing Daria would probably (definitely) need help on the assignment. Not that she needed to, but it was for her girlfriend. You have to show respect, no matter if they’ve seen your room before. 

Jane’s room. 

Daria was still fiddling around with the words, unsure of how to phrase her feelings for this piece of literature. She would need help, but was hesitant to ask, having a track record of those around her not having the greatest piece of advice to aid her. Or just assistance in general, but alas, she would vent her frustrations to Jane:

“I don’t want to do this, Jane. I just feel like… I don’t have the words to make this perfect. I know I can make this better, but at the same time, I don’t think I have it in me. I’m scared that one of these days… one of these days I’ll run out of wit to combat the world with, and I won’t be happy. That I’ll never be happy, and I wouldn’t know how to get that happiness back. If I ever had that–”

“Hey, you got this. It’s one assignment – the world doesn’t explode, and surely you won’t. At least when I’m around.” Jane gave Daria a firm hug, knowing that Daria struggled with her own set of insecurities like everyone else around her. But while most people at Lawndale High and Lawndale in general focused on the externalities surrounding them, Daria focused on her skillset. Her artistic and emotional sensitivity (hear ye, hear ye, Mencken) was too strong for her to directly input onto the world, but it was easier to communicate those struggles to her girlfriend.

“It’s not wrong to take pride in the stuff you make. I mean, there has to be some reason we create the things we create. But you just have… ‘issues’ enjoying things how they are sometimes.” Jane emphasized the ‘issues’, because it would really bite Daria at the worst times – especially during these situations, where she wants to write her best work. She then would leave one last nugget of truth onto Daria: “Just don’t try to devalue yourself like usual.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Daria rolled her eyes before continuing to write. She was off to a roll, working through the night before sleeping on the floor. Jane would notice, picking Daria up and setting the unconscious girl onto her band before resting. Beyond the showers, onto the suns of tomorrow. Burning the flesh of all sorrows, with a reason to live. She still believed in herself, thankfully.

Chapter Text

A beach, high tide at midnight. 

A princess lost in the whispering winds of her memories, echoing impressions of her past like an artist flowing freely with the brush in hand. The princess followed the rays of clear white from beyond the wall of fog, where she found a lighthouse at the far end of the beach. It looked eerily familiar, but the recognition sadly slipped from her mind as she suddenly found her friends; these friends had been floating over the raging sea, scattering the water beneath into a series of directionless ripples as the storm roared outward at her. The princess tried reaching out, running toward the group as she entered the wild waters – but they disappeared into the canopy of fog. The princess’ friends washed away, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Nothing could save them, she thought. 

Saturday afternoon.

What the hell was Daria doing in Jane’s room again? What was that dream? And most importantly, where did Jane go? 

Well, Jane was definitely doing something else other than sleeping –  Jane had already woken up earlier in the day, which was the rare sight to behold. On the average weekend, she’d sleep until the middle of the afternoon at the earliest, and wake up on Sunday at the latest. – the Lane family had that “snoozer” DNA in them, after all. Daria, ever curious to figure out where Jane was, put her glasses on and went downstairs. It was there where she could hear the incoherent ramblings of a mad man, otherwise known as Trent Lane – lead singer and guitarist of Mystik Spiral. 

“Hey, Trent.” 

“Hey.” He looked like himself – a husk of a not-so ambitious person. No sense of direction, no sense of path, playing his own game of waiting for a muse (or some other thing that’ll get him to succeed). Daria was surprised to have a crush on a good-hearted slacker, but that was unfortunately the reality she lived in. But then again, everyone lives once – she was bound to like someone , and then find out what she didn’t like from people in that light. Nonetheless, she would ask Trent about Jane. 

“Have you seen Jane anywhere?” Daria inquired. 

“She went out. Bought some groceries. She’ll be back soon.” Sharp as ever, Trent sputtered into a few coughs here and there before carrying his guitar case outside – he was heading out to a Mystik Spiral gig at the Zon, or some other dive bar out there. It wasn’t Daria’s business to know, or care anyway. She simply went upstairs to continue writing, where she’d sit there and sit, waiting for the muse to inspire her once more. But as she spent more and more effort on the paper, the more Daria wasn’t having it anymore. She kept pushing at it, thinking she would finish it – alas, it felt like it wasn’t meant to be. Another idea down the drain. She sat on the side of the bed, wondering:

“Why do I still bother trying to keep this together?”

Daria looked at the scattered pages, all over the floor like a pair of imperfect butterfly wings, desperately trying to fly over and over again. But no matter what, it lands back onto the ground, waiting to fly again. She rearranges words in her mind to no avail, disappointed in herself once again. 

“That’s the thing, though – you aren’t keeping this together,” her internal monologue shouted out in protest, trying to get her to focus. The focus that was driving her more neurotic whenever she thought of this stupid assignment. “But don’t sit there moping around, thinking you lost it all either.” Simply put, she was going around her head in circle upon circles – spiraling like a spinning top, zig-zagging while nothing was accomplished in the slightest. But with a pen in hand, Daria blocked out any interfering stimuli and revised her pages. 

“No matter how hard I try to be strong, even I fail myself sometimes.” Daria secretly muttered to herself, scribbling it on the back of the last page she had. Even at her best, she still feels like she wasn’t made for these times – the 90s was endless cynics and commercialism pumped into society, wanting you to spend and spend until you have no more money; meanwhile the people around would peddle laziness like a disease. Despite this, she technically conformed to that standard of living at times to survive. It was a safety mechanism, she assured herself. 

But secretly, she wanted to find the people in her life that she wouldn’t leave behind. The brains she had merely catapulted her isolation outside of her own refuge from social activities, and Lawndale never welcomed her in with open arms – it was her sister that had the “privilege” of introductions. But being open to prom? It felt like she changed. Maybe she changed for the better, but she wouldn’t know. 

So she started over from scratch, quickly piecing her frustrations with the system together – an incongruent collection of puzzle pieces starting to mesh into a full picture. It was there that things began to change. 

For the better. 

“Winds of Change” by Daria Morgendorffer

 

Are you welcome here? Do you belong here? Are you happy here?

 

These are the signs I see whenever I’m in the hallways of Lawndale High, an “academic setting” renowned for its’ outstanding superficiality; I simply yawn at these questions in lieu of a middling career that I’ll certainly be too braindead to care for. The future looks exceptionally bleak, with the middle class sucking up to affluent know-it-alls or to the profit-hungry corporations. But hey, we’re the honest class. We excel in excess, and taking life for granted; not even the self-aware notice their behavior, glossing over their obsessions whilst preaching “too good to be true” philosophies to the next generation (who haven’t formed a single thought inside their developing cranium).

We’ve taken life for granted and let the winds of change define what immediate action we take. I was merely a spectator, watching from afar, hoping life doesn’t throw me into the river of futility. I thought I wasn’t made to be here, and that (unfortunately)  still is the case to an extent; so, like any neurotic individual, I simply languish in my room – alone at last. But my mind focuses on the summer, where my experiences have actually made me grown wiser to hermitude. I “volunteered” for a summer camp, and it was there where I met a kid who disdained social interaction entirely. He believed everyone was inherently stupid, but he never gave anyone a chance to challenge his philosophy.  (which he’s technically correct in, but this will be censored anyway). Deep down inside, the kid was trying to fit into an ever changing, difficult-to-adapt-in world by whatever means he had available. He just happened to close himself off, which ultimately becomes your reality if you want it to be.

 

And that leaves you with a choice – you can keep up the charade until it becomes the truth, or pause the charade to find the truth.

That leaves me frustrated at the world again because I know others can do it. I’ve seen people come to peace with themselves before, but people simply don’t. To surmise that someone is truly okay with the status quo should be a crime against humanity, or in fairer words, is a lie to keep pedaling consistent mediocrity to an unsuspecting consumer – that being us, the collective society. No one actually wants to be stuck in the same cycle of futility, living vicariously in a system meant to churn out the ‘whatevers’ of the world. Our lives must continue in spirit to our past selves, constantly anticipating whatever horrors life throws upon us.

 

For those who continue to challenge themselves, I respect their efforts. I might’ve not beforehand, but that partially came from this generation’s mentality. But to those who don’t, they face those consequences through the “ugly truth”; it’s what we see in the mirror every morning when we don’t provide an adequate amount toward improving ourselves. We have to continue struggling, putting full effort into working as a team with others as the social contract designates. If we don’t, the people around us are discouraged to trust our abilities because we’re meant to build off each other. If you can’t put a modicum of effort into what you’re passionate in, and subsequently deny others the opportunity of assistance, you’re wasting the time of everyone involved. Do it for yourself and for the people around you – believe in your “best” and be involved – even when you struggle. So sure, I’ll continue withdrawing from the crude social events I have particular disdain in, but I’ve changed because I thought:

“Is that the life I want to live, or the life I feel like I can live?” 

Signed sincerely, 

Daria Morgendorffer

Well, it certainly looked okay. In Daria’s standards, the paper would’ve been a slam dunk. It just sort of… slid into her mind and was still a rough draft, but it was capable of being further worked on. After collecting her paper, Daria began going downstairs and reached the living room where Jane, the sharp warrior of Lawndale, simultaneously returned from her long awaited Lord of the Rings -esque journey. 

“Oh hey, did you finally finish? I had a feeling you’d get around to enjoying your work again.” Jane smiled like a star shining back to Earth – its’ reflections were ever-worldly to Daria, who stared intently at Jane’s beauty. Jane then took an initial glance at Daria’s essay, skimming through to get a gist before beginning to thoroughly examine the true contents of her work. 

“Well, it wasn’t like I was all that thrilled in the artistic process.” Daria finally snapped out at her ‘Jane concentration’ to take a shot at her reluctance to failure, her esteem couldn’t be any lower. She couldn’t care anymore, except she really did because of Jane – the muse that kept the creative battery charged. 

Jane finished reading Daria’s paper before commenting: 

“So this is what you wanted to write about? That was the most Daria you’ve ever wrote. I really liked it, y’know.” 

Jane wasn’t wrong. Daria had that certain charm built into her succinct writing style, where someone is taken aback with the clarity of Daria’s notions about reality. It wasn’t always stellar, but at her best, she could easily attract those who wanted to hear the truth – no matter how bitter it could be. Sometimes she could receive praise from those who didn’t either, which could be the biggest surprise. Daria simply spoke from what she believed in, compromise be damned. This essay, though, had an extra layer of soul, with a little exigence supporting her interest in progression and what it meant to believe in your resolve. 

“Well, you haven’t see that one crappy ‘special’ assignment I did. Oh wait, you’ll never see it.” Daria refers to the assignment. The one about her family playing a pack of cards, years into the future. Something something optimism in her eyes, something something made her mom cry. 

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the sorrow; you know it’s good enough for little ol’ me.” Jane smirks back, waiting for the day that she’d read the damn paper. Well, whenever that actually happened – even if it took a century, Jane would still poke at Daria. 

“Anyway, I gotta go back to hell. You know the deal with my family.” Daria eye-rolled, subsequently sighing at the fact she’d be returning to the flaming abyss of the Morgendorffer clan. Well, it could always be worse.   

“They’re eccentric for a reason. Oh, by the way, did you want me to come over tomorrow night?” Jane poked Daria’s shoulder with her index finger. 

“For…” Daria raised her eyebrow slightly, particularly questioning why Jane would ask. She’d just show up . Well, it would be socially unconventional for Jane to appear out of nowhere, but they were still friends. Daria just figured she was overcomplicating things in her brain again.

“I dunno, I thought we’d finally bury the hatchet with your folks. I mean, does Quinn even know?” Jane responded back with her own common logic. And she asked a response-worthy question: Quinn had to be in the know, otherwise things would end up somewhat terribly for the both of them. 

“No, thankfully. She’d talk and talk and talk her way into getting us into school gossip. It can’t be something so, you know… public yet.” Daria emphasized the ‘public’ attention they’d receive – she was still unready to interact with the congregation of buffoons on a regular basis, and she didn’t want to be seen as ‘faking it’ for attention. Well, scratch that. They were never too popular, and plus, the people of Lawndale High already knew they weren’t particularly trying to climb the social ladder. In reality, Daria was just nervous to openly say, ‘hey, I am in a relationship with someone, and I don’t care how you people feel’ because she pretty much did care – even if she didn’t want to admit it. 

Because she really did have skeletons in the closet; Daria secretly was a hopeless romantic. It stung on another level when she catch feelings for someone because she knew they already had a perception of her, and that perception wasn’t entirely her. She had feelings, but it was buried beneath an astronomical layer of indifference and detachment – or put it shortly, she was aloof on the outside, but emotionally disconnected on the inside. But hey, Jane would always stick by, trying to poke her out of her shell. It’ll be okay.

Daria would soon leave, but not after an invigorating kiss or two. A mutual exchange between girlfriends before they’d sadly depart once again. A truly tragic sight for one to see. 

At the Morgendorffer household, Daria returned home to ask the dreadful question to her mother, Helen Morgendorffer.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Feeling responsive, Daria?” Helen often dosed brief dollops of sarcasm when talking to Daria, as both had the mutual resistance to taking comments personally. As long as it wasn’t a high stakes situation, which it currently wasn’t (but probably would be, soon), it was inappropriate to take things as is. Secretly though, Daria was slightly frightened of how her mother would respond. It wasn’t like she’d kick Daria out of the house for her preferences, but the confusion could be prevalent. Quite frankly, the constant questions weren’t what Daria wanted to deal with at all. 

“You caught me. Want a prize alongside your smug face, too?” Daria looked at a nearby cereal box on the counter, with some generic sweepstakes promotion – it was something about a vacation trip to Venice. Whatever the sweepstakes was, she wasn’t that interested.  

“Oh, please,” Helen rolled her eyes – a case of ‘like mother, like daughter’ after all. She’d then ask about the spontaneous ‘sleepover’ that Daria briefly mentioned beforehand for good reason. 

“But no, how was spending the night with Jane? I was surprised you didn’t come home earlier, but you’re getting to that age where–”

“Yes, I get the whole ‘you’re an adult, you have adult responsibilities’ moral, Mom. But uh… it was good. Really nice, actually.” Daria’s face began to incorporate a warm pinkish-hue, lightly painted onto her skin as she thought of last night. Despite the melancholy and indifference surrounding her life, Daria was actually really happy with Jane, a supporter at her side for once in her life… if you didn’t count Helen, of course. 

“Mhm.” A succinct expression of suspicion arose in Helen. She would often express her motherly intuition through facial cues, signaling someone to tell the truth. No matter how embarrassing, no matter how humiliating, honesty was of utmost importance as a Morgendorffer. 

“Okay, I have something to talk about during dinner. And uh, I’d like Jane there. Tonight.” Daria was… serious. Straightforwardly serious. 

“Of course! But if there’s anything you need to talk about, you can always reach out.” Helen pointed out – the appreciation went a long way, but Daria would merely clarify why she wanted to talk at dinner. 

“Well… it involves both Dad and Quinn, too.” It was an awkward situation that she thrust herself into, and well, she wanted her family to find out. Preferably not through the town gossip, either – though she really wasn’t that type of person to particularly care about her status, unlike a certain somebody in her family. Cough cough. 

“Oh.” Helen realized it had to be this important if Daria, out of all people in the world, was preferring to talk through this at dinner. 

“Well, I’ll let Erik know.” The phone, suddenly jinxed at the most minute mention, would ring. Indeed, it had been Erik.

“Speaking of the devil…” Daria would sigh before going upstairs; Helen, on the other hand, had to plead with her boss about her situation. Luckily, she caught a lucky break and would score some time to prepare (thank god an intern could help assist with filing her paperwork for the case she was working on, otherwise she’d passive aggressively lose it). For Daria, though, it was terrifying to talk about it without really talking about it. She merely dropping hints that something huge was going on, or something like that, anyway. To her credit, Daria really tried to get through to her mom, but it was still difficult to really pull her heart towards that type of vulnerability. But alas, she did it. For now, at least.

Jane would be arriving tonight.

Chapter Text

A beach, low tide in the daytime. 

Despite the fun in the sun for many, the princess was in mourning – her life had changed since the night.. that night. She slumped on a lonesome log, lodged onto the sand where it stuck out like a sore thumb, standing up to those miserable waves. The waves who had viciously fought against the complacent shoreline – the warriors of the natural world. She watched as its’ evaporating presence washed away any trace of the seaweed, crab shells, or sand dollars that one might find, back into the depths of the water they go. She saw it coming, and saw it leave as is. Tired of fighting the inevitable, the princess would simply kick a lonely aluminium can as far as she could. There was nothing she could do anymore.

She stood up, walking away from the beach with zero words left unspoken. 

Daria briefly engaged with that same strange dream she kept returning to before waking up once more. It kept gnawing at her, unprompted and indescribable in content and analysis, which further lended to her excessive inquiries. Like, why her? Why was she receiving this bizarre vision multiple times, and how did this relate to anything in her life? Then again, she had to get ready for dinner–

Dinner.

Oh god. 

Dinner was definitely going to be something… wasn’t it? And then she quickly looked at her alarm clock, and panicked. 

5 PM. 

Given that she woke up at 1, and then slept around 3… oh boy, her sleep schedule was screwed. Beyond screwed actually, now that she was beginning to think about it (to be fair, she had literally woken up from a nap – give her some slack). Daria quickly took a shower, and assured herself that everything was okay. Or at least as okay as possible. Daria had to be deliberate about whatever was going to happen, thinking of all the potential consequences and paths that anyone could take. She really wanted to make sure everything worked, or else she’d implode from the internal dread she thought of. Also, it was her first time with someone, so Daria easily wanted to make this count. Also, the huge closet she wanted to leave from was definitely terrifying. 

Luckily, Daria still had time to contemplate her future decision-making, giving her room to think (good thing the dream was easy to wake up from, otherwise she’d be in a lot more trouble). Think, think, think, she thought. Unfortunately, she’d be interrupted by the sounds of her father, Jake Morgendorffer.

“Hey, kiddo! Do you think burgundy looks good on me... or what about an eggplant? Eh?” Jake was holding two differently colored ties, thinking this was a business meeting of some sort… or maybe he secretly knew. That’d be the real kicker in Daria’s mind – A secret psychic Jake could be (but in reality, this was not the case (or was it?)). She brushed that thought aside to respond in her usual demeanor, though she would mentally chuckle. It was a really funny thought, after all. 

“Depends on the mood – if you want to be publically humiliated, the eggplant would suffice. But if I were you, I’d choose the burgundy.”

“Thanks, kiddo! I knew I could count on you!” He’d then curiously glance at the eggplant tie, thinking that’d be the perfect touch to his outfit. Well, he had spirit. If you call spirit the sense of bravery unseen for an… eccentric trendsetter. And her description was putting it lightly. Jake would follow the flight of stairs up to his room, frantically completing his attire before dinner was ready. With Jake leaving the scene, Daria was finally alone. All alone.

Well, until Quinn unexpectedly barged into her room – wait, really?

 Surprisingly yes, Quinn wanted to talk to Daria. Even Daria was a little confused, but she let Quinn speak whatever came to her mind. It couldn’t be that bad. And indeed, her assumptions were amazingly correct. Quinn looked a little worried about the subject matter of the dinner, given that Daria requested this, so it’d be natural to assume she had something huge to drop.

“Hi, Daria. Uh, I didn’t want to come here or anything, but I just wanted to say that you’re my sister and all and I wouldn’t be mad at whatever you’re hiding… well, as long as it doesn’t affect my popularity or anything.” Quinn blurted out before clarifying:

“I’m joking , by the way.” Quinn had a habit of making fun of the fashion club behind their backs, and especially Sandi. She was… a constant headache and a half to deal with throughout the time she’d been at Lawndale High. Just one of those people who has the gall to passive aggressively belittle you, and then subsequently attempt to punt you out of the ‘clique’ you’re in. Not the brightest tool in the shed, either – especially because she never wanted to try, or even give a fledgling ounce of effort except for all things fashion. Quinn just happened to assimilate into an artificial landfill of a culture, and could easily fit into that mold. A stereotype she embraced until she began growing out of that position. 

“Well, that’s a relief – you finally understand humor. Took you long enough.”

“I’m not the one finding out how to talk to people.” Quinn jokingly dug at Daria’s relative social isolation. Well, the two siblings had been better at not trying to kill the other as of late. Good enough. It was a start after the summer of turmoil that dragged Quinn through the gates of hell (studying with the tutor) – she even managed to take Daria to the library after the summer was over, and it surprisingly wasn’t because of sheer bribery either. Sometimes it just takes having your heart broken by a guy who was never interested in you to finally recognize yourself in the mirror. 

“Well, I’ve been in better relationships than you’ve ever had… oh, damn it.” 

Daria spilled the beans. The beans.

A millisecond of naivety passed her by, until she suddenly realized the extent of her actions. She eeped in embarrassment, her eyes instantly widened into pure terror, scared of what Quinn will do with this newfound information. Daria hoped she’d be spared by the potential misery she’d be inflicted with. 

“WHAT? Are you kidding me right now, please say you’re just joking, OH PLEASE SAY YOU’RE JOKING.” Quinn was sputtering around, shaking Daria by the shoulders and spiraling into hysteria – how the hell could Daria Morgendorffer, out of all people, be in a relationship? (Unless you count the whole Ted thing, which Daria never told her about… but that’s besides the point) How could this be? Was this what she was going to talk about during dinner? And why was Jane–

Jane.

It was Jane. Daria was going out with Jane? Really? Well, it wasn’t that shocking given that Daria really didn’t care about anyone else at school, so Jane was more of a logical decision in the grand scheme of things – but really ? The fact she couldn’t get someone steady, but Daria? Oh, Daria… It just amazed Quinn the more she thought about it. 

“Why do I even bother sometimes…” Daria definitely looked resigned, knowing that she’d probably be on the receiving end of a Pizza King interrogation from Lawndale High. 

“Daria, look at me. I wasn’t like, going to tell the fashion club about you two or anything.” Quinn was telling the truth, but Daria wasn’t having any of it. 

“How am I supposed to believe you? You’ve literally called me a ‘distant cousin’ whenever you’re around them up until recently. You’d definitely drop them any piece of information. Hell, you’re the biggest gossiper in this family.” 

“Okay, yeah… but that’s in the past. I’m trying to change around here, and for the record, you’re my sister. Just know that because I haven’t been really treated you right, especially before summer vacation… I’m trying, okay?” Quinn was definitely upset at Daria, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t wrong. Quinn would spread around anything unless it embarrassed her, which could include Daria dating Jane, but she could play the sibling relation off again if she really wanted to. 

“And it isn’t like you’re a saint, either.” For every time Quinn was rude, or downright horrible toward Daria, Daria would strike with equal propensity. It didn’t matter who started it, Quinn would usually receive the short half of the stick whenever she was with her sister – and Daria had this ‘consequences be damned’ attitude whenever she inflicted her justice. She just wanted Quinn to taste that same medicine of humility. Though it was often justified, she sometimes would go overboard; the film was a good example, but then again, Daria toned the scale of the project down… so in all fairness, Daria could sometimes be kind to Quinn if she felt like it.

“...I can’t lie, I’m pretty sorry about that stuff. We’re just opposites who can’t stand each other, even though we probably should… looking at the previous generation on that one.” Daria referred to the wedding, where Aunt Rita fought Helen in a drunken stupor over some past feuds that were never mended. Even though the two hadn’t seen Aunt Rita since, they both were acutely aware of what they could be; Daria and Quinn silently agreed with each other, knowing that they had to tone down their passive aggression toward the other. Family is family, after all. 

“Yeah. By the way, I’m happy for you – sorry, it’s still a little weird. You know, the whole ‘you’re dating Jane’ thing or whatever.”

“Thanks.” Daria turned around and walked downstairs to see if Jane was there, smiling for a split second before returning to that signature Daria frown. It looked like things were finally turning around for everyone, and maybe this family can be a bit better after all. 

Dinnertime was upon them. A wonderful dinnertime for everyone…?  

Jane was wearing her usual attire. So was practically everyone except for Jake, who was insistent on wearing that ridiculous eggplant-coloured tie. He was pretty bitter about Helen shutting his idea down earlier, and kept grumbling about how he ‘wasn’t allowed to have fun’ in the household anymore. He backed it up by saying that ‘nowadays, eggplant is the coolest colour ever’ because a magazine told him so. Of course it’s credible, why wouldn’t it be?

“Who wants ol’ Jakey’s classic chicken pot pie? I poured blood, sweat and tears into this lovely meal that my Dad could never teach me…” Jake began to get upset before Helen gave a scowl – don’t rock the boat because they needed to be on their best behavior for whatever Daria needed to talk about. Jake ceased his agitation upon such a response, looking down before returning to his cheery demeanor. 

“So, who’s hungry for a delectable meal? Eh?” The chicken pot pie was… very Jake-like in the sense that it might not be as edible as its’ appearance might indicate. No one bothered to touch it until Jake tried it. He took the noble route and risked his life for everyone around, and soon enough, looked a tad green. Thankfully though, Jake managed to survive the chicken pot pie, praising his talents in a self-congratulatory manner. Soon, the conversation would really begin:

“How have your mother and father been, Jane?” Helen inquired. They didn’t really see the Lane family together often – or even her parents, who were off in their own cuckoo land. While some say nature is good to reconnect to, unless you’re a certain environmentalist expedition family (cough, cough, the constant coverage of Nigel Thornberry), it can really injure a family. Especially for a large family like the Lanes, whose activities ranged from slacker musician to neurotic slash narcissistic and absent-minded individuals.

“Somewhere out at Yellowstone. They’ve been on the west coast taking photographs of all the national parks again, plus the occasional meditating.” Jane replied. She honestly hadn’t heard from them in quite some time beside the occasional postcard. No letters, just cards with a quick explanation on where they’re at. 

“That’s… good to hear,” Helen had no idea how to follow up on Jane’s response, pausing for a few seconds before continuing. “I’m glad they’re doing well.”

“If you call that well, then yeah.” Jane was indifferent to her parents’ absence. When you grow up having to learn on your own (albeit, with assistance from Trent), it doesn’t really phase you anymore. But as soon as the spotlight was off Jane, it was onto Daria. 

Surf’s up.

“So, Daria, what did you want to talk about?” Helen had to hear the truth, once and for all. 

“Uh…” Daria really didn’t want to do this. She really didn’t. Everyone in the room who knew already could sense the dread inside Daria’s head, compounding like a weight taking a toll on her spirits. Thankfully, Daria stepped up to the plate, taking up her own responsibility so she could cop out of the conversation as fast as she could. Get it all done with.

“Mom,” Daria paused for a second for dramatic effect before revealing the inevitable. “Jane and I are dating. Now before you say anything–” Jane was interrupted by something being said. How ironic. 

“Twenty bucks, Jakey.” Helen momentarily poked at Jake’s shoulder. Jake fetched twenty dollars from his wallet before mumbling a few curse words here and there. Daria was furious for a second about how they were literally betting that she’d never be in a relationship with anyone… seriously? Was this how she was being treated here?

“What the hell, dad?” Daria snapped. 

“Sorry kiddo. It just came about naturally between your Mom and I… I think.” He shrugged, not really even remembering the origins of the bet. But it wasn’t like they didn’t support Daria either, really. They couldn’t control her life, and understandably, they let her take the reins of her relationships with people. But they learned a key lesson – turns out maybe completing a bet whilst the subject of the bet was there might’ve been a bad idea after all.

“Moving on now… Daria, you could’ve told us about this. But I know you’re not the type of person to be so… flamboyant with your interests. As long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy. That’s what matters to us at the end of the day. Right, Jake?” Helen passed the imaginary talking baton to Jake, who happened to quickly prepare himself for whatever social pressure was thrust upon him. 

“Of course. Kiddo, we’ll be there for you the whole way. And that goes for you too, Jane. My dad never had it in him to care about how I felt, so I’m doing something better than my old man by being here.” It was perfect. Jake was actually being a functioning father figure. No bursts of anger, or resentment, or anything that would be typical (for him, at least). The fact he also included Jane as well into the family was truly selfless, too. If Jane cared about Daria, Jake would extend his grace and care to her as well. 

“I know you’ve had…” He could not botch this up. Not here, not now. Otherwise he’d drive away one of his daughters, and be a flaming ball of disappointment. He briefly choked up, nervously gulping before resuming his small speech. “...your ups and downs with people, but seeing Jane there has been the best thing that happened to you. So… don’t let us stop you.” Everyone was amazed at Jake, who knocked it right out of the ballpark in terms of handling the situation. 

“See? I don’t need to be mad. I feel great right now! Like I could do a thousand push-ups in a row and never break a sweat. Just once in my life I didn’t screw something up!” He got up and started sprinting around the house before getting a big hug from Helen, with Jane just watching the madness unfold. It was like an olympian celebrating in the background, jumping up and down like it was a monumental achievement of a lifetime. Pure joy was on everyone’s faces. Well, except for Daria, who was slightly embarrassed, but eventually conceited defeat and assimilated into the same happiness.

And so, everything would simmer down once more. Daria appreciated the fact that, well, her parents were accepting of her – in fact, they encouraged her to continue her relationship. They were fully on board. Well, they probably had to be, being parents, but who knows. At the end of the day, it was all fair game.

“Thanks Mom and Dad… I guess I underestimated you two in the talking department this time.” Daria smiled. A rare sight to behold. 

“We try our best, honey. Believe us, we wish we could be perfect for you two.” Helen took the rare compliment with slight pride in herself. She could be a good… no, great mother a lot. It just took a little time and commitment to understand her daughters.

“And thanks, Quinn. I believe you. You won’t make this a big deal after all, will you?” Quinn was shocked once more – Daria respecting her sister? Impossible. 

Now, the night continued with funny work stories or some other thing in between. It didn’t really matter that much to remember, but at the end of the day, Daria realized she could relax knowing things would be O.K. 

As the night turned late, Jane would, unfortunately, need to leave. She had to go back home, and Daria was too tired to walk with her. So there they were, outside in the cool fall weather, looking at the moon before gazing at each other. 

“So, dealing with your folks wasn’t such a bad thing. You just made a mountain out of a mole hill, that’s all. Don’t let it get to you next time.” Jane advised. 

“Well, I might’ve embellished the severity of this experience at first, but family always has a way of getting through. When push comes to shove, they still will give it their all to show their love and support.” Daria gave her usual honest spheal; Jane thought Daria was still as charming as ever whenever she was like that. 

“Yeah, yeah. Enough with the sappy crap already – you ready for Monday?” Jane prompted Daria to really think about that ‘change, change, change’ paper of hers. It’d probably get the same usual reception of absolute praise, or maybe even Mr. O’Neill would ask to submit this on her behalf. She wouldn’t know, nor would care at the moment. 

“The paper? Oh yeah, I’ll finish the final draft tomorrow for Mr. O’Neill to cry about. Plus he’ll be a little happy… I mean, for the camp thing at least.” Daria was uncertain how Mr. O’Neill would react besides the obvious jolt of positivity. Good vibrations would probably be all over him, celebrating another quintessential writing from Daria Morgendorffer… but she was too exhausted to come up with a humorous hypothetical. 

“Hey, well, it was nice. Talking to your parents was cool, and all. But you know, it’s late and all.” Jane and Daria held hands for a second before Daria would get close to initiate the kiss. She’d thank Jane for being there like usual, and the two would wish the other a good night. A fantastic night for all involved. 

After everything was said and done, Daria went upstairs to her room. She turned on her radio, where the local radio station was playing Paul and Linda McCartney’s “Dear Boy” from RAM. For Daria, she found the arrangement interesting, but she was more curious about the lyrical contents of the song. Especially the ending, where McCartney straightforwardly remarks:

“And even when you fall in love, dear boy

It won't be half as good as this

I hope you never know how much you missed, dear boy

How much you missed , yeah”                                     

She oddly related to this. That feeling of pride as Tom lost Jane to someone much better. The superiority strangely went to Daria’s head for a second, before realizing it was a little toxic to celebrate his loss. But then again, it wasn’t like she was directly next to Tom (or even in the general vicinity, really), so it wouldn’t be too big of a deal… right?

Whatever the case, Daria would call it a ‘well, it could’ve been so much worse’ night, dozing off and subsequently drooling all over her pillow. 

…Columnated ruins domino

Canvas the town and brush the backdrop

Are you sleeping, brother John?

Midday by the creek, near the big blue ocean. 

The princess went up to her lonely little castle by the sea – the cliffs were close by, shrubs growing from the side of the cliff bed with dirt surrounding the base of the castle. Stones composed this serene abode, though the structural integrity was a fleeting mess, beyond repair and into ruin. She sat there in her room, her escape from the world that refused to listen. She locked herself away, shedding tears down the deteriorating spire before laughing at the severity of her situation. Or maybe the irony killed her. (While at port, adieu or die…)

She really wanted to forget her worries, live in harmony – one for all, all for one. But honestly… it had not turned that way – she stared at the mossy ceiling, wondering how she turned out such a hermit. The princess wasn’t afraid of being alone, but she certainly didn’t want to be alone. But she continued to lock herself away from everyone, even if it was really no one. The thoughts were restless, continuous, restless, continuous… 

Rest. 

But then, two princes showed up, with voices strange – they passionately croaked with vigorous harmony, pitches perfect…

“Why dont'cha come, come-a, come-a, come out tonight?”

They repeated this phrase a few time, over and over. The rest of the song didn’t matter as much as their request – they wanted to see her from beyond the tippy top of that tower. But as much as they yearned, the princess refused to come down. She felt as if they were only after… well, forget it. She couldn’t let her mind stop her from using basic, essential skills. Doing the things she needed to so she could fulfill that life she might regret not pursuing. She’d go down and find out who they were, and if they weren’t good enough, she’d slam the door shut and get them to leave. 

After all, it was her life. If they didn’t like it, so be it. 

(A children’s song) 

(have you listened as they played?)

Their song is love

And the children know their way

That’s why the child is the father to the man (Beyond belief, a broken man too tough to cry)

Surf’s up.

Chapter Text

Daria and Jane would, unfortunately, be separated away. The summer grew closer and closer, ripping them apart as they went on to do other things. While Daria was by herself in Lawndale, Jane went away on an artist retreat in the middle of the forest. They were friends, but obviously life would take them in different directions. It honestly was pretty depressing, like they’d been split apart – especially as Jane and Tom weren’t working out in the slightest, like chalk and cheese. Two friends, drifted off into their own worlds. 

If only she talked to Daria… if only…

Saturday morning.

The birds were singing, the brook was rushing, and life was rolling on by. Such a sweet morning to do absolutely nothing… except probably reconnecting with nature like Thoreau wanted. But then again, this is Jane Lane – a classy, respectable sleeper who wanted to do nothing; Jane specialized in doing nothing, and would probably receive her doctorate in nothing (except for the arts). As she began to wake up, hunger was on her mind – it turned out that people are prone to being hungry, especially as they wake up. Jane, seemingly not in the mood to sleep in (surprising, but not uncommon), finally woke up and got herself out of bed (she also thought about the weird dream, which 

Jane snuck her way out of the room as her girlfriend was fast asleep, entranced in the thoughts about ponies running freely across the countryside. Or at least, that’s what she thought Daria was thinking about. Down the stairs and at the kitchen, Jane would check the fridge where she expectedly a lack of edible food. The monkey’s paw, in typical fashion, curled. Frustrated, she began getting ready to go out into the outside world, where she heard some kids in the neighborhood chasing ice cream trucks with small pitchforks. She watched from the living room window as they ran by, 

Yup, it was already going to be a great day. 

Jane walked, and walked, and walked. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into a tortuous hour filled with sporadic breaks to sit down. She started feeling an ounce of regret intrude her mind, like she should’ve taken Trent’s car for a quick ride instead of doing whatever this was. But it was well worth it, she thought… hopefully. Jane quickly saw a gas station – bingo. It marked the halfway point between her house and the Mega Lo Mart, which she hated going into (on a similar level to that Pay Day after the whole ‘gummy bear’ incident). Something about the conglomerate corporation whose name in the system brought upon the likes of Black Friday and the end of their competitors rubbed her off the wrong way. Then again, it was a little too early in the morning to think about these sorts of topics, especially on a Saturday. 

There it was, the gas station. A beacon of hope surrounding modern suburbia. Jane entered into the food mart, where she picked up a chocolate bar and a water bottle. The cost was insignificant, but the rewards would be reaped massively. In the background, she could overhear the ambient drone of Sick Sad World playing while a customer was yelling about some miscalculation in the system. What a sucker, honestly. They probably just didn’t want to pay the allotted amount, finding a way to screw over the employee any chance they got. After walking out of all that drivel, Jane would chew on the chocolate bar to regain her senses, instantly noticing the sudden reinvigoration in spirits. She felt like she could do anything that came to her mind, like finally running professionally whilst simultaneously painting a small portable canvas; unfortunately, that adrenaline rush would soon sharply wane as the world hit Jane in the face – a metaphorical brick wall to her plans. 

The endless bummer would continue, with Jane slogging through the rest of the trip. But then, as she was about to reach the self-proclaimed finishing line of her challenge, she saw Mr. Sloane’s car in the parking lot. 

Oh, things are about to go from bad, to worse in a split second.

Jane reminisced on that brief interval of time where they were okay, that split second… but honestly, it was for the best. She was actually doing a lot better now that she wasn’t bickering at Tom, and she already knew that fact for herself. It was worth the reminder, though, because soon enough, Tom was seen with his ‘friends’, walking back from that burger place she could never remember the name of. Jane tried avoiding any interactions by ceasing to glance, speed-walking until she hear him say:

“Hey, Jane!” He was walking toward her with his friends in tow, two random guys – one of the guys had a white dress shirt, brown Dr. Marten loafers, and a slightly saffron yellow scarf to top off this intriguing look. At least he donned that brown tweed jacket and pants like the under qualified professor of Lawndale he could be. His other friend had this oversized round, rose-tinted glasses. This guy’s look was better, not by much. Just a black Nirvana shirt and some jeans. Now, this was already embarrassing, but she couldn’t back out of the incoming conversation; she’d just have to brace for impact.

“Oh, hey. Who are these two?” Jane asked, though she had a vague idea of who they were based off previous ideas. They were probably friends from his school that dropped him during that movie night that Tom talked about once, early on in their relationship.

“These are my friends from Fielding. You know, the academy I, uh, go to.” Tom had to get back into the Jane Lane zone of conversating. It wasn’t even that relatively long since they saw each other, but the breakup did make Tom change his social life for sure. He had to once again adopt those guys he hung out with prior to dating her, the ones who brushed him aside that one time. But still, it seemed like he wasn’t drastically affected by the whole ordeal, just adapting generally to keep himself busy from the endless thoughts. Thoughts which he keeps under the cupboard, or the lazy susan if you prefer a lazy susan.  

“Sup. Name’s Jack.” The guy with the Nirvana shirt spoke; he definitely looked like a Jack, that’s for sure.

“I’m starting to think you fit into a box of stereotypes with that shirt, Jack.” Jane just threw her own sarcasm, hoping that Jack wouldn’t be totally pissed. Though, he probably would be if his favorite band was slighted by someone he just met. Then again, it wasn’t her problem if he didn’t have enough skin to handle the remark, now was it? After all, Jack hung out with Tom Sloane of all people, one of the more wittier people in this town. 

“And that’s Scott. His look is never good, by the way. He just wants to impress the intellectual girls that he’ll never get with. The reasons are pretty easy to see beyond the jacket, too.” Tom took a jab at Scott’s aforementioned attire issues. 

“Hey man, you know I don’t dig at you in front of chicks… I’m not that much of a loser, am I?” It wasn’t helping Scott’s case that he literally asked his friend to reaffirm his status, but hey, he can do whatever. In this world, the most self-conscious can continue being secretly overt about their image consciousness. 

“I’m taken already, and plus, you need to know color theory correctly. We’re in Lawndale, not Boston. Not that you’d know the difference if your life depended on it.” Jane honestly just wanted to leave the conversation, but wanted to see what this Scott guy could cook in the rebound department. But before he could respond, Tom even chimed in against his friend. 

“Looks bad, Scott. Even the zoot suit guy I saw here once has better style than you.” Damn, Tom saw a zoot suit guy once in this parking lot? The more she thought about it, the more she might’ve seen him somewhere downtown before. Then again, she didn’t want to be gaslit into believing a potentially artificial memory of hers. 

“Yeah, Scott. You need a whole refresh. What kinda jacket even is that thing?” Jack questioned. Both guys had a less-than-stellar approval of Scott’s clothing, which further aggravated him into defending himself at all costs, no half measures. 

“Oh come on! This was my grandpa’s tweed jacket… You just wear that Nirvana crap, and they’re not even that good anyway. But you don’t see me complaining.” Scott responded back, frustrated at the negativity he received by his fellow classmates. 

“Dude, come back when you aren’t listening to Chopin over and over in your stupid room.” Jack snapped back. He did not look pleased in the slightest that his friend dissed Nirvana, out of all bands. Seriously? After what happened a few years ago? Scott must be one sick, sick man. 

“Well, my bad that I think Chopin is one of the most stellar composers of all time! I’m not one of those guys out there, unlike you.” Scott began to push Jack away from him. The beef had truly begun. 

“And just like that, they got into an argument. World record.” Tom proclaimed as he tried moving himself away from the center of squabbling, and into a much safer area where the chaos wouldn’t consume them whole. 

“So these were the friends you were talking about at Pizza King?” Jane already knew the answer off of how Tom seemed much less thrilled to be around these people. If they were his true friends, he could slide a joke and be in the punchline, but he just looked more defeated by their nonsensical nature. He truly just wanted to get this over with, go home, and watch Sick Sad World like any other normal (or at least, tolerable) person.

“Yup. Even better in person, too. Makes you wonder…” Tom had that forlorn expression on his face, not enjoying their company especially after their current shenanigans. Well, he should’ve met other people instead of dragging his feet at the people he left. 

“You holding up well?” Jane inquired. 

“Yeah. Things are fine. How about you and Daria? Did you guys… talk about it?” Tom seemed rather dismissive of the question entirely, trying to shift the limelight to Jane. He did not want to talk about anything regarding his life at the moment, at least to her. So, Tom promptly wanted to know if Jane and Daria patched their friendship, or have possibly done more after he was out of the picture. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Jane raised her eyebrows. It wasn’t like they weren’t going to talk about their feelings when things became rocky… it just needed time, that’s all. 

“I could think of a Daria-related reason why, but maybe I’m just underestimating her attachment to you.” So maybe Tom had a point. Daria wasn’t the best at communication, especially during that one economics project which she was forced to partner up with Brittany. Oh, the suffering she mentally endured through her declarative tears of independence away from Kevin, who she later got back together with. The innocent romantic duels between the two popular kids exacerbated her acceptance of Daria back into her life, if there was one positive she found from that.    

“Okay, fine. I get it. But yeah, we’re all good. We started dating a couple days ago… it’s been pretty fun, you know the whole lovey-dovey phase?” 

“Well, I hope it continues going good for you two. Anyways, I gotta keep these two in check again,” he indiscreetly pointed at the two Stooges, nearly dropping their belongings to enter into a fistfight, before asking, “I’ll see you around?”

“See ya around, Sloane.” Jane and Tom both shook hands, and walked in the opposite direction. 

Just like that, a crisis was thankfully averted. No need to press the nuclear button anytime soon – this was no Cuban Missile Crisis. Jane quickly got what she needed (the whole food thing, remember?), and walked back through the miles of anguish to get back home. Suffering abound.

Well, that was an usual outing, even for her standards. It was time to go home, eat some food and hang out with Daria. Oh, the good things in life. Wouldn’t it be nice to spend every day like that, just having some fun? Not wasting a minute more, she opened the door to see Daria with her paper complete. 

And that was how Jane Lane managed to stay busy, doing nothing.

Chapter Text

Hi,

This is a brief, yet sad intermission that I did not think would happen sooner.

The individual artist responsible for influencing this very fic, has passed away. Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys was 82.

I couldn't process this at all. It's why I haven't posted a chapter so far since, what, Busy Doin' Nothin'? I couldn't tell ya. He was a crucial part of this fic - his songs are essentially the soul that keeps this train running in my mind. I have one more definitive BB-related chapter, but I feel the need to rethink my initial plans now after this heartache and a half.

I believe in Daria that Turn The Sun Down is their little ode to the surfing Beach Boy image, the California Myth as David Leaf, biographer and close confidant of Brian, had spoken of. It's funny how these two bipolar interests could connect in such a baffling light; I am happy for the love and support that this little idea has gotten, as well. It truly means this whole world (haha, I know the reference) to receive all of this praise.

He meant a lot to my soul. As a kid who was trapped in a room, alone in the world, I had no way of escaping that environment. It definitely made me the outsider growing up, but my first memory involving Brian was his work on the Curious George 2 soundtrack; yes, I grew up with that special little movie and it definitely makes me feel a certain warm glow. Obviously their hits followed afterward, which although I'm not too fond of, I can feel the positivity through. A funny little bliss inside these surfing or cruising songs. Their actual albums, Today!, Pet Sounds, SMiLE, Friends, Sunflower, Surf's Up, and the rest of their discography that I won't mention for brevity's sake, really connected to me on such a remarkably deep level. Brian was THE guy when it came to humility, feeling like he had a responsibility to really reach out to their audience with some of the most honest songs written to man. He wrote about vegetables, his disconnection to the world, and falling asleep in the span of around three years - he crafted art all the time until he couldn't, trying to be as perfect as, he could. That is how I feel with myself, like I wasn't made for these times.

But, more importantly - this fanfiction comes from the song, Funky Pretty. At the time of its' production, the Beach Boys were in an identity crisis with themselves and the public. They kept flip-flopping in marketing, and it didn't help that people wrote them off because they couldn't adapt to what was musically acceptable in 1967 and failed to finish SMiLE. And in this, their manager-at-the-time, Jack Rieley, proposed the idea of recording Holland. Brian, in his early stages of reclusivity in 1972, had automatically made his mind up - he didn't want to go. This would change out of  the influence of other people (like his wife, Marilyn), and thus, with Randy Newman's Sail Away, would craft Funky Pretty and the Mt. Vernon fairy tale EP.

Funky Pretty was how I felt about a certain someone in my life. It's fun in a bittersweet fashion, I tell you. The piano rocks, and it has a lot of charm. A really soulful song that marks the end of their more creative periods, not to entirely discredit their later albums. Anytime I play it, I get reminded of the bright soul of that certain someone, and how things aren't always made to be. But what I've gotten lately all but makes up for the pain I've gotten in the past (and not by them, I should clarify if they are reading). 

She said "Don't worry, it's alright" (Funky pretty come back)
"I'm coming back when the aspects are right" (Funky pretty come back)
And now I look in the paper each day (Funky pretty come back)
Wondering what my horoscope will say

I leave you with a future snippet as my sincerest apology:

“Oh… well, I hope you all have a wonderful day! And remember–” Mr. O’Neill tried giving a heartwarming speech about the passion of writing, and how one has to strive for the best to little success. The bell rang once more, signaling an end to his class; everyone bolted out the door, never looking back except for Daria and Jane, who casually walked away from the scene. Oh well, it truly was a futile effort after all; he really had to grasp the limits of his expectations sometime. 

Mr O’Neill would look at the stack of student papers once everyone was gone, and was truly appalled at the samples he received. To put it lightly, the quality of work was atrocious from most involved. He sighed, placing his hands on his face for a few seconds as if it couldn’t get worse than this – never, in his years of teaching, would he ever get such underachieving or downright ambivalent works in his life. The students either didn’t try, or worse: they wouldn’t try. It broke his spirit into tiny splitters of leftover optimism, like any words Mr. O’Neill wanted to say were too nice for this world; he continued sifting, mediocre papers were glossed over as he yearned for something… anything…

“Oh, Timothy… why couldn’t you have done more with your life?” He seemed defeated, putting his hands on his face and rubbing them with anguish (not unlike his colleague, DeMartino), wondering how on Earth he managed to slip so hard. What could he have done in his past to grant this? Mr. O’Neill was stranded in a town full of unchallenged, uncaring students who had no sense of accomplishment and perseverance. 

Just as the apathy kicked his spirits, the paper hit him in the face. Presented neatly in the center of his worktable, Mr. O’Neill found an oasis in the middle of the desert, trying hard not to weep; the tears, though, would slip on through the cracks of his soul. Daria and Jane were both exceptional students in their own right, but whatever Jane did must’ve helped Daria out – Daria had a well-rounded, stellar paper that no one could compete with. If only she’d be willing to publish it to the school, or even on the internet if need be. 

I hope Brian has broken free of these worldly shackles, and gone on into the wind. I will come back with Break Away, the final chapter of this little arc this story has been on, soon enough.

Love and mercy to all of my dear readers and friends,

The Mole

Chapter Text

Monday. 

The most spectacular day for absolutely no one, and an eternal prison for mostly everyone. Well, except if you’re that one nerd who is super excited over calculus homework (but we can brush that conversation aside); Daria and Jane were shipped off into the hellhole (ironically named Lawndale High) once more, and things were normal again. Starting off in Mr. DeMartino’s history class, he asked a couple questions relating to the Marshall Plan to Kevin Thompson – a big mistake brewing for all involved. 

“KEVIN! Would you please TELL me how the Marshall PLAN worked out for the Europeans… and PLEASE take this seriously for ONCE…” At this point Mr. Demartino was on the verge of tears, wanting the madness to end. Even after the reinvigorating summer camp, he just couldn’t catch a break – he was just put through the wringer, again and again. A cruel joke placed upon him by a malevolent trickster. 

“Uh… they went into the last drive with a Hail Mary?” Kevin, with a last ditch effort, tried throwing from a fourth down, fumbling completely. Not only was it in football terminology (like usual), but he had no idea how to even connect the two ideas together. Mr. DeMartino simply shattered into pieces, broke into tears, and tried ripping his hair out simultaneously. 

Unfortunately his frustrations were in vain, unable to enact the deed. But hey, he still preserved one of his most essential facial features. Though, he looked utterly defeated, as if a witty comment could not substitute his grief; thankfully Mr. DeMartino was able to project his anger onto himself, with him saying:

“STUPID door handle, STUPID world… why couldn’t I have gone to a better PROFESSION! Surely without any meddling IMBECILES breathing down my NECK!” With the ungodly strength of an ancient Olympian flowing through his veins, Mr. Demartino would shatter the door hinge when pulling on the door handle. His wrath at an all-time apex proved effective against the door; everyone could hear the loud ‘snap’ as it turned into a cartoonish crash – the history teacher would knock himself onto the ground, skidding across the floor from the sheer force of his repressed anger. Yes, the door detached from the wall. Yes, Mr. DeMartino would need to explain his lunacy to Principal Li. 

Class dismissed.

Then there was Mr. O’Neill, their English teacher that had wonderfully provided Daria the special assignment she so diligently worked on. Well, diligently might not be the most applicable word, but still, she did indeed work on this project. Turns out, it wasn’t as special as she thought it was when she entered the classroom.

“Hi, everyone! I’d love to see what you all wonderfully wrote!” Mr. O’Neill enthusiastically grinned. Suddenly, everyone threw their papers at him like a game of frisbee, where he was one of those metallic goal baskets. He quickly caught all of the chaos with his sixth sense, courtesy of being a teacher, where he’d sigh in relief.

“So, does anyone want to talk about their paper?” Mr. O’Neill looked around. The class went immediately silent, a damning juxtaposition that left O’Neill with no choice - he had to pick somebody to talk. The choices were endless.

“What about you, Mack?” Mr. O’Neill promptly asked, knowing that he’d have a good answer to offer to the class. Or at least, better than most people beside a certain few (cough, cough, Daria and Jodie.) Mack Mackenzie, the bitter-to-be-here team captain of the Lawndale Lions, stood up from his seat and began talking about his paper:

“Well, I talked about my parents. And then Jodie, who is a very great friend and partner,” Mack took a look at Jodie, giving a small, affectionate smile. She tried hiding her blush to the best of her abilities, obviously trying to be a bit discreet in attention; Jodie didn’t want any more attention on herself, but was also grateful – after all, Mack didn’t really need to say anything more, either. He continued:

“She helped me realize I can strive against… certain expectations, and become the best person I can be.” Mack gave a straightforward response that was both inoffensive to Kevin, and insightful to his own character. 

Mack dealt with a lot of peer pressure, carrying his teammates on a few occasions through the real world outside football (school never was the strong suit for most on the team), not to mention on the football field as well. It didn’t help that his social status as one of the few African Americans at Lawndale High raised the pressure to a nearly insurmountable threshold. He always felt like someone, whether it be his father, teachers, or classmates always looked toward him, demanding him to prove his worth, as it was the case whenever Mack would receive some accolades (even if they weren’t as plentiful as what Jodie had); it was simply a little lonely at the top, trying to make it through the crazy games life threw at him. All the applause, all the praise would eventually run out, like the sands of an hourglass; when everyone knew his name, Mack knew they would come look at him when he lost the football fame. 

“Thank you, Mack, for such insightful thoughts! Now, everyone, remember to remember the people who were there for you. Nowadays, appreciation can go a long way – even if it’s super simple and easy!” Mr. O’Neill actually gave a genuine response, which ironically gave him a spiritual rejuvenation. He then called on someone else to contribute to the conversation:

“How about you, Andrea?” Mr. O’Neill hoped that Andrea would also impart some fine words of wisdom.   

“Death.” Andrea coldly remarked. Well, that was enough talking to the students, Mr. O’Neill thought. 

“Oh… well, I hope you all have a wonderful day! And remember–” Mr. O’Neill tried giving a heartwarming speech about the passion of writing, and how one has to strive for the best to little success. The bell rang once more, signaling an end to his class; everyone bolted out the door, never looking back except for Daria and Jane, who casually walked away from the scene. Oh well, it truly was a futile effort after all; he really had to grasp the limits of his expectations sometime. 

 Mr O’Neill would look at the stack of student papers once everyone was gone, and was truly appalled at the samples he received. To put it lightly, the quality of work was atrocious from most involved. He sighed, placing his hands on his face for a few seconds as if it couldn’t get worse than this – never, in his years of teaching, would he ever get such underachieving or downright ambivalent works in his life. The students either didn’t try, or worse: they wouldn’t try. It broke his spirit into tiny splinters of leftover optimism, like any words Mr. O’Neill wanted to say were too nice for this world; he continued sifting, mediocre papers were glossed over as he yearned for something… anything…

“Oh, Timothy… why couldn’t you have done more with your life?” He seemed defeated, putting his hands on his face and rubbing them with anguish (not unlike his colleague, DeMartino), wondering how on Earth he managed to slip so hard. What could he have done in his past to grant this? Mr. O’Neill was stranded in a town full of unchallenged, uncaring students who had no sense of accomplishment and perseverance. 

Just as the apathy kicked his spirits, the paper hit him in the face. Presented neatly in the center of his worktable, Mr. O’Neill found an oasis in the middle of the desert, trying hard not to weep; the tears, though, would slip on through the cracks of his soul. Daria and Jane were both exceptional students in their own right, but whatever Jane did must’ve helped Daria out. Daria had a well-rounded, stellar paper that no one could compete with — if only she’d be willing to publish it to the school, or even on the internet if need be. 

In the hallway, Daria and Jane chatted about some mundane observations they saw within the student population, nothing unique. Until something caught Daria’s interest, her eyes peeking with amusement.


“Oh, hey. Look at this.” Daria cleverly pointed at a flyer posted onto the bulletin board. It featured an all-arts exhibition and contest at the newly renovated Lawndale Arts Center; it became an illustrious building thanks to the architect in charge and some fancy events held by some rich people around the area. It probably included the Sloanes, who were notable for their wealth and power around Lawndale; both girls even knew a certain Sloane… and they simply left it at that. Regardless, winning the competition would be a good source of income for their college funds, and even entering would be a notable achievement on their records.

“Hm, this could be good for the both of us, ya know? You are on a hot streak with your writing…” Jane began persuading Daria to exit her comfort zone and enter into the competition with her. 

“No. I’d rather keep my integrity and save myself from high-class collusion. After all, you know they control everything…” Daria jokingly responded, though her answer to the contest was pretty firm. Unfortunately, she would be quickly persuaded by the stakes involved with such a high-end event. 

“Y’know we could earn a lot from the prize pool. Infinite pizza and probably enough for a full-ride scholarship, too. You could make a name for yourself, Morgendorffer. And hey, why not show off to Ms. Li that you aren’t bound by her system?” Jane had a point – why bother? When you’re witty, you could be accepted anywhere (given a grand entrance and more importantly, bribery to some extent). 

“Yeah, but I’d still be bound by the system, and that’s a strict no for me. Stupid system and its complicated games, always having to get in our way.” Daria feigned an excuse not to join in at this point, but Jane wasn’t having it. She had to go big, or go home. 

“I’ll buy you a couple pies if I win.” Jane tempted Daria with lots of pizza. It was too much for Daria not to accept, seeing as how the reward became personal. Real personal. Her participation had been bought by the very system she hated interacting with, a slippery slope into becoming a corrupt member of the elite soon enough. Of course, that is if she tried her hardest, which Daria already did for the past several days, but at the same time, she probably would be coerced into entering via Mr. O’Neill anyway. It looked like Daria had no other options but to accept defeat at the hands of the Empress.

“Fine.” Daria grumbled. She would rather be on the sidelines this time to support her girlfriend, but was now entering the competition for the grand prize. That way they both could reap the rewards in their respective category, easy as that. That was when lightbulbs were burning brightly, the stars ignited strongly; they were truly in, together taking down whoever was in their sights. But what was the theme? Was there any criteria, or was it based on merit (or potential nepotism) that the individual possessed in their work? 

They decided to attend the optional meeting in Mr. O’Neill’s classroom (which they just left from, ironically enough). When entering his room, they immediately noticed an absence of competitors; when it came down to Lawndale High, very few people were there to excel beyond the usual cast of nerds and overachievers. In contrast were Jane and Daria, doing it for the potential pizza that money could afford. In front of the two girls was a spokesperson, a university student whose name tag read “Jordan”. He definitely looked the part, slick black hair that had been combed back, to the funky polka dot bow tie that had no reason matching his outfit. He quickly shook both of their hands, shouting:

“Hello there! Timothy didn’t tell me anything about you guys… trust me!” Mr. Jordan jittered, not trying to raise suspicions - even if he definitely did through his total slip-up. Jane nervously glanced at Daria, with Daria peering at Jane back; they both knew they were in too deep now. It was time to embrace their fate. 

“Uh, so you do know about us?” Jane quickly replied, unsure of how to traverse this truly awkward situation. Mr. Jordan 

“Oh! Pretend I didn’t say anything… please?” Mr. Jordan pleaded, begging for mercy. As it turned out, his pleas were almost unrecognized in favor of a heavy interrogation, if not for Daria’s ethics getting in the way, of course. It sometimes sucks having that change of heart, but she hatched a particularly ingenious idea — one that definitely, well maybe might work out for the two.

“We were about to,” Daria cheekily replied, “Until you brought up your affiliation with Mr. O’Neill. Now, tell us what we need to know. Or else…” Jane knew exactly where Daria was taking this, and decided to escalate Mr. Jordan’s internal turmoil, even if it was a little cruel. 

“...Or else we’ll ditch the competition! It’s not like you can replace us that easily, and we know you need Lawndale High representatives on your guys’ roster…” 

Checkmate.

“Okay, fine. You got me. What do you guys want?” Mr. Jordan had enough, caving into their demands fairly quickly. He’d then drop all the details he knew – for one, they had three weeks to create their submission. The contest would have three rounds, or more aptly, stages versus other competitors from the region. The preliminary stage would be a general review of every submission, with half of the submitters eliminated at the end. From there, the second stage would consist of small clusters competing against one another; in the eyes of the council, the clusters were to ensure everyone had an equal playing field, completing more reviews under further scrutiny. The last stage would come down to two submissions, with the chosen one announced as the winner of that certain category. 

And then, there was the actual council of directors, otherwise known as the judges. The judges were very, very affluent people whose tastes were as milquetoast as one could expect; they liked elegant and simple designs that were inoffensive and easy to critique. The judges, to put it shortly, were all Ernold Sames — looked at the same things, enjoyed the same crap, and had the same universally accepted opinion. The council were squeaky clean in reputation, nothing going on in their lives like a whacky satirical joke, save for the fact that the punchline was that this was all real. 

“I think we’re done with our business here. Pleasure working with you.” Daria immediately looked at Jane, who struck a nod back. They booked it out of the room, deciding it wasn’t worth sticking around any longer. 

So, with their questions answered, the duo decided to take an unconventional approach to their projects: procrastinate for a bit. After all, they were sure to win…