A/N: The Corona Virus certainly gave me more time to write, however, it did not solve my writer's block on several of my stories. It did inspire me to write this. Or a weird dream did. I never wrote a self-insert before and after having a very vivid dream of being Elena (where I fucked up every single part of the show — or whatever part I was dreaming about), I was quite curious how it would play out if a girl was sucked in a television show. Anyway, let me know what you think.

Still, this OC is not an exact copy of me. It isn't- but she'll be from our 'parallel universe'.

Disclaimer: characters or elements from the books or the show are not mine. They will probably never be mine. This story is solely for everyone's enjoyment.

This story is edited by my amazing beta HPuni101. Thank you for taking the time to read and correct this story. I'm very grateful.




The graduation party had been in full swing when my mum came to get me that night. She had to. I was in no shape to drive as I struggled to keep my balance and clambered into her red Volkswagen ungracefully. She met my flitting stare in the rear-view mirror, looking at me in that disapproving way only parents could, even when you were no longer a minor and I closed my eyes, rolling my fingers over my already aching temples.

It had started to drizzle, pitter-pattering on the car and the window felt deliciously cool against my heated forehead. I'm not sure exactly what happened. I don't know, but one moment I was sitting in the back of our Volkswagen and the next the synthetic textile material I was gripping at smoothed out into cool leather. The drunken haze I'd been feeling that evening had receded ever so slightly and I bolted upright. The warm skin tone of my hand and the pink sweatshirt I hadn't been wearing before were the first clues something was wrong. The fact that my dyed red hair had turned a dark brown (a shade darker than my original colour) was the second. I froze, fingers tightening so tightly around the seatbelt my knuckles turned white. I was in a car, definitely not my mum's and my eyes widened, headache forgotten.

I carefully peeked outside the window. The quickly moving-by line of trees and the rain pounding down around me gave away nothing, and as unsuspiciously as I took a glance at the man in the driver's seat and the woman in the passenger's seat. I glanced at their joined hands over the gear shift and my breathing sped up. Had I been kidnapped? Had I been so drunk, I hadn't even noticed someone taking me from my mum's car? I mean, I did have several cups of spiked punch, but I was pretty sure I would have noticed so—

Where the fuck was I and how had I gotten there? My mind came up blank.

Blinking rapidly, because perhaps this was just a dream, I finally squeezed my eyes closed, counting to ten before opening them again and pinched my upper arm. The car, the sudden rain, the two people; they were the same and the spot on my arm ached angrily. At least, I suddenly realised why the two people looked so familiar, right as the bridge appeared in the distance. The dim light of the car gave it an ominous glow and somehow it was that moment that I remembered a very similar one, right before a white car rammed the guardrail and I watched Elena Gilbert's panicked face staring back at me when I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror. Holy fuck.

Holy Flying Fuck!

"No!" I shrieked, flailing my arms around so violently the man hit the brakes. The car squealed and swerved on the road because fuck that bridge! I couldn't— we couldn't cross over that bridge. I'd been in a car accident once before, not a bad one, but an accident all the same. I had my driver's licence for two, perhaps three months, when I suddenly had to hit the brakes. I reacted prematurely, the woman behind me didn't. Her car slammed into mine, giving me a serious crick in the neck and practically murdering the bumper of my dad's car. It wasn't too bad, but I certainly had been frightened. I could only imagine the horror of a free-fall and almost drowning in the process. I couldn't, "Oh my God— Stop! Let me out!"


The car rolled to a stop, my head slammed into the car window and I kicked out, panicked and short of breath. "No. NO. NOOO!" I gasped, for a moment struggling with the seatbelt before unlocking the door. I fell face first, crawled away until I felt the blades of grass from the roadside and heaved violently. The putrid smell of vodka (which I hadn't had that night) met my nose and I dry heaved for several seconds before burying my hands in my hair, rocking on the balls of my feet, face pressed against my knees. This couldn't be real. My nose was running, and my eyes were burning, and I felt like I was choking. The rain was thundering down on my back and water was seeping into my sneakers (well, actually not mine, nothing about this body was mine) and— oh God, I was truly starting to panic.

"Jesus, Elena, how much did you drink?" The man asked as I made a low pitiful sound.

"Sweetie?" The woman asked, crouching down beside me, running her fingers through my hair.

"No," I gasped, "no, I—" I continued. I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

"Did you fight with Matt?" The woman asked, gently sweeping my hair over my shoulder.

"I—" I gasped and wiped my eyes with my sleeve and took a stuttering breath.

"Oh, honey!" She whispered as if somehow my panicked silence was affirmative enough, and her arms wrapped tightly around me. I certainly hadn't expected that and froze. I fucking froze, because this really couldn't be happening. Because if it was, I was fucked. Brutally, horribly fucked. Because, if it was, everything that could go wrong would go wrong. Elena Gilbert was the doppelgänger in the Vampire Diaries. I hadn't watched the series after season four, but even without following all the episodes after that, I owned a computer and had seen enough spoilers on YouTube to know that even after season four, Elena's life remained shitty right until the very end of season eight.

The woman, Miranda I thought, was still talking to me and I knew I should listen, I should pay attention, but a full-blown panic attack started to hook its claws into me and my breathing turned shallow and uneven. She seemed blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil and I had to force the tears away, blinking repeatedly until I managed to stop crying hysterically (I was still sniffing and tears were still trailing down my cheeks, but I would call it progress). I looked up again and fell to my knees. Elena's father had settled on my other side and I had the distinct impression Elena's mother had given him a look to stop him questioning his extremely upset daughter.

"Honey?" He asked and I stared at his not-unkind face. A face that I remembered in the haze of water, mouthing 'I love you' at Elena Gilbert when they were drowning. When they were supposed to drown before Stefan swam by and saved Elena. But— well, I had fucked that up. Although, honestly, I thought that was a plus at least. I pinched myself again.

"Are you alright?" An aching familiar voice asked, and I flinched so violently, Elena's dad whirled around. I watched him, wide-eyed and probably white-faced, over the shoulder of Elena's father. Stefan Salvatore, in real life, in a way I'd never seen him before, stood there. He was handsome, even with the deep lines etched into his forehead and he was looking at me as if he'd seen a ghost. He probably felt that way. Probably, was now reminiscing about forgotten times and I felt my lip tremble. His leather jacket was drenched and his hair clinging to his face. He looked soaked to the skin, but he wasn't shivering. Vampires didn't get cold. I wasn't sure why I remembered that now and I vaguely recalled he had been hunting on the show when Elena and her parents had the accident. However, I couldn't know that. I couldn't know any of that and I ground my teeth together. I had liked watching the show from the comfort of my bedroom, but— living it, or rather fucking it up. No— Hell no! No way in hell! No Fucking Way!

"Oh, yes, we're fine," Miranda answered, recovering the quickest. "Our daughter felt a bit sick."

Their daughter still felt sick. I wrapped my arms tightly around my waist, hoping I could hold off the next wave of nausea roiling around my stomach. It would probably be another dry-heave anyway and I scrambled to my feet, holding tightly on to Elena's father.

"Can I help?" Stefan asked, skin pallid in the light of the lanterns.

"Hell no!" I blurted, already regretting my admission, but the words fell from my lips without any consent from my brain. Perhaps Elena had drunk too much that night too (the lack of inhibitions certainly suggested so). A sharp twinge of guilt shot through my chest when his green eyes startlingly met mine, but— could anyone blame me? Elena might have fancied Stefan Salvatore, but I did not. Right now, I could only see the risks he would pose. The risks to Elena, her family and of course, with Stefan came Damon Salvatore. The narcissistic older brother who'd promised an 'eternity of misery' and who was obsessed with Elena's— my face. And because of Elena, he changed for the better but— Oh my fucking God, I was no Elena. I hadn't swooned in front of my laptop every time one of those guys appeared on screen, although I had enjoyed their romance, their story, I had been more of a fan of Caroline Forbes (well, of Caroline Forbes post-season one, I suppose). I pitied Elena; she had an extremely shitty life— but I didn't understand her infatuation with the Salvatore brothers. Stefan had so many skeletons in his closet and Damon abused everyone to get what he wanted—

"I mean, no thank you." I tried, breathing in deeply through my nose. "I'm sorry, mum, dad, I— I got spooked when I saw the wet asphalt. I felt as if we would crash— I know it's silly," I continued, forcing a small apologetic smile at Stefan.

Stefan Salvatore is a ripper— He tore limbs and heads off in the show— He could hurt me. After all, I was not sweet and warm and kind like Elena. I was— well, me. I'd been the loner girl that spent her time either streaming online, draw or spent a ridiculous time at the local library. I was an animal lover, a vegetarian and had enjoyed spending time with animals over humans since the age of twelve.

Mr Gilbert held onto me, I guess I looked as if I would fall over any second now and he directed me to the car, this time to the passenger's seat. Somehow my quivering body must have conveyed to Mr Gilbert to not drive too fast because he started the engine and drove so slowly away from the vampire.

Taking a glance in the rear-view mirror, I stared back at Stefan who hadn't moved an inch from where we left him. But the next second he was gone. Elena's parents didn't seem to have noticed. Some vampire hunters they were.

"Did you know that boy?" Miranda asked and I slowly turned to her in the backseat. We had passed Wickery Bridge, and Elena and her parents had survived. Would that endanger the storyline? I had no idea. I had no idea what to do and I inhaled deeply, almost successfully calming my frayed nerves. "Elena?"

"No," I puffed out my cheeks, "no, I— I think I did drink a bit too much. And yes, I fought with Matt. You're right, mum."

"Yeah," Miranda nodded, "it's okay honey."

It wasn't. But I couldn't say that and stared out of the window. The town was somewhat familiar as we passed through it. I'd seen enough episodes to recognise the main street with the clock tower and the dark banner of the Mystic Grill, even though the sheen of tears still clinging stubbornly to my lashes. I recognised the cemetery from the pilot scene and the high school with the large graffiti Timberwolf image.

My fingers kept drawing circles over my cheekbones, the arch of my eyebrows and finally settled them wrapped around my wrists, arms curled over my stomach. Elena's father — Grayson, right, he was called Grayson — kept stealing worried glances at me. I kept myself, my facial expression, under control until we arrived at the Gilbert house. The house Elena torched down in the fourth season. The two-story house with soaring ceilings and the porch swing and the neat lawn.

I let Miranda lead me to Elena's room and she sat me down on Elena's bed. She settled down next to me, wrapping a large, fluffy towel tightly around me.

"So, what happened between you and Matt?" She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

"Erm—" I had no idea. I knew Elena had been attending some kind of party.

"You know you can still talk to me, right?"

"Of course," I agreed and thought hard, my eyebrows furrowing together until my head started to hurt. I knew she'd argued (at the very least) with Matt Donovan, but I had no idea what exactly it was that had happened between them.


"I—" I started, more tears starting to form in my eyes, and I tried to think about the show again. Tried to remember what she'd said when she was on the phone with Bonnie. I was almost sure it was Bonnie who she had been talking to just before she met Damon. Fuck, she already met Damon earlier that evening (and Stefan). Fuck. Fuck!

Miranda met my eyes and smiled gently, looking strangely as if she was dealing with a frazzled animal. "Here let me help you out of your wet clothes."

"It's fine," I mumbled.


Teeth digging into my lower-lip, I inhaled sharply again. I skimmed out of the wet skinny jeans that were clinging to my legs like a second skin and forced the next words out, "I—," I squeezed my eyes closed as Miranda pulled the pink shirt over my head and I tried so hard to remember. "I haven't broken up with him— yet. We — he just has everything mapped out and I don't— I don't know what I want yet."

"You're sixteen," Miranda said and I almost screamed (I wasn't, or I hadn't been fifteen minutes ago) and she wrapped a blue bathrobe around me. "You don't have to know what you want."

"I know," I mumbled back. It was solid advice too.

"But Elena, he deserves your honesty." She told me and smiled sadly. "Your honesty will set him free. Don't you think it's what he deserves?"

"Yeah." I agreed. "You're right, mum."

"Try to sleep. We'll talk about your drinking habits the morning."

"Okay," I mumbled grimacing. Talking about my drinking habits with a virtual stranger. Joy—

Miranda was right though (even if she was fictional). Matt deserved Elena's honestly. And he got it too. They broke up before the start of the pilot. I remembered the longing looks and the sad blue eyes rather vividly from the first episode and after that final bit of motherly advice, she left me (after I'd reassured her, multiple times that is, that I was fine).

Pushing the door closed behind Miranda, I slid down the wall, hugging my knees to my chest and inhaled sharply, muffling my sobs against my legs. For a long time, I remained there, back pressed against the door for a long time. I felt marginally better when I looked up again but worry and fear still coiled deep in my stomach. If I was Elena, then what happened to my body? Was she me? Did I even exist in this dimension? I couldn't exactly Google myself. In 2009 I was not on social media; I wasn't even sure I even had a computer back then. My parents had always been very wary of computers and smartphones and I only got those when I truly needed them for essays and papers. Besides, if I didn't exist, or if I did, how did I get myself back? What would happen if something happened to Elena Gilbert's body? What would happen if she still turned into a vampire? Technically she died to make that happen, so would that mean I would be thrown back in my own? Would I need to die? Or would I be stuck in her body for eternity?


I forced out a furious laugh and slowly got to my feet. How did I even manage to fuck up my life to such proportions? I groaned and slowly moved through the slightly familiar bedroom. Trailed my fingers over the bed, stared at the painting of a horse above the headboard of the bed and wandered to the white desk and the large vanity mirror above it. My fingers skimmed over the glass, eyes drawn to the many pictures and I took in every one of them. Elena had documented her life well. The frame was full of childhood pictures, birthday parties, dances, even one with her current — where she and Matt even still an item — and I remembered suddenly that Elena Gilbert kept a journal. Probably plural, cause hadn't she wanted to be a writer? I averted my eyes from a picture of Elena, Caroline and Bonnie. The three teenagers sat on the front porch of the Gilberts' house. Elena sat in the middle, perfect posture, perfect teeth, while Bonnie slouched against her shoulder, a small, amused smile grazing her features and Caroline on Elena's left. She had her head turned to the side, mouth curled wide in a spontaneous laugh and I ignored it. Ignored the heavy feeling that had settled in my stomach and I subtly rummaged through the rest of the room. I didn't even know where she would hide that diary.

By now, I was pretty sure none of this was just a dream because my dreams never were this detailed. Never vivid enough that I could feel the soft material of the green shawl hanging from a nail in the wall or feel the orange curtains drawn in front of one of the three large windows in the room. I returned to the other side, touched the brass doorknob of the built-in closet and moved towards the adjoined bathroom.

In the show she shared that bathroom with Jeremy and slowly, I let my fingers glide over the smooth white wall until I found the switch. The bathroom was flooded with harsh neon light a second later and I turned it off almost immediately. On the other side, door firmly closed although light flickered from the crack under the door (video games would be my best guess), would be Jeremy's bedroom. I ventured further inside, my feet growing cold on the tiled-floor and moved towards the shower, turning it on. Steam swiftly filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror and dampening the walls. The skin on Elena's tanned hands turned white, so hard was I gripping the lapels of my bathrobe. Bathing a body that wasn't mine wasn't on top of my priority list. But, even if it wasn't my body, I thought a long hot shower might make me feel better.

I pulled a towel from the bar, dropped it over the sink and moved into Elena's bedroom again, going on a hunt for the pair of pyjama's Elena must have worn previous nights (or any pyjamas at all). Beneath her pillows, I found a white camisole and blue baby shorts and I cringed inwardly. A tad revealing, but I supposed it would have to do. It was better than nothing and I dropped them beside the towel once I'd located a clean pair of undies.

Stepping beneath the yet of water, I turned the heat up until it was almost scalding me, but I ignored the pink hue quickly overtaking my skin. It was as hot as I could take it without blistering me and I leaned in against the steaming droplets thumping down my back. I didn't look at her private parts, feeling that at least I could try and preserve her modesty, when I tipped the body soap bottle over my arms and tried to relax against the wall. I wriggled my toes— I don't know why, because I could? And massaged shampoo into my hair, watching the last of the mud and grime disappear down the drain, leaving a light brown swirl down the drain. My fingers curled through her long tresses gently touched over the tender lump, which felt like a hard-boiled egg, I must have gotten from hitting my head against the car window and finally, stepped out of the shower. I dried, dressed, wrapped a towel around my hair and back-pedalled out and into Elena's room quickly (it was just my luck to run into Jeremy and muck that up as well), and curled up in the window seat, not feeling comfortable snuggling in someone else's bed. Not feeling comfortable with this situation at all.

Perhaps all of this would be gone when I woke up again …

Somehow, I seriously doubted it.

To be continued...

A/N: Updates once a week, but I suspect the first few chapters will follow each other in quick succession.

Disclaimer: I don't own vampire diaries (I never will) and this story will be AU.