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'

o.O.o

Prologue

The graduation party had been in full spring 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 rearview mirror, looking at me in that disapproving way 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 really 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 horribly wrong. The fact that my died 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 quickly moving-by line of trees and the rain pounding down around me gave away nothing and as unsuspiciously as I could I peered at the man in the driver's seat and the woman in the passenger's seat. Peered 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 till ten before opening them again and pinched my upper arm. The car, the sudden rain, the two people; they were exactly 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 stare back at me when I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. Holy fuck.

Holy Flying Fuck!

"No!" I shrieked, flailing my arms around so violently the man hit the brakes. The car squealing and swerving on the road because, fuck that bridge! "Oh my God— Stop! Let me out!"

"Elena?"

"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 thrills 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 chocking. 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 and I made a low keening 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 have a fight with Matt?" The woman asked, carting 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 his 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 I was, everything that could possibly go wrong would go wrong. Elena Gilbert was the Doppelgänger in the Vampire Diaries. I hadn't watched the series after season 4, but even without actually following all the episodes after that, I owned a computer and seen enough spoilers on YouTube to know that even after season 4, Elena's life remained shitty until the eighth season's finale. 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 was 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 against my arms until at least 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 the mother had given him THE 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 all, all right?" 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 shiny wet and his hair clinging to his face. I remembered vaguely 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 felt still 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?" He asked, skin pallid in the lights 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. A sharp twinge of guilt shot through my chest, when his green eyes met mine in a startled way, but— could anyone really blame me? Elena might have fancied Stefan Salvatore. 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 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 1, 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 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. He is a ripper— He tore limbs and heads off in the show— He can 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 stream 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. Mister Gilbert held on to me, I guess I looked as if I would keen 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 Mister Gilbert to not drive too fast, because he started the engine and drove so slow vampire Stefan stared at the retreating Volvo, his eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline. The next second he was gone, yet, 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 had a fight 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 through the sheen of tears still clinging stubbornly to my lashes. I recognised the cemetery from the pilot scene and the high school. 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. The father — Grayson, right, he was called Grayson — kept stealing worried glances at me. I kept myself 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 on Elena's bed. She sat down next to me, wrapping a large, fluffy towel tightly around me.

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

"Erm—"

I had no idea. I knew Elena had been attending some kind of party. I knew she'd argued (at the very least) with Matt, but I had no idea what exactly it was that had happened between them.

"Elena?"

"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 calling with Bonnie. I was almost sure it was Bonnie who she had been talking to over the phone just before she would meet Damon. Fuck, she already met Damon earlier that evening (and Stefan).

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.

"Elena."

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 shrugged: "I—" I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to remember what had happened in the series. "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). "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 (after I'd reassured her, multiple times that is, that I was fine). I slid down the door, 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 back? What would happen if something happened to Elena Gilbert's body? What happened when she turned? Technically she died to make that happen, so would that mean I would be thrown back in my own? Or would I be stuck in hers for an 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 and wandered to the white desk and the large mirror above it. My fingers skimmed over the glass, eyes drawn to the many pictures and I took in every one last 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. 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 actually 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, fingered the brass doorknob of the in-built 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 again. 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 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, dropping it over the sink and moved around the bedroom again, hoping to find the pair of pyjama's Elena must have worn before. 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 was better than nothing and dropped them beside the towel (once I'd located a clean pair of undies). Stepping beneath the spray I turned the heat up until it was almost scalding me, but ignored pink hue my skin had turned to. 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 until the water turned clear. Once, I was done, I dried, dressed and back-pedalled out and back in 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. Curling up on the window seat, wrapping a blanket around me, I tried to settle comfortably, gazing outside. Perhaps, when I woke up again, everything was normal. Somehow, as my eyes drooped closed, I 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 obviously be AU.