call yourself a living girl.

[interpersonal]

who | elena gilbert + you
where | the entrance hall + around.
when | throughout august.
rating | tba? prose + brackets equally welcome.
summary | elena returns from her canon update. then there is a catch-all post for the month of august. then there is a literary question. give me everything.
the story |

a r r i v a l.

[ a young woman stands in the middle of your entrance hall, eway.

she is decked out in formal wear, and for a beat or two, looks very confused. a dozen tiny pieces of her heart, all of them belonging to wonderland, start falling back into place. it is with effort elena shakes off a sense of displacement. months went by where she could not, for the life of her, remember this place. months.

in mystic falls, that's several lifetimes.

elena turns in place, almost lightheaded with an overwhelming feeling. she's heard the stories. she's listened to other people's experiences. wonderland is a revolving door: with every swivel, people come, and then they go.

and sometimes they come back again.

don't mind the girl in the ball gown storming the proverbial castle. the mansion is eerily quiet, and she needs to make sure she isn't the only one left standing. ]

a u g u s t.

[ it doesn't take long for elena to pick up where she left off. sure, life back home is a roller coaster and then some, but when is it not? life doesn't stop, and neither does elena. she refuses to wallow. refuses to linger on what she can't change—yet. throughout the month, she settles back into some kind of routine. she jogs every morning, bright and early. she stops by the coffee shop afterward for her daily fix. every other evening, she hits the gym; there's a sandbag with her name on it, and elena pummels it with more skill than she used to.

you can thank alaric saltzman (and faith lehane) for that last one.

bump into her during any and all of these instances. alternatively, feel free to ask ella to write a better more specific starter for your character. ♥ ]

n e t w o r k.

[ okay, so she keeps busy. elena is a busy bee if there ever was one. if she isn't doing her nancy drew thing in hopes of uncovering wonderland's secrets, she's checking in on her loved ones, helping evelyn at the library, or preparing herself for wonderland's upcoming events. but her trip back home has left her restless and somewhat uneasy.

it means sleep is hard to come by.

it means elena is at the library, curled up on her favorite brown leather chair, with a shawl at her feet. she turns her device on and activates the text feature, addressing any and all night owls still awake. ]

Does anyone have any book recommendations? I'm not picky with genres, as long as the writer has something interesting to say. [ in lieu of her network post, there is always stumbling on her at the library proper. she'll be roaming the stacks in search of her next read. ]

Comments

[eyething]

[damon lifts up the glass again when she asks her question. his eyes are dark even as he swallows more of that burn, fingertips tightening over the glass in his hand. he doesn't know what she is thinking, and he doesn't want to guess at it for once.

she was one of the first to believe in him, to tell him to be better when he's always known he is not. better.]

It's just going to lead to disappointment.

Believing someone shouldn't be tortured by themselves or someone else for what they are doesn't make me someone's friend. [and if jowan hadn't mentioned the torture part, damon might have killed him right then and there

for daring to believe that damon was anything more than the monster with teeth.]

[interpersonal]

Damon ...

[ her voice trails off.

this is what he does. she knows it's what he does. and in a way, it's confirmation that her choice not to embrace this feeling isn't the wrong one; that lashing out, proving he is the worst, not even trying to see beyond that, would lead to nothing but destruction at the first bump. she sees it as proof.

it doesn't mean she isn't sorry, in a sense. ]

About last night—

[eyething]

[damon lives to give confirmation to all the terrible, disappointing things anyone has ever believed about him from his father to the rest. he can never escape it. the darkness has been a part of him since before he became a vampire. he was a monster before he got fangs, and no one understands that. no one gets that.

he was a human piece of shit, and now- now it's unrepentant. now he's no longer a victim being terrible in the midst of circumstances. he makes his own circumstances. and now he shoves himself up to his feet, shaking his head as he walks away from her without looking back.]

You love Stefan, Elena. There's nothing about that I don't already know so go ahead and retreat to your safe little cocoon where you can act like you don't look at me when you think I'm not looking, like you don't think and feel there's something between us because that's easier.

Because that's fine. Because I am what I am, and as long as I am what I am, you can brush this off. We both know-

[a hundred million words, all the words the mirror ever said to him flash through his head right about now. the only reason you are close to her-

the only reason.

he is terrible, he is insecure, he is unable to stop himself at all.

damon salvatore has never had anyone to blame for his hurt and his pain but himself from the very start (and how ever he lashes out, he knows that).]

We both know if Stefan was here... We wouldn't get to be us at all. So don't try to bring it up now like you have anything to say when you said it all last night, and I get it and that's that, and if you didn't fucking notice, I was here anyway.

[as if he has any right to demand to be noticed for doing the bare minimum, for not recklessly destroying things because he's hurt.

he doesn't. he knows that too. he looks back at her once, and only once, and then he leaves before she can reply, before she can say all the things they both already know]

[interpersonal]

[ elena's lips part, stunned enough that breath is knocked right out of her.

so much of their understanding is born out of the things they do not say. it rests in the dark moments no one else can see.

when morning comes, she can put them away in a drawer no one sees.

she doesn't know how one night can blow that all apart, but it did. the words are out in the open now. elena can't not acknowledge them anymore; not when he's confronting her like this. she swallows with difficulty, her throat lodging with all the responses that get stuck there. she'd scream them out if she knew how.

a warmth gathers in her eyes, suddenly and with intensity, and she blinks it back as he walks past her. for the life of her, she can't think of a single thing to say, not even his name. it's almost ironic that she once wanted to be a novelist. his words are a weapon, and every single one of them hits their mark.

elena turns in place, looking at the door he's since closed.

a hand splays in her stomach, and she lowers herself back down to the bay window. her other hand lifts to grab hold of a locket that's no longer around her neck. a habit she hasn't entirely done away with. her fingers curve around her throat instead.

oh. ]