#rose tvd

[verseof-vera]

Do you think Damon and Rose would have been a better ship than Damon and Elena

I think they wouldn’t be worse than Delena, but I also don’t think they would be better. Rose was written largely as a mirror or projector for Damon’s supposed goodness. Their connection was framed as a give-and-take, but in practice, it mostly functioned to unravel Damon’s “good” and “complex” emotions. In doing so, the narrative began using Rose to praise Damon in ways that do not fully exist within the actual story.

It felt more like Rose was facilitating Damon emotionally, becoming charmed by him, and trying to fill a vacant place in her own life, as she herself admits.

While it may seem kind or helpful to give Damon someone who cares, the reality is that Rose functions primarily as an instrument for Damon. She becomes his emotional caretaker, constantly pointing out the idea that he pretends not to care.

At that point, it starts to feel like she exists as another angelic figure meant to whitewash Damon’s behavior. There is no issue with Rose saying Damon runs away from caring or that he is like her in that sense, but the problem is that the narrative does not actually show this to be true.

Damon isn’t shown on a significant level as someone as deeply complex that he struggles to care and therefore runs away. When do we actually see him tortured by the act of caring itself? Up to this point, what we mostly see is Damon killing people and snapping Jeremy’s neck. And why does he do all that? Is it simply because he is supposedly going through emotional turmoil? Is that meant to suggest that these actions are his way of coping, or that they somehow justify his behavior?

If the intention was to portray Damon as someone who is deeply tormented because he genuinely cares about his brother, Elena, or others, then the show needed to show that torment clearly and consistently. It needed to show him suffering internally, afraid of his own attachment because of his past experiences.

So when Rose says he runs away when he wants to care, it gives the impression of an Elena-like version of justifying his actions with a “he’s complex, and it’s just a way of dealing with things.” And that’s one thing that doesn’t make their relationship better

The instances that are supposed to show how Damon is similar to her are also not there, so it felt out of place here. The only real moment where Damon appears similar to Rose is on her deathbed, when he shows compassion. But even that moment is driven largely by guilt, because he is the reason she ended up in that position. What he does there is basic decency, something he owed her, not proof of genuine growth.

Because of this, Rose ultimately feels like a narrative tool used to validate Damon’s actions rather than a fully realized character with her own agency. She becomes another cheerleader for him, emotionally supporting and uplifting him without the relationship being equally about her.

And the way she used to cheer Delena up

It was proven that if Damon and Rose were in relationship, the dynamic would still revolve entirely around Damon. Rose would likely lose her individuality and exist mainly as his emotional caretaker, much like what happens in his other relationships.

Just as the idea that Elena “makes Damon better” does not truly hold up, the same applies to Rose. In what meaningful way does she actually bring out goodness in him?

Giving Rose those final visions was an act of compassion, but it was not something that defines Damon as good or changed. It was basic decency, something he owed her..

So this still would not be better than Delena. The two relationships share a fundamental similarity: in both cases, the focus would remain entirely on Damon. While it might not be as overtly problematic as Delena, Rose would still lose much of her individuality, existing less as her own person and more as someone defined by Damon’s story just as Elena does.

[whoreallyevenknowsanyway]

On the stroke of twelve, the spell will be broken, and everything will be as it was before.

[icarusofathousanddays]

[Minor Character Alphabet] Rose-Marie

Prompt: Delirium

Characters: Rose-Marie, Trevor, Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Rose thinks about Trevor.

Notes:

I decided I wanted to write twenty-six ficlets—one for every letter of the alphabet, each with a corresponding @hurtcember prompt—for various minor and recurring TVDU characters.

[Read on AO3] ✶ [Minor Character Alphabet Tag]

...

Rose tries to stand and the room tilts like a ship.

The bite is a coal under her skin—hot, spreading. It has teeth even now, long after the teeth are gone from her flesh. She can feel it in her veins, worrying its way through her like it’s looking for somewhere to settle, somewhere to make a home out of her.

“Don’t—” she thinks she says—or maybe she only breathes it or only thinks it. Her throat feels thick, full of sand.

Rose thinks the hallway is longer than it should be. It is too bright on the edges and too dark in the middle, as if the house has forgotten how to be a house, stretching and warping as if the house has decided to become a corridor in a bad dream. The room she left is only a few steps behind her, a doorframe, a strip of shadow—she can still taste the air in there, still feel the shape of the bed like a bruise on her skin.

But the hall goes on, and on, and on—drywall and old wood and the dim, jittering light that keeps slipping out of focus—

She puts her hand to the wall to steady herself.

The wallpaper is not wallpaper.

It is stone, cold and damp, and she is stumbling down a narrow street with the smell of horse and smoke in her nose. Her skirt catches on something and she goes—she goes, graceless as a dropped glass.

Not falling, not yet, but that lurching moment before a fall where the world goes weightless and you understand, very calmly, that you are about to be caught by gravity—

Only there is a hand, so very quick, catching her by the elbow.

Rose blinks. The hallway is gone. The house is gone.

“Easy,” a voice says, amused like sunlight. “Falling for me already—and I’ve only just met you.”

She looks up and he is there, smiling that smile like it has always known where it belongs.

Not the Trevor she last saw—terrified and tired and broken down, mouth parted as if he had one last thing to say and couldn’t decide what it was.

This Trevor is younger. Beautiful in that careless way boys are before the world takes its payment. His hair is too long. His grin is too easy. He looks at her like she is a problem he doesn’t mind solving.

“Though I’m surprised, you don’t seem the type to carelessly fall into the arms of men—no matter how roguishly handsome,” he laughs.

“I have done nothing of the sort,” Rose snaps, because she was always snapping at him in the beginning. It is the only way she knew how to handle the fact that he was… him. That he was too charming, too quick, too pleased with himself, as if life was a game that he planned to win by cheating.

He lifts his brows, all innocence.

“What is your name?” she hears herself ask—because she remembers asking, because she remembers not wanting to ask, because she remembers that she did anyway.

His grin deepens. “Trevor.”

His fingers are still on her arm.

His fingers are still on her—

—and the street is gone, and she is in a ballroom that smells like beeswax and crushed roses, heat trapped under high ceilings, laughter glittering and dangerous. Trevor has fixed his hair, he looks too pleased with himself, like he’s done it just to annoy her. He leans in, mouth near her ear.

Rose is on Trevor’s arm.

“Don’t look so grim,” Trevor whispers, delighted by her discomfort. “It makes you less pretty.”

“Go to hell,” Rose says automatically, and it comes out softer than she intends, spoiled at the edges by something like affection.

Trevor laughs—soft, delighted—and she feels it in her ribs like a second heartbeat.

Rose would do a lot, she thinks dimly, foolishly, to make him laugh like that again—

At the time she had only been aggravated: irritated that he kept nudging her toward a room full of predators, toward polite danger. Now—now she is grateful for the chance like a starving thing is grateful for a crust of bread.

He guides her forward, hand warm at the small of her back.

Ahead, a man stands with a glass in his hand like it belongs there, like the room was built around him. Rose’s stomach tightens—some old instinct waking up, some ancient part of her that recognizes danger dressed in good manners.

Trevor’s hand slides from her elbow to the small of her back.

“Lord Elijah,” Trevor says, the flirtation stripped clean from his voice, replaced by something careful. Respect. Fear, maybe. Rose can’t tell—she is not wise enough yet to truly know the difference between the two.

Elijah’s gaze moves to her and she feels it like a finger under her chin, lifting, assessing.

“This is my friend—Rose-Marie,” Trevor adds, as if presenting a gift.

Elijah’s mouth barely shifts. “Would you like to share a dance, Rose-Marie?”

Rose’s first instinct is to say no.

Her second instinct is to say no with a deep emphasis.

Her third instinct—traitorous, sudden—is to glance at Trevor.

Trevor is smiling at her.

“Yes,” she hears herself say, and it sounds like surrender.

Elijah reaches forward to offer her his hand.

She takes it.

Elijah pulls her in, and they move—turn, step, turn—her skirts whispering over the floor, his palm steady against hers.

He spins her.

Once—twice—

She turns and turns and the ballroom smears into a rush of color—

And then the color—the ballroom—is gone.

A house. An old house. The light wrong. There is dust floating in the air. A man in a suit is with them—Elijah, again.

Trevor is there. Trevor is stumbling over his words.

Rose’s mouth opens, but her voice is wrong, her voice is syrup-thick, her voice is trapped behind the burn in her veins. She tries to lunge and her limbs don’t obey—she is suddenly too slow, suddenly not real.

Elijah moves.

It is terribly clean—the arc of it. Arm. Hand. Neck. There is a sound like a butcher’s work.

Trevor’s head leaves his shoulders.

For a heartbeat it hangs in the air like a disbelief, and then it hits the floor with a wet, solid sound and rolls—and Rose watches it roll like a coin spinning. It tumbles past Rose’s feet, past the hem of her dress—no, she thinks, she wasn’t wearing a dress when this part happened—and she cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot do anything but watch it come to rest at her feet—

Only it is not Trevor.

It is Katerina.

Katerina’s eyes—dark and lovely—blink up at Rose as if they’ve always been there, as if she’s been waiting at the bottom of every nightmare for her cue.

Her mouth curves and her lips part, her voice is a butcher’s knife.

“Better you die than I.”

[daenysthedreamer101]

TVD characters and their eyeshadow palettes pt 3

[kyrt4t]

moodboard: aromantic rose (tvd)

[slutisnotabadword]

I genuinely believe that if Rose would’ve lived or survived the werewolf bite, Damon would’ve fell in love with her. Yes, of course, he was in love with Elena by then. But Elena hasn’t not fell in love with Damon by then, and was still with Stefan. Realistically, I think Damon would’ve strayed away from Elena, unintentionally, and fell in love with Rose.

[elisiassideb1tch]

Finally watching The Vampire Diaries. Someone pls tell me it's worth it, bc I'm lowkey only watching it for Rose 😼. And she doesn't come in till mid season 2 😭.

[ladydeath-vanserra]

NO STOP IT 😭😭😭😭😭