I love his tragedy. I love his ( albeit twisted and wry ) sense of humour. I love his villainy. I love those moments in which his thoughtful side emerges. I love Klaus the Hybrid, the killer. I love Klaus the artist, the friend, the brother. I love that at first glance, you learn nothing about him. That to understand Klaus as he is, you have to dig through layers and layers and layers of paranoia and trauma and learned behaviour. That you have to burrow beneath flippancy ( which I love ) to find Klaus. Not the Klaus he shows the world, but Klaus as he is. I love how much he loves Rebekah, even though he no longer knows how to show it. I love that he is wolf, and I love that he is terrified of being wolf. I love that he is confident, comfortable in what he is: that he is the most powerful being upon the planet, the most villainous. I love how much he delights in that personality, that identity: that he stands apart from everyone as stronger, better. I love how insecure he is, the constant fears that what he is is not enough. His fear of being alone, of isolation, of being different in ways that he will never be accepted for. I love the way he laughs. I love that machiavellian smile of his. I love that boyish grin we see all too rarely. I love that he does stupid, terrible things like collect the letters of his victims and carry them around. I love I love I love.
I could walk through every single tag on this blog and my two archives, and come up with a list ten miles long, I suspect. So I’m just going to let it stand at EVERYTHING.