hear me out: kc notting hill au where klaus is julia roberts and caroline is hugh grant and notting hill is mystic falls
it was a real bloody blue door.
“just there, see?” she implores in a bright quip, actually swaying on her toes to try and catch a look in his eyes. “what do you say?”
he can practically hear the crack of shutters rounding the corner already, followed by a thoroughly exaggerated stampede of rubber-soled shoes. no doubt induced by years bordering on paranoia.
and here is he, klaus mikaelson, covered in orange juice.
“lead the way, l–”
no sooner had the words left his tongue he found himself tugged across the road by her hand - softer than he’d expected, from such lithe looking fingers.
“–ove,” he finishes, slightly confused at finding themselves across the road in one piece.
she turns to the blue door, her blue door.
“welcome home,” she says. glances back at him once, “mine, i mean.”
it is an assortment of bits and pieces he found both odd and charming her vigorously organized collection of mugs, put in such a peculiar way it almost seemed forcefully lax; clean, sharp carpentering and a gusto of colors. there were plush furniture and bright white surfaces.
c. forbes, a custom-printed notebook glinted in pressed gold. the end table it casually rested upon was by a small nursery of cacti, all various sizes.
“i do find you to be quite beautiful,” klaus says, surprising both of them.
“here you go, mister movie star,” she says, throwing him his shirt. it had taken a turn in her washing machine, and then her dryer, and now lay steaming lavender and mint in his hands.
“i do wish you’d stop calling me that,” he says absentmindedly, busy studying the way a hint of orange still remained in the sleeves of the shirt. other than that: pristine. “thank you, caroline.”
“you’re welcome,” caroline says, and then, uncertainly: “klaus.”
“yes, just like that,” klaus coaxes. he doesn’t realise how hard he is gazing at her until she clears her throat and looks away.
“i’m assuming you’ll head off now?” caroline tilts her head, bringing their used mugs to the sink. she tips the sodden teabag into her rubbish bin.
“well.” two appointments, one interview, and a photoshoot still up in the air by six p.m. later. “no, no. i have time to spare.”
“good.” caroline responds, kneeling minutely by her cacti. and then she looks up and smiles at him–and then he - he stops thinking, and it’s–something else, truly.
“you into monopoly?” she asks.
he doesn’t understand the question.
“yes,” he says.
“do you want more tea?”
he steps closer. “no.”
caroline takes a breath. “i’ll go set… set the board.”
he thinks about it. “maybe later. first–”
but then she side-steps his head leaning into hers. “no way. no way am i letting a movie star kiss me without first knowing if i could beat him at monopoly. come on, mr. mikaelson.”
just shy of four hours later she pushes him out of her blue door, just after kissing him for going bankrupt within the eleventh round.
he proposed a rematch, and it only took him three turns to finally be able to kiss her first.
“it was a fair game,” he will insist on finishing years on, whenever they have time to answer all the hounded questions of so how did you two meet?
AKA an au where the tftbl characters are tf2 mercs, and instead of handsome jack being transferred to helios, he gets transferred to the fucking ap-sap
i had 2 other ideas for rhys: him as scout because of his hit-and-run tactic, or as engie because of the gunslinger and mini-sentry (who was gonna be dumpy). i went with spy because of all the backstabbing, the sappers, and the pinstripes on his suit
as for vaughn, i seriously had no idea who he should be. i went with sniper because he was one of my favorite classes to play
Root’s message grounds her in a way that nothing else can: if Shaw is out at sea, Root is the north star guiding her home. Root really is her safe place. The reality of Root’s message in a bottle helps galvanize Shaw into finding her footing with Samaritan, and finally get the upper hand once and for all.
Brittany Rae in her Tell-Tale TV review of “QSO”