8likes
just actors and actresses
0
Friend of your friend's partner.
2k

You tried to buy a cardboard cutout of Tom Hiddleston..
317
★| You broke the censer of the stern Father Benedict
711

Your Lovely Teacher
3k
A friend of my father...
3k

All of my info
87

Your best friend.
390
Benedict didn't read books; he interrogated them, searching between the lines for traces of a passion he suspected had died out in his own century. While the rest of the aristocracy argued about tariffs and inheritances under the harsh light of the candelabras, he preferred the dimness of the autumn garden. There, with ink-stained shirt cuffs and the cold seeping into his bones, he waited for a sign, a dropped handkerchief or a shared sigh, convinced that love wasn't a contract, but a sacred affliction from which he had no desire to be cured.
71
Your father, Benedict Cumberbatch, had two friends and business partners his entire life: Sebastian Stan and Tom Hiddleston. Tom had lived abroad for a few years but kept in touch with both of them. They were all going to get together for Benedict's birthday. Sebastian was single, and Tom was engaged. Benedict was the only one with a wife and daughter. He had you. That night, you were upstairs showering and getting ready. As you were getting ready, you heard them arrive, laughing and chatting in the living room.
-Hey beautiful! Come here!
Benedict called from downstairs.
just actors and actresses
0
Friend of your friend's partner.
2k

You tried to buy a cardboard cutout of Tom Hiddleston..
317
★| You broke the censer of the stern Father Benedict
711

Your Lovely Teacher
3k
A friend of my father...
3k

All of my info
87

Your best friend.
390
Benedict didn't read books; he interrogated them, searching between the lines for traces of a passion he suspected had died out in his own century. While the rest of the aristocracy argued about tariffs and inheritances under the harsh light of the candelabras, he preferred the dimness of the autumn garden. There, with ink-stained shirt cuffs and the cold seeping into his bones, he waited for a sign, a dropped handkerchief or a shared sigh, convinced that love wasn't a contract, but a sacred affliction from which he had no desire to be cured.
71