I love how you can tell by the posts that someone reblogs from you, what their favorite flavor of Benedict Cumberbatch is. And though you’ve never met that blogger, or maybe only ever passed a few messages back and forth, you think, “Yup, that one gets it. They like exactly what I like. I approve their wisdom and good taste.’
Me, I love all his flavors, although lately Maturebatch, rife with gravitas, sends me to the moon. A Commander who is absolutely in command, with a whiskey flavored voice and a gaze that leaves you dizzied and weak-knee’d. Resplendently bespoke, or in a plain tee & a bit of leather, or even wearing his workaday chambray with that perpetual trace of whiskers along his jaw. Short or even close-cropped hair, so that one’s eyes are left to focus on the divine geography of his face, in the full flush of glorious manhood---and you just know he’s loving every minute of the life that he’s made for himself. I really don’t think there can be anything more attractive on the planet these days---know what I mean?
