Well, Thomas, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you are the spawn of the forbidden love between Loki and Severus Snape.
The result? This dashing albeit slightly creepy, emo, ovary and life destroying victorian, swagalicious motherfucker.
Yes, you heard me right: SWAGALICIOUS. I mean, don’t tell me you can’t feel The Strut. He’s feeling handsome, he’s feeling good, he’s feeling comfortable in his own skin. Which means, we get extra cheekbones, clenching of the jaw and eyefuck. Eyefuck everywhere.
Also, I’m sure Tom begged those in charge of wardrobe and costumes to dress him in bright colours, but sadly the script demanded otherwise, and he was forced to dress in all black with a white shirt and that shiny waistcoat (that omg I’m sure I’d be able to see my reflection on that thing. Tone it the fuck down, young man).
And last but not least: A FROCK COAAAAAAAAAAAT. LET ME DIE DROWNED IN A PUDDLE OF MY OWN TEARS.