carlyravejepson:

You are fourth- or fifth-billed in the credits but have so far contributed almost nothing to the A- and B-storylines.

In episode 2, you had a throwaway line about a beautiful member of the opposite sex not being your “type,” a line that has now taken on a strange significance.

You are a younger brother who stands to inherit nothing.

The camera lingers on your hands for an unnecessary split-second after you help your best friend into your corset.

You are an unusually helpful lady-in-waiting.

You are an arch and careless school-chum who seems to live only for exciting late-night champagne raids and fountain-dunking.

You are being played by Rupert Graves.

You are a woman who becomes friends with Jane Eyre.

Your gaze lingers for no appreciable reason.

You’re in the first third of a miniseries about another person’s life and you’re only credited in the episodes that take place during their boarding-school years. Also, you have perfectly floppy hair. (Works for male or female.)

You applaud with the crowd, but something about your clapping seems insincere.

All the ingenues at court are simply wild about you. You could not be more indifferent. Also, your name is Hugh.

Your story takes place sometime before 1950 but was filmed any time after 1980.

100% of your scenes are shot with the least amount of light possible. Your face is never less than half in shadow.

While being playfully teased by one of the top-billed characters about your apparently non-existent love life, you say, “There is someone” while maintaining eye contact.

You’re sad all the time, for no reason (the reason is later revealed to be Secret Gayness).

You are a woman who has been described by another character as any of the following: spirited, willful, indifferent, aloof, vigorous, outdoorsy, or keen.

You mention that you have recently been to Greece.

You are wan. So very wan.

You are an unusually supportive roommate with a knack for springing surprise kisses at the worst possible moment.

You are the only kind person in a Deadly Decadent Court.

You nonchalantly but significantly decline “one last drink” or a trip to the strip club/old-timey brothel with the boys on a friendly night out, choosing instead to walk home alone in the growing darkness.

You speak slightly more kindly to someone below your station than is strictly necessary. What appears to be politeness and common decency is fueled by lust.

You are a poet, a musician, or an Italian ambassador with no reason for having as much screen time as you do; one of the main characters has at least three scenes where they compliment your work before kissing you unexpectedly in a dark hallway.

You are a respected but under-the-radar British actor who is on the verge of becoming well-known in America.