Someday— possibly someday soon— Sebastian Stan’s agent is going to call him with a script.
“What’s the role?” he’ll ask.
“Well,” Sebastian Stan’s agent will say, “he’s the closeted son of a politician, struggling with PTSD after his military service.”
“Uh-huh. What’s he named?”
“Theodore Roosevelt O’Toole, but—”
“I’ll take it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to read the script first?”
“No. No need. This is the role I was born to play.”
"Do I get to kiss boys and cry about my fucked up life and choices?”
“Uh… yes?”
“Where do I sign?
knitting in the dark 