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#sebastian stan

Yeah who knows since we don’t have a plot. Either way to goes, I see no problem.

- SH

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Well the guy is 38, I wouldn’t say he’s old lol, he is older. Yeah I mean, I don’t know what the movie is about, but if they needed a character around his age to play the part could make sense. Other than that, I see no other reason except for the fact that he nailed the audition well enough for the director to choose him instead of someone else. Scripts aren’t really supposed to be specific when it comes to age (a specific number), race, or ethnicity, unless it’s absolutely fucking essential to the story line. Not sure what point you wanted to make though about the “feminist” aspect of it……lol

- SH

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A Silent Voice: Chapter 4

Notes: I mean no disrespect by writing or posting this, and in no way do I take the themes and topics discussed in this series lightly. So if you’re triggered by any of this, I suggest not reading it.

Also, last chapter (I corrected it) I mentioned that the reader has long/longish hair when describing their appearance before leaving. Rereading earlier chapters shows the reader has a pixie cut. I know this may seem insignificant, but I thought it was important enough to bring up, in case there’s something different in terms of physical appearance in this chapter, or any future ones. Thanks!

I’d also like to apologize if this chapter is in any sloppy.

Message me or leave an ask if you want to be tagged!

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Female!Reader (slow burn)

Characters: OC!Alexis Thomason

Chapter Description: Once you arrive at the set, you begin questioning yourself. Is this the right choice? Is Ben right about you? Or will you find it in you to prove him wrong?

Warnings: Anxiety, possible descriptions and/or mentions of panic attacks, spelling/grammatical errors, self-doubt, I don’t know shit about movie production or anything so… ⚠️

Word Count: 1,091

Masterlist: Click Here

Previous Chapter: Click Here

You feel the overwhelming urge to vomit. God, you could feel your stomach rolling, twisting, knotting you in a way that’s almost painful. Is it too late to just… leave? You can just pull out of the lot and leave… but you’d be proving Ben right, that you’re useless and pathetic and he’s going to be rubbing it in your face ’til kingdom come. You’d impulsively decided that you were going to go all the way to set and have your first day of work.

And then you felt the panic really start to settle. It seeped into your bones, and you were sitting in the driver’s side as stiff as a board. The closer you got to set, the more it felt like your car was closing in on you. It felt smaller than you remembered and you couldn’t breathe. Bile steadily started to rise in your throat but you forced it down.

Once you reached the set, and you showed identification and the like, you knew for certain you were in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. Your body is trembling, your breathing is incredibly shallow and it feels as though sound has been cranked up to a hundred. You couldn’t focus on anything and were you starting to feel lightheaded? So while you sit in the parking lot, trying to calm your nerves, you realize you’re making yourself worse.

You try to focus on your breathing, but that doesn’t help. It feels like every breath you take is your last. Your lungs burn and your chest aches. God, why are you like this? Why can’t you just suck it up and go in? Why is it so hard?

Your hands, albeit trembling, let go of the steering wheel and go to the buckle of your seat belt. The click that it’s been unlocked is deafening. Then your hand goes to the handle of the car door. You freeze.

Just get out, just get out, just get out, just get out — No. You’ve made a mistake. You need to go home, you need to apologize to Ben and hopefully he’ll go easy on you — He doesn’t need that kind of satisfaction. He doesn’t think you can do this, but you need to prove him wrong! You haven’t had a job in so long, you haven’t had that independence. He can’t dictate what you do forever, right?


Why is this so hard?

Why can’t you be confident in your own choices?

Why did you let Ben take those choices from you?

Why didn’t you see those red flags? Why were you so stubborn? So naive?

Why are you so weak?

Swallowing thickly, you remove your hand from the handle. Instead, you choose to check your make-up. You lower the sun visor and check yourself in the visor’s mirror. You don’t look terrible, but it’s obvious you’re a wreck. Your make-up has managed to stay in one piece, so you don’t have to worry about that. You just need to calm down. That’s your top priority.

Closing the visor, you once again swallow thickly. This is your moment. Once that car door is open, there’s no turning back!


Now you really are on the verge of throwing up. You asked a nearby person — possibly an assistant, or someone that looked even a little important — where you needed to go, and she waved you off with a quick mutter under her breath. That did nothing to make you feel better. You had to seriously hype yourself up just to get out of your car, and once you were out, you were like a deer in headlights. Frozen in spot, wide-eyed and ready to bolt at any given moment.

But then you forced yourself to walk, to ask that possible assistant woman for directions only to end up lost and for your already fragile confidence to just shatter.

“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice catches your attention, and you turn to see a brunette coming your way. She’s a good couple inches taller than you, slim with hazel eyes and freckled, olive skin. She’s dressed professionally, with her hair flowing down her back and shoulders. Beneath the cautious expression on her face, you can see a certain kindness about her. “I’m sorry,” she starts, “but are you lost?”

You shift anxiously where you stand, trying to find the words to respond. You can only nod, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Are… you an extra?” she pressed. Her brows furrow, her brain reeling as she tries to remember.

“N-No,” you manage to sputter out, your voice just a hoarse whisper. “I’m o-one of the make-up artists. It’s my first day a-and I’m a bit lost…”

Her brows shoot up in surprise. The cautious confusion originally on her face dissipating. “Oh,” she exclaims. “Right. Sorry. First day of production is always a bit hectic. I’ll show you where you need to go.”

You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’.

The woman begins walking, and you follow just a few inches behind her. You’re quick to notice how big this woman’s strides are; you’re practically scurrying just to keep up with her.

“My name is Alexis,” the woman calls back to you, her voice friendlier but holding an air of authority to her. “I work with the producers, helping them keep everything and everyone. Of course, that doesn’t make me more important than the actual producers themselves.”

You nod, fully aware she can’t see you. You’re unsure of what to say anyway.

“Everyone here is incredibly nice once you get to know them,” Alexis went on, “especially the cast. I can’t recall a single actor in any of these movies who don’t like each other. It makes everything easier for us, I suppose, if the actors get along.”

Alexis suddenly stopping causes you to stumble over your feet in an attempt to stop yourself from running into her. She turned to look at you, her eyes glittering in curiosity.

“If you have any questions, you can always ask me.” She gives you a wide smile. “But if it’s anything make-up related, I’d suggest asking one of your fellow artists.” She turned to leave before facing you again. “The actors will be in soon to get set up,” she adds. “I have no doubt you’ll do an amazing job.”

You watch her walk away. Confused and still incredibly anxious. But you turn to see a series of trailers, and one labeled ‘MAKE-UP’ caught your attention.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

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Sebastian always takes you to the movies with him and the two of you go to a coffee shop afterwards to discuss the film you saw over your favorite beverage. He feels as if you’re the only one he can have deep conversations with and he’s been slowly falling in love with you because of it.

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