#and like. I’m thinking about Bedussey the entire time…

[trueloveandyxo]

me and my friend were having a good discussion about things. idk it was more me rambling and him listening because he was tired and he told me how my thing with Bedussey is probably more than a hyperfix and I was like yeaaaahhhh probably. like it has consumed every waking moment of mine for months … uhm. since may or smth. thinking about that rn like yeaaahhh… maybe ii gotta look into this more

[angrylizardjacket]

heard your name in every love song {Ben Hardy} 2

2. well that was many years ago, how would you see me now I've grown up (given up my video games)

Summary: When you’re fifteen, and your former babysitter’s on TV in one of the UK’s most successful soap operas, and is still decidedly hot, all you can remember is the advice he’d given you, and how he’d let you win when playing videogames.

A/N: 2780 words. ben’s not in this one persay, but we gotta set up y/n as this badass actress, ya know? y/n’s mother is mentioned but that’s it in terms of family. also i dub thee a theater kid. congratulations.

the mutant brotherhood: @daisy-lu​ @hervoidparadise​ @nedmjpeter​ @ultrunning​ @d-r-e-a-m-catchme​ @clementimee​ @that-fandom-sucks-tho​ @cjand10​ @rest-is-detail​ @baileymae​ @rosesvioletshardy​ @onceuponadetectivedemigod​ @hazelstyles94​ @bitchylittleredhead​ @bihemian-rhapsody​ @sweatyexpertgardenpanda​ @whereeverythingisbetter​ @dedxbed​ @xxencagedxx​ @glittrixvibe​ @a-girl-with-stress​ @sunflower-ben​ @pxroxide-prinxcesss​ @mrsmazzello​ @cubedtriangle​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @misscharlottelee​ @nevilles-insinuations​ @jovialcreatorkidtoad​ @brianmaysclog​ @sambuckywarrior​ @hey-yo-bedussey​ @bubblyanis​ @lifesciencesbois​ @elektraofcrete​ @diosanaz​ @bbdoyouloveme @kirstansworld​ @okilover02​ @cardboardbenmazzello​ @dreashappyworld​ @juliarose21​ @simonedk​ @greycuby​ @emmasunshiine​ @dinotje​ @qtrogerina​ @spiketacus​ @nympha-door-a​ @local-troubled-writer​ @emphatic-af​ @wh0a-thisisheavy​ @lustgardn​ @banginashton​ 

--

When you’re fifteen, you have your first kiss on stage with a boy named Andrew; he’s a year older than you, has been in more shows than you, and has a boyfriend, Jamie, though they both seem entirely endeared by you. You buy each other flowers on opening night, after becoming fast friends in rehearsals. 

It’s your first lead role on stage, though you’ve been in a few commercials in past year, and had callbacks for a bit part in two different TV shows that ended up going to someone else. Since expressing interest in pursuing acting as a career, your parents had been nothing but supportive, their only stipulation that you still need to finish high school. So between school and auditions and rehearsals, you don’t have much time for crushes; sure there’s a boy in the ensemble, who you’re pretty sure is named Ashton, with fluffy blonde hair, and eyes that look green at the right angle, but he also lives off of Monster energy drink. He may be pretty, but he’s got the personality of a damp rock.

But he’s not your first kiss, Andrew is.

“You know Ashton’s got three braincells in total, right?” Andrew’s laying on the floor of your dressing room, makeup done, costume half on, watching in the mirror as you apply your foundation, “what do you see in him?”

“Him-” you started, but Andrew groaned loudly.

“Himbos need to respect women, Y/N, Ashton is not a himbo,” though at his exasperation, you can’t help but be amused.

“He’s pretty,” is all you can manage in your own defence, wearing a sheepish little smile, and Andrew wrinkles his nose. His phone goes off and he checks the message.

“Jamie’s almost here,” he told you with a slight smile, and you two share a fond smile. Jamie comes baring iced drinks and you both praise him as your lord and saviour. 

“Do you think Ashton’s cute?” Andrew asks as he’s eating the whipped cream from the top of his iced coffee.

“Is this a test?” Jamie replies, wearing the slightest frown, but Andrew shakes his head.

“Y/N thinks he’s cute, even though he’s always three beats behind -”

“Whether or not he can dance doesn’t effect how he looks!” You argued, and Andrew raised his nose in the air defiantly.

“It does to me,” but then he’s grinning, turning to gaze to Jamie, who’s deliberating and swirling his peach iced tea with a faintly fond smile.

“The blonde one playing the jock?” 

“That’s him,” Andrew confirms, and Jamie hums.

“He looks like acid wash jeans.”

A confused silence follows.

“What does that mean?” You frown, but as Andrew considers it, he comes to agree, “okay, but do you think he’s cute?”

“He’s perfectly conventionally attractive,” Jamie finally settles on, “but not my type.” And he gives Andrew a coy smile, knocking their shoulders together, they’re painfully endearing, but Jamie’s brought up a thought that you hadn’t wanted to consider. 

When had your type become pretty, blonde boys?

Your answer comes less than three days later, on closing night, your mother’s watching TV before she drives you to the theatre. It’s Eastenders, a soap opera you know from your mother’s fanaticism with it, aware only of it’s longevity and it’s sometimes outlandish moments.

“Y/N, come in here a moment,” you mother calls, “they’ve recast Peter.”

“You know I don’t know who that is,” you tell her with gentle exasperation, but obligingly join her in the living room.

“What was the name of your old babysitter?” You mother’s squinting at the screen, watching a pretty blonde boy you think you recognise talking to a girl who you’re pretty sure is one of the leads.

“Maddy?”

“No, the boy who helped out when Maddy wasn’t available,” and you follow your mother’s gaze to the television, heart beating in your throat as you realise why she’s asking.

“Ben -?” You say, as if you haven’t committed his name to your memory.

“Ben!” She announces with a clap, getting to her feet with enthusiasm, “doesn’t the new Peter look remarkably like him?” She asked, getting as close to the TV as possible, looking a little eerie in it’s glow.

“I think that is him,” you say, throat going dry, and your mother goes quiet.

“No,” she says softly with a frown, “you think so? Really?” And you’re already pulling out your phone and checking IMDB.

“Ben Hardy,” you confirmed with a nod, trying not to let it show how much this information had left you shaken. 

“But -” your mother turns to you, “he’s Keith and Ange’s kid; Hardy? That’s not...?” 

“I dunno, mum, maybe he changed his name, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same person.”

“He was always such a lovely kid,” she mused, “you used to love spending time with him,” she sighed wistfully, and you contemplate how long it would take you to just walk to the theater, which you’d much prefer to having to listen to your mother waxing poetic about how successful your first crush had become. But you decide it’s not worth it, and thankfully she doesn’t mention it much in the car. 

“Andy I’m in distress,” you bemoan your costar the moment you step into hair and makeup that night. Andrew struggles not to smile as the makeup assistant is applying his contour. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks after she steps back, and you spin in your chair to face him while the head of the makeup team was collecting everything she’d need for your look.

“I know why I like Ashton,” you admitted, and Andrew raised an eyebrow in silent question. The makeup assistant paused, giving a playful ‘ooh’ to the announcement. As the leads, the pair of you had been called early to make sure you were all ready for the show before the rush of ensemble members were getting into hair and makeup, so you were the only two cast members around, and felt safe discussing this so openly. The crew were old enough to know not to gossip with the cast.

“So it turns out my type is just this one dude who used to babysit me back when I was like, twelve,” you grumble, and turn back to face the mirror at the makeup artist’s insistence.

“And what made you realize this?” Andrew prompted diligently.

“Because I saw him on TV,” you sighed, closing your eyes as your makeup routine began. But there was silence all around, and someone cleared their throat awkwardly.

“Like on the news?” The makeup assistant asked tentatively.

“No, like on Eastenders,” you sighed; they weren’t quite sure if you were joking or not, “he went to my high school, graduated like two years ago.”

“Seriously?!” Andrew marveled, and you confirmed with a heavy sigh, “so why are you distressed?”

“Because I was perfectly happy forgetting about my stupid, twelve-year-old crush on him, but now he’s on my mum’s favourite soap,” and you groaned in defeat, “which I’m now probably going to get invested in; it’s like a celebrity crush but worse.” You paused, “Andy, he let me win at videogames and gave me acting advice; I still think about him sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Andrew agreed, “I don’t usually know my celebrity crushes personally,” it was clear he was both trying to be supportive, and trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“It’s going to kill me,” you said with an air of resignation. 

“What’s his name?”

“Ben Hardy,” there was a pause after your words, and the telltale noise of typing on a phone, and then Andrew made a noise of approval.

“He’s mad fit.”

“I know,” you agreed with a whine, to which your costar snorted a laugh.

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” he assured, and clicked his phone off, settling back in his chair as his hat for the show was brought over and pinned in place, “and I can see why you fancy Ashton now.”

“Ashton doesn’t hold a candle to Ben- damn you Eastenders!” You moaned, playing up your distress for the amusement of the others in the room, which you appreciated, but it’s all you said on the topic for the night, though it barely leaves your mind when you’re not on stage.

At the afterparty, you learn that Ashton kisses with too much tongue, and tastes like grape vape, but he compliments your performance in the show and in the moment, that’s all you really care about. It’s a thoroughly underwhelming experience all in all, but it also manages to feel something like a cathartic release.

You come to a realization, several days later, that you’d never thought you’d have; it’s incredibly difficult to watch Eastenders online, legally or illegally it doesn’t matter, because the legal site costs money which you don’t want to spend, and no-one’s put up the entire series illegally. You can find episodes here and there, but they are one-offs from anywhere between 2005 and now, and no-one’s got the newest episodes anyways.

There’s barely an Eastenders fandom online, a thought you’d never imagine having before now, and so you just end up watching it nightly with you mother, when you can. Except as life gets busier and you’re rehearsing for plays and musicals and eventually, shows, and eventually you’re studying for your GSCEs, and you don’t have time for a soap opera you’re only partially invested in.

You get your big break in the Summer before your A-levels when you score a part in Snowpiercer, so you spend several weeks in Prague, and you’re sharing scenes with Captain Fucking America Chris Evans, and Jamie Bell, and Octavia Spencer –

Oh, you realize faintly as you’re getting your makeup done for the day, I’m becoming someone.

You’re at a critical juncture in your life, in your career, one you’re afraid you haven’t earned your way to, especially not so fast. You have two options; step on the breaks and let someone else get the roles and the life you want, or you can commit to the bit, to the life and reputation you’re building for yourself.

Fall back or follow through.

Snowpiercer earns you the title of One to Watch, and by late 2014, you’re halfway through your final school year, you’ve studios asking you to audition left and right.       In the brief Winter break between terms, you’re called in to audition for a project for Sony, but they couldn’t tell you which. You knew it was a superhero movie, but that’s all.

A month later, only a few days into 2015, you wake up to three missed calls from your agent, thousands of Twitter notifications, approximately twenty texts from your friends. Downstairs, your mother was making breakfast and humming along to the radio, which she only did when she was in a fantastic mood.

It takes all your self control to not look at social media, and instead call your agent back.

He’s got two words for you.

“X-Men Apocalypse.”

You scream.

Next, of course, comes Twitter, which is a mix of supportive and unsurprisingly derisive. Your casting is polarizing, mainly because you haven’t been in a lot of films, and a majority of your work had been in theater; you look the part, but people are skeptical of your talent.

Speaking of the part, you’ll be playing Cassidy Temple, also known as Riot Control, who it turns out is a villain. Not the main villain, they’ve got Oscar Isaac playing Apocalypse himself, and holy shit, you’re going to be working with Oscar Isaac, but apparently you’re the second of the Horsemen to be announced.

Riot Control was a villain from an arc of the same name back in the late 90s, though she’d appeared earlier in Apocalypse’s first comic arc under the name Crowd Control, most notable for being the original Pestilence Horseman, who had a relationship with Archangel, the then-Horseman of Death. After Apocalypse’s death, she retained the power he’d imbued her with, and went on to be the first mutant to fuse with a symbiote, Riot, which is how she’d earned the name Riot Control, and ended up killing Havok; it took the whole X-Men team to take her down, and only then thanks to Jean Grey.

You’d never considered yourself playing a villain, but you couldn’t help but be a little thrilled at the prospect. Looking at images of Cassidy, you can’t help but be a little shocked as to how much she looked like you, right down to the shape of her eyes; the resemblance was uncanny.

At least ten of the twenty texts you’d received from your friends were from Jamie and Andrew, cheering for you and already planning a party. A few friends from school were asking if the announcement was really about you, followed by a ton of excited emojis, and Merissa had left the sweetest voice message, telling you how proud she was of you.

This was big. This was talking with your mother about dropping out of school right before your A-levels, this was talking with Sony about hiring a tutor so you could finish your schooling on-set, this was updating your passport and visa and realizing you’re not just a little kid, playing pretend on stage anymore.

Over the next few days, you’re in meetings with your agent and executives from Sony and Marvel, signing contracts, and attending the kind of blow out party Jamie and Andrew had planned.

“Don’t forget us when you’re all famous,” Jamie, a little tipsy and sentimental, clings to you in the early hours of the morning during the party as it’s winding down, and you’re both half-watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine in the living room of his and Andrew’s little flat.

“I won’t,” you assure him, hugging him tightly back, “I promise.” And he makes a hum of contentment, before announcing that the movie was stupid. It was, but you kind of liked it.

“Jam, don’t hog her!” Merissa announced from the door, and Jamie stuck his tongue out at her; it was a small blessing that your friends from your varying friend groups had managed to get along so well. Merissa crowded you from the other side, squeezing beside you on the sofa and leaning against you, her nose against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you guys,” you say into the warm silence of the early hours, and Merissa kisses your cheek in an unspoken ‘we’re gonna miss you too’.

“Nah,” Jamie mused, “you’ll be off partying with your cool famous costar friends –“

“You gotta tell me what it’s like to hang out with Sansa Stark!” Merissa enthused, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, as if it were common knowledge, “they announced Sophie Turner was going to be playing a young Phoenix right around the time they announced you,” he paused, frowning, “did you not –“

“I read it, but I never… I didn’t put two and two together.” You admitted, and the news has you reeling.

A few moments later, Andrew comes in from the kitchen to remind Jamie that he has work in the morning, and Jamie tells him that he’ll only go to bed if Andrew takes his place hugging you until the movie’s over. Andrew’s smile widens.

“I think I can manage that,” he agrees, and Jamie stands with a yawn, giving Andrew a kiss before instructing him to not let go. You settle in between Andrew and Merissa, and once the movie’s over, Merissa’s asleep on your shoulder, and Andrew murmurs that he can drive you home if you want. The sun’s almost coming up.

“Can you put on Days of Future Past again?” You ask quietly, sheepish and hopeful in equal measure, and Andrew agrees, and gets you a glass of water, and a blanket. When prompted, Merissa wakes enough so that she can shift on the surprisingly spacious sofa, happy enough to cuddle against you when Andrew tucks the blanket around you both.

“Can’t wait until I’m putting on your DVD –“

“I gave you a copy of Snowpiercer,” you told him, and his expression goes soft.

“True,” he agrees, “but I’ve got a good feeling about this next one,” and you think you know what he means. This is big.

“You’re gonna do great, Y/N, you always do.”

Just over a month later, after your contract had been finalized and you were sent the most up-to-date version of the script, you awoke again to a ton of Twitter notifications, and a single text from Andrew.

The text simply read [👀👀👀] and had a link to a Variety article entitled ‘Ben Hardy joins the cast of Apocalypse’.