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in-my-head-i-do-everything-right · 4 years

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Hallie - “you had it figured out since you were in school/everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool.”

you’ve had it figured out since you were in school. everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool

Part of the reason why Allie even sends in that self-tape for that Disney show is because Cassandra tells her not to. She’s feeling rebellious. She’s thirteen.

Only then she gets a callback. And then a skype call with a casting director. And then another call but with the creator of the show. And then she’s across the country, out in sunny LA (it’s December, and it’s snowing back in West Ham, and this shift in weather is really freaking her out).

She gets through one audition. And then two.

She gets the part.

And maybe the show won’t even last a whole season. Maybe it’ll be cancelled before it even airs. Maybe she’ll hate her castmates. Or just LA in general. And, God, she can’t sing. Does Disney know that? Do they expect a music career out of her? Maybe this is all she’ll ever be known for.

But then Cassandra tells her to go for it, and then her family packs up and moves across the country, and suddenly… suddenly this is it.

Post-Disney, the first film she does is this small budget indie thing that films on location up in Oregon.

There’s a definite learning curve.

First of all, craft services sucks. Which makes her sound like a snob, but God, she is so used to these mini chocolate croissants available at all times. Like, on the last day of shooting that Disney show, she asked what bakery they were from. One of her co-stars had laughed at her like it was some kind of joke which honestly hurt more than the show ending.

Second of all, nature. As it turns out, shooting outside and shooting on a lot is a very different experience. And shooting out in the rain, which it is always doing in Oregon—twenty-four seven—is an… experience. But a fun experience. Really fun. Makes her think that maybe she’s doesn’t need the job security that Disney provided. Like, fuck that.

And, last of all, Harry Bingham. He gets a whole bullet on this stupid list because he’s the guy who thinks he’s somehow better than her because he got an Oscar nomination or something for a film just like this one. And he was twitter’s white boy of the month, something he is way too proud of. Like, he can’t even remember his twitter password, so why the fuck does he keep bring it up?

It’s really late and dark and a little cold. They’re sharing a fuzzy blanket because they could only find one and they both wanted it and when someone on set suggests they just share it neither could come up with an actual argument as to that’s a bad idea.

“You know,” he says, sort of out of nowhere, “my sister watched your show. I think she might be in love with you.”

“Oh,” Allie says, and she’s smiling at him. Not for the first time because, sadly, because he is way too funny for his own good. It’s upsetting. It’s not fair. “So, unlike you, she has taste?”

He scoffs, but he’s smiling too, very brightly. Maybe she doesn’t need the blanket. “I never said I didn’t like your show.”

She stares over at him, not trying to mask that look of surprise taking over her face. She’s just trying to picture him actually watching the show… and it’s not easy. It was a Disney show. It was stupid and immature and Harry fuckingBingham was most definitely not its target audience. She’s trying to picture him watching those commercials, the ones where she’d draw the logo with the fake wand.

Finally, she says: “Honestly, I wasn’t a huge fan of it.”

Harry lets out this light sort of snort, more an exhale than anything else. “Why’d you do it then?”

Allie shrugs. “It was a job. It was an opportunity. It was a chance that wasn’t gonna pass up just because I didn’t think it was some revolutionary thing.” She pauses, wrapping herself up just a little tighter in the blanket. “My family moved out here after I got the job. I was fourteen, and they gave up everything just so I could do this.”

“You’re good at this, Pressman,” he tells her, softly, and it’s stupid how much those words mean to her.

“Thanks, Harry.”

When they’re called back onto set, she swears his eyes linger a second longer than they probably should. That means something to her too.

They film a kissing scene in the rain, and she swears her heart stop for a half-a-second.

The director yells cut, and Allie can’t help it, the way she’s blinking up at him, a bit like he hung the stars in the sky, or whatever other sappy bullshit you feel when you start to realize—

It just didn’t feel fake for a moment there. On Disney, everything felt fake. She’s just not used to things being this natural.

(There are two fuzzy blankets waiting for them off set. They still share.)

Shooting ends on a Tuesday, and they fly back down to LA together on a studio provided jet.

Harry spends the flight tossing popcorn at her while she tries to watch Notting Hill.

“You’re being obnoxious, Bingham,” she says, one earbud out, turning to glare over at him.

He grins. “Just trying to keep you from falling in love with Hugh Grant.”

“Not possible. I’m already in love with him.”

“He’s old now.”

“Still hotter than you.”

“Not possible.”

“Verry possible.”

He scoffs. “And living vicariously through Julia Roberts isn’t healthy.”

“Oh, you know from experience, don’t you?”

“I actually met her once, at the Oscars.”

“God, everything with you always comes back to that Oscar nomination, doesn’t it, Bingham.”

He lets out this sharp, surprised laugh. She bites back a smile.

“I’ll introduce you to her one day,” he offers, it’s softer, more genuine than cocky. They’ve never talked about any sort of future, any sort of friendship that follows them past this film. Her breath catches in her throat. Her heart stops once again.

“I think I’d like that.”

She has a tiny guest part on some broadcast television sitcom. Craft services has those chocolate croissants. She wraps herself up in a fuzzy blanket and eats three.

She asks Harry if he’d want to grab coffee sometime.

He texts back yes almost immediately.

She wraps herself up just a little tighter.

She sits on the couch in Harry’s childhood home and watches her Disney show with his little sister.

“You’re even prettier in person,” Sarah tells her, almost unabashedly, and Allie blushes a light pink.

From beside her, Harry grins. “The Bingham’s have taste,” he says, his voice almost a whisper in her ear, and that makes her blush a dark pink.

“Sarah’s my favorite Bingham,” Allie announces, and the girl smiles and laughs and leans her head on Allie’s shoulder.

This feels a lot like family, she realizes, the soft familiarity of it all.

She likes it. She likes it a lot.

The morning Oscar nominations are announced, she wakes up beside him in his bed, wearing an old shirt of his, something warm and soft.

They lay in bed and eat chocolate croissants and wait for the call. And the sun hasn’t even risen yet—it’s so fucking early—but there’s something like adrenaline keeping her awake. God, it’s so stupid to be this attached to an award, a little statue that means practically nothing, but…

Harry lays his head in her lap. She plays with his hair.

“And if I don’t get nominated?” she asks, softly, carefully.

He stares up at her. “Then you find another script to fall in love with and do it all over again.”

“And if I do get nominated?”

“Then we figure out how to sneak snacks in the Dolby Theater and you write into your acceptance speech what an amazing guy I am.”

She’s laughing as the phone rings, and he’s sitting up to answer it. And then he’s smiling, smiling so wide, and that means—

Allie’s crying and beaming, and Harry’s holding onto her like he’s trying to keep her anchored, trying to keep her from floating away, and—

It feels a whole lot like everything was worth it.

She’s happy.

send me song lyrics and a pairing and i’ll write you a drabble

#the society #drabble #hallie #yeah. i also don't really know what this is #a disney au?#actors au #idk i'm just complete shit at properly addressing prompts #also. it hit me while writing this that WE'LL NEVER KNOW HARRY'S SISTER'S NAME #and that hurts

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