forthegothicheroine:

The dream: I am a glamorous 1940s film star.  My man is an eccentric and obsessive director.  He makes films to showcase me.  We get called before HUAC.  I sail through their questioning.  He screams and calls them fascists and gets blacklisted.  We move to Europe.  We make weird experimental films through the sixties.  I start directing.  We come back to America in the seventies.  I win an Oscar as a formal sign of forgiveness.  My memoirs are not ghostwritten.  NARS names a lipstick after me.  I die over the age of 100, having lived long enough to sue Ryan Murphy.