I have so much drive and passion for this industry and the creative arts, and I want other kids to have that kind of drive, and to have a fire in their belly for whatever industry that they want to get into.
Happy 23rd Birthday, Dacre Montgomery! | 22 November 1994
“I’m trans and to know you accept me makes me feel better about my existence”. Well, yeah, it’s crazy. Like in the UK it’s been a really bad week for that ‘cause all of our trashy, cancerous, garbage news papers have been printing those, like, horrendous articles just… you know it’s that kind of like should trans people be allowed to use bathrooms? Should schools allow trans people to wear what they want? Should we take it serious if someone is under eighteen and they want to define their own gender? And it’s just like… I’m sure they do understand which just makes it even more evil. It’s like we’re debating people’s right to exist, which is just… it’s insane. It just sounds so crazy, doesn’t it? Like questioning these things, it’s not a political debate, it’s like you’re literally saying: these are people that are now comfortable with how they want to define their own existences and you’re questioning whether their existences are valid? Which is so crazy because these things don’t affect other people. It’s something like gun laws, it’s like y'all don’t need guns but there’s a whole debate there and it’s a legitimate debate but how somebody chooses to live their own life that doesn’t affect other people. People say it will influence other kids. To what? To be aware people can make their own choices? It’s just logically, it doesn’t make any sense, so there’s things you can disagree on and then there’s things you can’t even disagree on. … Just think about how problematic everyone in culture was two years ago, three years ago, five years ago, eight years ago, it’s so crazy. You know, it’s like eight years ago everyone would just use the word “retarded” and not think about it. Years before that, like in the ‘90s, people would just say “tranny” all the time and it’s like you constantly look back and you’re just shocked by how horrifying and just how… ignorant everyone was. But everyone is progressing so fast now that even though it can seem like there’s dark times, I think the pace of which things are getting better only bodes well for the future. We just need to wait for all the old, ignorant people to die and it feels like generally our generation is more good than bad and then as long as that’s the case and we keep our ground political system, it should all work out. Let’s just stay strong in the meantime.
“So which of us is going to change their name?” Harry asks one night, smiling as though it’s a joke, a secret, undressed and glowing against the white sheets on their bed.
(They’ve been engaged for four days. Draco asked; after dinner one night and almost by accident, because he never could shake the feeling that Harry might pull someone better out of thin air, on a whim, move into an apartment in Westminster with a rich banker, an artist, someone who’d never broken his nose or hated him deeply or tried to kill him.)
(Draco sometimes thinks: he’s so stupid for this and how could he love me and maybe something’s gone awfully wrong and my whole life is just some eighth-year post-war fever dream and I’m going to wake up any second in my bed in the dorms.)
It’s not a joke, Draco doesn’t think. And it’s not a dream, either.
“Me, obviously,” he replies seriously, rolls his eyes a bit. A long time ago the answer would have been different. They both know it.
Harry frowns, just a little. “Yeah?” he asks. “You don’t want to keep your name?” he says, and even though he’s making it sound like a question, it isn’t really a question.
Draco looks at him and thinks about Harry with his name, and how it would sound in his mouth. Malfoy. Years and years and years of history in those two syllables, most of it awful. It was his father’s name, and his grandfather’s name, and once it would have been the name he gave to his children.
“Not particularly,” Draco says, and kisses Harry’s bare, brown shoulder, because it’s there and because he feels like it. Then he amends himself. “Not at all actually, not in the slightest.”
Draco feels sick at the thought of Harry having to go anywhere near it. The Malfoy name doesn’t deserve a person like Harry. He’s done more good things in his short life than have occurred in the entire history of Draco’s family, probably.
They’re both silent for a moment. “You just want to be a Potter,” Harry says lightly, instead of any number of other things, and Draco is abruptly grateful for him. He’d probably die if Harry decided to leave him for a banker, even though that prospect is looking less and less likely as the years pass.
“Yes,” he says instead, helplessly, helpless to deny it. “I’d like to be a Potter.” Because it’s your name.
And it almost hurts, baring himself, until Harry grins at the ceiling like that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. And maybe it is.
“[Wonder Woman] had never lived under any social mentality that men are better
or stronger and women are less. Nobody wanted to bring a character who
was preaching and angry, but she’s oblivious to the whole gender thing. Many
times when you go to see movies, the strong woman is tough and cold and
distant. We wanted to make her real. Women have always been strong and
independent, but they have also been warm and loving and kind.” —