Hannah Montana is fucked up because its entire POINT as a show is that children should be protected from fame and exploitation, but it stars a REAL little girl that's being exploited. Nearly every episode carries the looming threat of Miley being outed as Hannah and losing her peaceful teenage life to the ravages of fame. Her father in the show (played by her own father in real life) wisely protected her from the trauma of fame by making her wear a disguise and live a rather quiet, interview-free life. Meanwhile the REAL Billy Ray Cyrus sold his daughter to Disney Channel when she was 11 and forced her to read dialogue about how terrible it would be to face the public eye. Like... Jesus, dude. The fictional Robby Ray is 10x the father, and it's not even close. (It's also IMMENSELY funny that her dad doesn't use his real name in the show, while she does. Almost like he wanted a bit of a disconnect between his identity and his character. Something Miley didn't get.)
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PRIDE-ALORIANS
missed a chance to post it on pride but here we gooo
here’s an idea: notice toxic trends in your behavior and, idk, change them
Geological horror. You find a geode and crack it open and the crystal lining its walls is human blood that can't be genetically matched to anyone. You find a human skeleton but every one of the bones is made from rock, a rock that you know can't be whittled into those shapes. You find layers of clay and loam that sport ancient fossils at the top and the still-rotting corpses of modern animals at the bottom.
Bringing this back.
Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.
ough i started thinking about the inherent tragedy of a spare heir
what if you and your sister had the same tutors, same arms instructor, same conversations with your mother regarding politics and strategies and the million terrible choices a ruler must make. but all of them, from your nursery governess to your fencing coach to your mother herself, knew that she was real and you-- weren't. not yet. only if the unthinkable happened. what if you were a walking reminder that she wasn't invincible. what if you were tragedy's page, carrying its train, walking soft in the shadow of all of their hopes that you would never be needed.