My favorite Ragnarok headcanon is that the entire movie is a story Thor is telling the audience. That’s why it opens with a monologue, that’s also the reason of the sudden tone shift into comedy and that’s why despite all the horrible things that happen, it’s so endlessly optimistic. The real events that transpired were probably very similar, just much, much darker.
This really explains so much, like how characters like Loki and Hulk, and Thor himself, are so different from the other films- because we’re seeing them through Thor’s eyes. The dialogue is different as well, much more casual and shorthand with use of slang in place of the typical Shakespearean lines, because Thor is paraphrasing in his retelling of the events. I like to imagine that Thor’s audience is actually the asgardians on the ark at the end of the film, mostly families and children, so he’s ramping up the goofiness and drama (you are now meeting the grandmaster, please dont cut my hair, get help), using childish humor (the naked hulk), and poking fun at everything (surtur’s big eyebrow). They were all just extremely traumatized, so Thor is taking care of his people in the only way he currently can- taking comedy theatre tips from loki.
don’t you love when you’re gay and you, go for a walk and see a rainbow. it’s like… that’s for me, damn! anyway the straights can’t see this particular shade of orange so here’s the tea fellow gays: Dark Pride is gonna take place halloween night under the old mausoleum. it starts at 6pm and runs all night. please come in costume. the code phrase to get the coffin to open up and let you access the stairs is “heterosexualis renouncis”
When I explain cultural misappropriation to children, I use the example of The Nightmare Before Christmas.
It’s effective because especially for children, who don’t have enough historical context to understand much of the concept, you can still fully grasp the idea.
There was nothing wrong with Jack seeing the beauty and differences in Christmas town, it’s when he tried to take what is unique about Christmas town away from those it originally belonged to without understanding the full context of Christmas things is when everything went wrong.
When Jack tries to get the folk of Halloween town to make Christmas gifts for children, etc., children understand that the Halloween town folk do not have the full context for the objects they are making, and they are able to see that the direct repercussions and consequences are very harmful.
what i like about this is the implication that if jack had taken the time to understand christmas town, bringing christmas to halloween town would not have been harmful. that’s how it works, folks. cultural sharing is GOOD, it’s only misappropriation when it’s done in ignorance and disrespect.
So it’s not just accidentally removing things form their context; he has intentionally disregard the meaning of the rituals he purports to be recreating, making them more fun for the recreaters but not like what the rituals are supposed to be and without the related significance.
This is the best way to conceptualize the wrong way to share culture I have ever seen and I think I finally get where people are coming from when they talk about “cultural appropriation.”
You are the world’s most successful marriage counsellor. Each case ends with a 100% satisfactory rate for both sides. One day, a rather unusual couple enters your office. Through questioning you find out that the two people in front of you are in fact Zeus and Hera. And they won’t leave until you fix their mess.
“You two need a divorce.”
As usual, Zeus’ fury was a sight to behold. It took all her years of experience as a counselor, and willpower she didn’t realize she’d had, to keep her composure. The conditions of her services had been clear, they couldn’t harm her, but it was small comfort when Zeus is hurling lighting bolts around an indestructible room.
Hera, on the other hand, was also perfectly composed. Once Zeus’ rage had played out and he stood glaring at at the counselor from behind the couch, she spoke.
“We came to you to fix our marriage. To salvage it.” She explained. “A divorce…”
“I don’t fix marriages.” She countered. “Look closer at my testimonials. My help may have saved a few marriages, but what I do is help people fix toxic situations.”
“Olympus must have a king and queen!” Zeus insisted.
“And who made that rule?” She asked.
Zeus didn’t catch Hera’s faint smirk, but the counselor did. Of course she’d known what her would recommendation would be. She was here because Zeus needed to think it was his idea. He went quiet at the question, the almost shocked, dawning realization that he had control here.
“You did, naturally. You defeated the Titans, and claimed the right to rule. But Zeus, think on it, why did you do it? Who expected you to rule? Why did you need a queen and why did the queen need to be Hera? And if you’re really honest with yourself, do you even want to rule?”
She wondered if it was the first time Zeus had ever taken a moment for real introspection. Most likely it was. Hera was perfectly neutral in her expression, but the light in her eyes told the counselor more. The soft bell timer next to her chair went off.
“Well that’s all the time we have to today.” She said, closing her notebook. Zeus was still looking thoughtful. A stunned kind of thoughtful, but thoughtful nonetheless. “Talk to my secretary and he’ll schedule your next session.”
Zeus tried to argue, and Hera made a good show of it as well, but they had agreed to follow certain rules, and this was one of them. She did have other clients, after all. It had been Hera who agreed second, when Zeus had demanded she see reason.
And there were other sessions. Six months before they finally decided to divorce. The news shook the other pantheons. The news of Zeus’ abdication in favor of his brother Hades shook them more. Stable, serious Hades, and his wife Persephone. It was better for the pantheon, and with Persephone in the mix, it wouldn’t be boring.
Zeus took to adventuring. Diving happily into his new, and old, roles as a god of the sky, thunder, storms, and lusty parties. Astronauts who venerated Zeus were almost sure to come home safe, and come home to the wildest parties.
Hera, relieved of the almost obligatory jealousy Zeus had once elicited from her, became more focused than ever on her role. Suddenly there were breakthroughs in pre and post-natal medicine. Marriages became more stable than ever.
Stable marriages mean poor business for a marriage counselor. She was glad her services were less necessary, but if things kept up like this, she would need a new career. The knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and she answered it. Her secretary had left months ago, finally marrying his husband and moving to the country as they’d been dreaming of. She hand’t bothered to hire a replacement.
Opening the door revealed, to her great shock, Hera. She looked different. The stony neutral expression was gone. She seemed softer. She had laugh lines. She was dressed causally, when the counselor had only ever seen her in business formal, with a shawl patterned in peacock feathers.
She wanted to talk. Partly to thank her, and partly to apologize for essentially driving the counselor out of business. They talked of other things, mostly trivial, laughing at the latest antics of Zeus and his fellow thunder god, Thor. Most of the world never saw these things, but her encounter with the gods had left the counselor’s eyes more open than before.
“There is another reason I wanted to talk to you.” Hera said finally, setting her teacup down. “There are other gods in need of a good counselor. Not just marriages but relationships that need help. You’ve seen the good that you can do with just one pair of clients.”
The possibility excited her. She could help the world in ways undreamed of. “That sounds incredible!” She exclaimed. “But…how would it work? We can’t have the gods parading in and out of the building on a daily basis….”
Hera smiled and took the counselor’s hand, looking into her eyes in a way that made the counselor shiver and blush. “Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?”
In flower language? Probably, I think I’ve even reblogged something to that effect. But….most ppl don’t know flower language anymore. No, if you need a true “fuck you” then here’s my DIY official tutorial, the Death Bouquet:
(This is gonna be the least wholesome post I’ve ever written and I am so sorry but I am also laughing while I type this.)
I’ve been railing on Pink Floyd roses a lot for their thorns lately because one has sliced my hand open recently. Get some of those.
Next. Get you some ornamental thorn roses. (I’m not 100% but I think mermaid climbing roses fall into this and are also brutal)
Next. Thistles. Lots of thistles. More thistles than sense.
Next. Dusty miller flower greens. Soft. Weak. Floppy. Clog up your bouquet with these, especially in the middle where they’ll make the stems stick together.
Next. Baby’s Breath. This is your secret weapon. You can’t tell when they’re dead half the time, they’re strong. Too strong. The wrong touch and FOOOOOOF. Tiny leaves and petals EVERYWHERE it’s as good as a glitter bomb.
NEXT. Abandon common arrangement sense. Fillers first, clog the center with fillers. Clog it, make it dense. Stick a rose or two in, but you want at least 70% filler.
NEXT. Hide the thistles. Hide them under the roses. Make sure some of the heads are at hand level. Spray them with water. You want those stems damp and miserable. Thistles harden as they die.
NEXT. The roses. Line this puppy in roses. Ornamentals and Floyds should be along the outside, this bouquet should be DEADLY to put any weight on. Spray them with water. This bouquet should be so tightly packed that your “handle” looks more like a solid mass than anything else.
NEXT. Wrap them in paper. TISSUE PAPER. Thin, weak, damp. Even gardening gloves can’t save your hands now.
NEXT. Be strong, treat the bouquet like a bed of nails. The more evenly spread the weight, the less likely you are to get hurt. You will be tempted to give these roses away in person, but be strong. Your ginger body language will give up the game.
FINALLY. Deliver them. Know. KNOW that your plan has worked, because anyone with any sense will see a bouquet and just FIST it with one hand. Maybe the other will come to support it. But just that. Just the hands. Meeting thorny death. A dozen little needle presses. The paper will be too damp to unravel, to see what has done this. They’ll grab it a few times, trying to learn the secret.
Deliver it with a nice note. Sincere, heartfelt. Make them feel obligated to deep the Death Bouquet. This is where the density comes in. Damp, suffocating, these flowers will mold in secret. They’ll die and their odor will permeate the air. But, because of the nature of the baby’s breath….it’ll be hard to find. Hard to detect. The roses will be sheltered because they’re on the outside, getting air and water. But the center will mold, and stink.
Eventually, they’ll realize it’s the flowers, and they’ll move the bouquet, and POOF, it will shatter, leaves and petals everywhere, releasing a gag worthy odor unlike anything they’ve smelled before.
And that’s how you say “fuck you” with a bouquet.
This was the most amazing read and I need to do this *now*
The Chaos Bitches 