Ref's Saga might just be the best saga

Oh, Ref, you named your son after your wife’s foster-father. Is there anything more to love about this man. I mean, that seems to me a clear sign that he actually loves and pays attention to his wife. And he thinks before he acts, and he makes doubly sure that his family is safe. In addition to being an excellent craftsman, clever, and actually well able to commit murder under his own terms. I love this sunshine dollbaby.

Did I mention he’s sarcastic, too?

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Sometimes I forget that there are people out there who haven’t seen everything covered in snow in real life like it just seems absolutely surreal when I’ve seen my yard covered in literally 3 feet of snow before


Icy-Mischief: L - Loki

Thief—of-Hearts: F- Fandral

Skype RP Excerpt

F: Our Hemming-Bun is hungry, is he?

F: *he rummages in the pantry, picking out the remainder of the items his wife had listed earlier and setting them on the kitchen island*

F: The children wanted caramel apples. We should make those as well.

L: Ravenous.

L: ohm, well. *she licks her fingers and tosses out the second apple core* hm.  Pie first, it can be baking while we dip the apples, aye?

F: Strategizing as always. I love you.

F: *he lifts the bag of flour* Flour!

F: *he picks up four eggs* Eggs!

L: Tis no great strategy, silly husband.

L: Are you going to do that with every ingredient?

L: It’s almost as bad as when you send me morning text messages before 9 am.

F: *he grabs Loki and pulls her close, kissing her between the eyes* … Sugar …

L: *a deep throaty chuckle*

L: Now now…are we getting off task?

F: *he embraces her from behind* … No.

L: Are you suuure?

F: *a nip to her ear, then he flips a bowl over and cracks two eggs simultaneously against the rim* Aye!

L: Wicked thing. *she whisks the eggs with unnecessary force*

F: Oh, dear … look how you BEAT them!

F: *he plucks a pocketknife from the back of his jeans and quickly starts slicing the apples*

F: *he can’t help it; happy and content as he is, his feet start to tap against the wooden floor as he hums to the rhythm of their work*

L: *she shakes her head and blushes again for him, quiet and efficient and focused in her ways, combining the batter of the dough together, the eggs and the cornstarch and a dollop of milk, her front covered in white, quietly, self-consciously swaying to the rhythm of the song*

F: *he watches her work from the corner of his eye, grinning slyly at the way she works with such quick and stunning efficiency. He sees her moving slightly to his music, and it makes his chest constrict. There was a time, he knows, when Loki did not believe there would be a time in which song and dance and laughter would make an appearance ever again. Quietly, he moves a little closer to her, just enough that his hip might rest against hers in proud acknowledgment. It takes courage to be happy.*

L: *her cheeks darken still more and she huffs an embarrassed, very nearly girlish chuckle, knowing he has spotted her, knowing the message the slightest touch conveys, and slipping her floury hand into his for the briefest instant.* You are always my lark and my happiness.  *I believe in things again I had long been poisoned against as mere distractions, constructs, lies*

F: *when her slight fingers slip into his, he squeezes them gently … another sort of ‘kiss’.* And you are my song and my joy.

L: I like sharing your life. Your family. These people.  People I would never have gotten to know so well, without you advocating me steadfastly.

L: These happy warm simple people. Thank you.

F: *his fingers move from holding hers into entwining with them* Oh, love … *he smiles wetly at the gratitude, for none should be needed* They see what I see now. I cannot tell you how much that pleases me.

F: *lifting her hand, he kisses her knuckles, above her engagement ring and wedding band. seeing them as he presses his lips to her smooth, cool skin always sets fire to his heart. - Mine, mine, mine-*

L: I will always be grateful, though *something in the pit of her keens to be still closer, up against him, melted into him. sometimes the distance of mere feet aches.* That you cannot change.  These everyday joys are part of a life I never thought possible.  I exist irrespective of Odin’s mandates, irrespective of Thor, and how I am not he.  I have found that courage. Oh…damn… my mascara. Right, let us mix the sugar in with the apples…! Norns, you are delicious when you cut things up with that knife.

F: *he notes how quickly she tries to divert the attention away from her honest tears. reaching up, he dabs away at the smearing make-up with his thumbs … and then he leans down to kiss her firmly— with everything he has — because this moment is important and he’s learned to never let those moments slip*

So Ref goes off somewhere else so nobody can accuse him and make him an outlaw, and hangs out there for a while, and then his host tells him he’s probably gonna be a good craftsman, and suggests he builds a boat. So Ref asks for a shed and some tools and a lot of wood and privacy so that no one can say that someone came and taught him how to do it.

He refuses all education. This is going to be a Magical Boy transformation.

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Brinicles — The Ocean’s “Ice Fingers of Death”

Reaching down like frozen fingers from the water’s surface, where the so-called “brinicle” meets the sea bed, a web of ice forms that instantly freezes and kills everything it touches, including sea urchins and starfish.

The formation of brinicles, also known as ice stalactites, is dangerous to marine life. Sea ice is frozen fresh water because the salt in ocean water does not freeze with it. As the water freezes, high concentrations of salt are excluded. This brine – super saturated salt – gets pushed out of the ice through channels. Some of it gets pushed up and out, leaving a slightly salty layer on top of the sea ice, but much of it gets pushed down, back into the water.

As this extremely cold brine leaves the sea ice, it sinks in a descending plume and freezes the relatively fresh seawater it comes in contact with. This forms a fragile tube of ice around the descending plume into what is called a “brinicle” – an icicle of brine. These look like icicles hanging from the underside of the ice. If the brinicles keep growing and extending down to the ocean floor, they form a web of ice that freezes everything. Hence the nickname “ice fingers of death”. An amazing video which captures the formation of a brinicle was first filmed in 2011 for the BBC series Frozen Planet.

sources 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6