Cam's Corner of the World

It's cold, oh yeah

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 09:27:44 GMT

Yeah, it's cold. -23C this morning, with wind. And wind can double the effect of cold and really, -40 in my face is not how I like to wake up in the morning.

lily_winterwood pointed me to this comic, which did make me smile a bit. But I shall admit that I did utter the phrase 'Faen, det er kaldt' in the wind this morning and that wasn't at absolute zero. Oh well.

US and Northern Europe are colder than normal due to cold air from the Arctic being pushed this way because of high pressure. So blame Santa. Europe and UK are struggling with the cold and snow. Norway managed to be coldest with -41C. Well done us. But at least we're a Nordic country and are used to cold. Insulation FTW.

Brother is coming to stay for two weeks, and cold weather is due to stay for at least one week so excellent timing.

How are you all coping with the big chill?

In other news, I wrote Rome fic like years too late, am still working on a BSG and FlashForward one and have a Martha/Mickey thing in my dead. And also I am trying to take down Icecrown Citadel with my awesome new bow. And also I am planning a Nordic mythology thing for 4th grade to start later in the month. And also I should catch up with brother and algebra. And also I should probably sleep some.

Why doesn't a day have more than 24 hours?

So, End of Time part two...

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 00:37:30 GMT

First off, happy new year all!

Obviously, spoilers below for Doctor Who.

And I'm not sure how I feel about it. I haven't been all that enthusiastic about the specials, honestly, and hard to know how I'll like new Doctor and new head writer yet.

I'll probably like Eleven. I did Ten, after I came to Doctor Who via Nine. Change is how the show lasted so long and keeps on going. So yeah. preview looked exciting.

But I'll miss Donna and Wilf and Martha and Mickey and Jackie and Rose and Ten. (Sarah Jane and Luke still have their own show, so might Jack have. And man, must some of the Jack/Ianto shippers be unhappy now. The Master will probably return at some point too, so not saying goodbye to him.) Liked some of the farewells, but Donna not getting her memory back? That does not please me.

Man, this episode felt so much more about the goodbyes than the plot, which was a bit... Hum. Also, way to tease with Time Lords and bring no Gallifrey :( A planet with such a pretty name should not be gone from all time.

And okay, fic please for how Martha and Mickey ended up married? Because they are both extremely awesome and I'd like to see something doing justice to that.

~~No brain, don't make me write it. Bad, bad brain.~~

I shall have to digest this episode along with all the lovely acohol I had tonight. Mmm. 2010 is starting well.

Year in fics, with some snippets from works-in-progress and drablle offers

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 01:46:41 GMT

Pictures and such from Christmas and Norway-in-half-a-metre-of-snow to follow later in the week. Thank you all for the gifts I had fun opening!

Fics written in total 2009: 23

Per fandom
Flashforward: 2
Warcraft: 1
Doctor Who: 2
Star Trek 2009: 3
Battlestar Galactica: 14
BSG/Doctor Who crossover: 1

In order:

All Care and Have None
The Universe Doesn't Turn Any Kinder (Love's Never Fair)
Return Policy
Break My Heart (And Hope to Die)
Again, and Always
(or Five Last Times for Bill and Laura and One First)
Love and Simplicity: A Murder on Galactica
Die a Dawn
Happily Ever Afters (Are Not Your Absolution)
Replay
Five Times Bill and Laura Lived A Little, and One Time After
Life in a Box
Imagine the Sky
Heaven Isn't Far (Sanctified Remix)
Frakking Consequences
The Logic of Languages
Cultural Oddities
Future Implications
Humans Don't Dream of Gallifreyan Sheep
Life's a Time Machine
Studies in Orc-Human Relations
Slides Towards the Future
Might Be Right

Current works in progress: At least four that I need to finish.

BSG, AU Daybreak fic:

It's not getting any easier falling asleep with Tyrol sitting there, Tory finds. Always there. She can't walk a step without him. Not since what he saw in her mind, and for a moment she could see him killing her for it in his mind. But he didn't, and she's really starting to worry what he will do.

"I've done everything you asked," she says. "Helped with the resurrection. Helped with Ellen's scheme. I've done everything..."

"You killed Cally."

"I was protecting..."

"You killed Cally."

It's all he ever says to her attempts at explaining, her admission, her apologies, her demanding to know what he'll do about it.

"When is this going to end?"

"You killed Cally," Tyrol says calmly. "Goodnight, Tory."

She doesn't sleep very well.

FlashForward, Another World. AU many-worlds-play:

And then the world changes what it sees.

II

Olivia knows they're in danger. Knows it to her heart that is beating wildly. She can feel it through Lloyd's hand clutched in hers too, with his pulse racing. This fear, the doctor in her knows, is the kind of fear that drives humans to the most amazing feats to survive – or gets them killed.

She's not sure which they will be yet.

"Olivia," Lloyd whispers, so close to her ear she can hear his breath too. "I-I'm sorry. I never meant for you to..."

Flash.

II

Zoey knows this is wrong. It shouldn't end like this. Wasn't meant to. Meant to be a white wedding and a bright future, and instead she's watching a golden ring in her palm and thinking about throwing it into the sea.

"Demetri," she says sharply. "Fuck you, Demetri."

She balls her fist and...

Flash.

II

Janis smiles as the woman bends down to face her, the wheelchair coming to a halt with no one to push it.

"You're not helpless, Janis," the woman says, and Janis knows this, this is love and she would stand up and proclaim it to the love – if her legs could carry her.

She can't feel them at all. She can't...

Flash.

II

Her baby, Tracy marvels. Her baby and its heartbeat, right there on a blurry screen.

"It's a boy," the man says, smiling at her. "Have you thought of a name yet?"

"Yes," Tracy hears herself say. "I thought Mark, after his father. I wish he could have..."

Flash.

II

Demetri watches the board. It's all there, the clues. The global blackout, the flashforward, all the clues. What did he miss? What didn't he see?

'Who else knew?' his hands scribble, a touch unsteadily as his hands shake.

There are so many clues. A mosaic of them, mapping out even more confusion.

There must be something here to explain why he...

Flash.

II

Mark doesn't have a vision. Not even darkness.

Star Trek/Doctor Who, Theraphy For Lost Planets:

"Logically, a planet is a mere celestial body," Spock says. "To grieve for its loss would be illogical."

"It's not merely that, is it?" the Doctor says absent-mindedly. "It's an anchor. It's always there to potentially ground you. Potentially is important. Potentially is possibly and possibilities is what the universe is stuffed with. Potentially, potentially is great! Without it, you'll be adrift."

For a moment, both men lock eyes, something silent passing between them.

"For Vulcan," Spock offers.

"For Gallifrey," the Doctor says, then smiles madly. "Lets save a planet!"

Doctor Who/lots of fandoms (in this case World of Warcraft), Nettles and Lilies:

"You are one of Jaina's students?" Thrall asks, but the human male only looks confused. "A mage?"

After a moment, the human nods. "Some might call what I do magic. But I'm a terrible student. Never lived up to the expectations of my tutors. Could never keep a timeline straight. I like it wobbly."

"I have no found Jaina to hold unreasonable expectations," Thrall objects, finding the honour of his friend somewhat in question, if he's at all understanding this mad rabling right. Humans are very peculiar people.

"Jaina?" the human repeats, looking a bit confused again, looking around the room. "Oh! Jaina Proudmoore! Jaina! No, Jaina would only expect the best in everyone."

"You know her well?"

"Only by reputation. As with you."

Thrall nods, meeting Jaina's eye across the room. "Reputation is what we must learn to see past, if our two people shall find peace."

"Oh, you do," the human says breezily. "Congratulations on the marriage, too! Eloping on wolf'sback to get married in Tirisfal, very romantic!"

Thrall just stares. He really must talk to Jaina about her students – maybe an orc shaman could help heal such head injuries.

"Oh, right," the human goes on. "Not happened yet. Never could keep the timelines straight."

Meanwhile, I have more glorious holiday to enjoy, so anyone want a drabble-ish or a ficlet? I can do Doctor Who, BSG, Star Trek 2009, FlashForward and World of Warcraft. Just stick a prompt and a character or pairing in comments and I'll try my best.

Happy holidays!

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 21:40:38 GMT

From Norway and CamFamily, wishing you a God Jul!

(Those are handmade by my grandmother.)

The cat concurs.

Thank you to all those who've sent cards, gifts or season's greetings. I hope what I've sent have arrived in one piece and to all of you, a very good end of December!

Holidays! With plans and in the news

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 19:17:27 GMT

Excuse me for a moment:

HOLIDAY WOOOO.

I am mentally worn out after the stress of the last week, but now I have holiday. It's a beautiful thing. Also, been recieving presents from several of you and thank you! I've kept them wrapped for opening on Christmas Eve, whee. Apart from those who are virtual, of course, like icons I got from lily_winterwood.

Plans for my holidays:
- Play a silly amount of World of Warcraft and slaughter Icecrown Citadel good. Also, get a new cloak and bow.
- Finish my alternate-world FlashForward fic (with Lloyd/Olivia and Mark/Demitri), finish that AU Daybreak BSG fic with resurrection for humans already, finish that Doctor Who/Star Trek crossover with Spock and the Doctor meeting ("Therapy for Lost Planets"), write the multi-fandom many-kinds-of-love fic I've had in mind a while and if I get silly enough, finish the Star Trek penis-size-is-serious-business fic that lives in a dark cellar of my mind.
- Buy new very comfortable winter boots. Finiding the right kind of boots that I can wear without socks and that keeps me warm through Norwegian winter without being a pain on my feet is not that easy, you know.
- Make a gingerbread house.
- Read "The Gathering Storm" and any books I might get for Christmas.
- Watch "East West 101" and whatever else I might get for Christmas.
- Get visit from my brother and his Dutch live-in girlfriend.
- Eat a sad amount of marzipan and CamMum cooking between Christmas and New Year's.
- Relax. Oh, wonderful, wonderful time to relax.

You got any plans for the holidays?

Meanwhile, Wal-Mart employee writes horribly inappropriate letter to co-worker asking her to 'stay out of [his] dreams', get fired and complains about it. Seems to miss the newsflash that he's coming across CREEPY AS HELL, DUDE and bemoans the lack of nice. Yeah. Because the approiate reaction to borderline-stalking and inappropriate behaviour is always niceties.

In the news:
- The attack on Berlusconi sparks battles on the Internet. Italian politics sure get vitrolic.
- The last Spanish top club breaks a colour barrier - but Spanish football still has racism issues.
- Sect members vow to marry female sex workers. I must admit my first reaction to reading that headline was 'bwhuh?'
- Stunning pictures from a recently launched ESA telecope. Preeeetty.

And then, verily, batshit and wank met for a weekend in

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 17:38:39 GMT

VictoriaBitter gets outed as thanfiction in Harry Potter fandom. thanfiction is apparently a somewhat popular fanfic author, and hoooooooooo boy. VB is infamous in Lord of the Rings fandom, and if you read here, you'll see why. I was around for some of the aftermath of VB and.... Well, those were interesting times.

The Internets: You might change fandom, but if you don't change style, certain things may catch up with you.

Then there is the 436 pages of "Save Ianto Jones Report" (as linked here) and what. WHAT. It's going to be sent or has been sent to the BBC, apparently. Not sure if it's officially connected to savecoffeeboy or not, but as the 436 pages (again, WHAT) contains quotes and artwork from people who hasn't been asked permission or even want to be on there, I sense wank. Hoo yes.

Neither situation could possibly end too well. Man, did someone declare it batshit wank weekend and I missed the notice?

In any case, the wankshelter bar is open. Anyone want a drink?

Stuck at an airport, Alan Rickman being hot doesn't make Snape a saint and various stuff

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 19:15:53 GMT

A Chinese national has been barred entry to China and is now living at an airport in Japan. You can read his blog here.

*eyeballs Chinese government* Seriously, seriously uncool. I worry about the direction in China sometimes. Over 30 years since Mao died now and China's economy has opened, but the government hasn't opened much else.

Where will China be in another 30 years? For that matter, where will Norway be? Where will the world be? Man, I almost wish I had a flashforward to know. But I'm probably going to have to use the old-fashioned time machine to find out - life, day by day.

Meanwhile in fandom, Snape fans go off on Lily and anyone not Snape, basically. Okay, Alan Rickman IS hot (mmm-mm) but you can lust him without turning Snape into Victim of the World That Only You Understand, trust me. And without turning on sexist language and character bashing too.

(Incidentally, am I the only one to like Alan Rickman and not go mad for Snape?)

Various stuff:

- All gifts and cards were sent last week for those who signed up, so if they haven't arrived already, they will soon. (I know some have - it's nice of you let me know so I don't have to worry about lost post.) Hope they cheer up a bit.

- Been nominated for a Spock/Uhura award, apparently. (In the pre-movie category, for The Logic of Languages.) Since I've only written three for that pairing, I'm pretty flattered. Reminds me I should finish my Doctor Who/Star Trek crossover when I get time, though.

- Having the Week of Hell, which should hopefully end after the 15th when my holiday starts. If I am a bit grumpy and on edge meanwhile, please forgive me.

- New patch for World of Warcraft this week. Time to take on some Lich King arrogance, yo.

- Someone stole a Walking With Dinosaurs dinosuar! Okay, those things are proper awesome, but still. Bad thieves!

Might Be Right [FlashForward. Hints of Lloyd/Olivia]

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 17:59:35 GMT

Might Be Right
by misscam

Summary: In this world, the bacon might be rubbish, but fate and free will might still both be right. [Hints of Lloyd/Olivia]

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

Author's Note: Spoilers for 1x10. Set some time after the episode, will almost certainly be made AU by future episodes.

II

Olivia doesn't let herself think about the possibility of Lloyd Simcoe dying. He won't. He was alive in his flashfoward. Even if the rest of it may not come true, that part must. Has to.

Dylan doesn't deserve to lose his father. That's a very good reason. Just not the only one and she doesn't want to dwell on one particular other.

Lloyd Simcoe is going to live, she has already decided.

In this world, she's right.

II

When the FBI brings him in (she isn't sure yet if he's escaped on his own or if he's been rescued, but there's time to find out later), she just watches for a moment, taking in the state of him.

Whoever took Lloyd, they have not been kind to him. His face is bloodied and dirty and his hair looks about as unsettled as she feels. But he is alive, his face lighting up a little as he sees her.

It's strangely sweet.

"Dylan?" he asks as she approaches and she tries to smile reassuringly.

"Dylan is fine."

"I n-need to see him."

"He doesn't need to see you like this," she says gently and he seems to take in his own state for a moment.

"Right. Of course."

"Let me help you," she suggests, guiding him towards a curtain and giving the agents a sign to pull back a little. They seem a little reluctant, but do stay on the other side when she closes the curtain. (They have brought him here for medical treatment, she assumes. There isn't much reason he'd come here otherwise. Is there?)

"You seem to do nothing but help me," Lloyd says after a moment, his voice gentle and holding enough fondness to make her skin prickle a little.

"I also avoided you quite a lot," she comments and he laughs a little until he sharply winces, touching his side. "Broken rib?"

"I don't know," he admits. "They did a lot of..."

He trails off, and she nods a little. She can see what they have done a lot of and she can predict at least some of the lasting damage it will do.

Both father and son should see a therapist specializing in post-traumatic stress disorder, she decides. The best she can locate and owe a favour to.

Lloyd winces a little as she carefully cleans his wounds. She could get a nurse to do this – probably even should – but it is strangely reassuring to touch him. He seems to find it the same, looking less dazed as she proceeds.

"I am sorry you got caught up in this," he says after a while, biting his lips when she feels his side more thoroughly. It doesn't feel like a broken rib, but it could be a fracture.

"Stop apologizing," she says sternly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"They seemed to think so," he says, a peculiar tone to his voice. "Most of the world seems to think so."

"I don't think so," she says. He looks at her, as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Then he smiles very softly, reaching out to touch the bruise on her cheek, a finger tracing it gently before he lowers his hand again.

"You got hurt," he says, and sounds as if it pains him.

"Nothing serious."

"It could have been."

"In another world?" she suggests. "But that's not the world we live in now, is it?"

"No," he agrees softly. "I just wish this one had less bruises."

"In yet another world right now, you're probably just waking up to a normal day, all bruise-free," she says lightly, and he cracks a weak smile.

"Getting up in a hurry, trying to get breakfast done," he says, clearly picturing it. "Probably burning the bacon. My wife always thought I was rubbish at it."

"Maybe you're married to someone else in that world," she suggests and their eyes lock.

Me, she thinks.

You, he doesn't say, but she can almost see the thought of it in the way he lowers his eyes slightly. This is playing with fire, she knows, or rather playing with a present that would lead to a future she has been determined to avoid.

Problem is, she's starting to see reasons not to avoid it. Like Dylan being someone she'd want to mother. Like Lloyd Simcoe being a good man. Like Mark being so much anger and she being all fatigue. Like how sometimes it's easier to start anew than rebuild.

Like how easy it would be to kiss Lloyd Simcoe right here and right now when he looks at her just like that.

"You might be right," he says softly, but doesn't pursue the subject further.

"All better," she says lightly after a moment. Not quite true, since he still carries a few bruises and a slightly haunted look in his eyes. But at least she's cleaned off the blood and dirt. "You should probably get an x-ray..."

"I need to see my son," he interrupts. "Please, Olivia."

"I'll take you to him," she promises and when he takes her hand, she doesn't pull back.

II

Lloyd Simcoe is going to live. Dylan won't lose a father, and she won't lose the man she possibly met in another world and very possibly was very charmed with.

She watches father and son from a little distance, not really hearing the murmured words between them, but reading the body language loud and clear.

For all the awkwardness Lloyd still displays around his son, he seems to be gaining confidence as well, even making the boy laugh at something. For the trauma they've both suffered, that's not bad at all. Lloyd could become a very good father, for his son and any future children he might have or come to consider his.

When Dylan finally falls asleep, Lloyd seems surprised as he walks out and finds she's still there. He looks exhausted too, and when he staggers a little, she quickly steps to his side and steadies him.

(She can see the FBI agents still watching him from a distance, but they seem to be happy to stay in the background for a while longer. Maybe they've realised they're not going to get answers from an exhausted man.)

"You didn't have to..." he says, trailing off a little before picking up again. "Dylan isn't your patient anymore."

"No, but you are now," she points out and he does a small smile she's come to recognise as 'got me there'. "You need a bit of sleep. Come on."

He walks with her without protest, and she keeps an arm around him for support while she guides him to the nearest empty room she can find. He lies down very carefully, wincing a little as he bends one knee. Another thing she will have to check out properly.

"If Dylan wakes..."

"I'll get a nurse to sit with him and come wake you if he does," she offers, and she catches a flash of disappointment across his face before he nods.

"O-of course. You want to get back to your husband."

"No," she says. She will tell him about Mark losing his job and all that followed that, she decides, but not now. "Mark is not expecting me. I'm going to sit with you."

He looks surprised at that, and can't quite hide his delight either.

"You don't have to," he says sincerely, and she smiles as she pulls a chair close to the bed.

"I know. I choose to. Don't you believe in free will, Mr. Simcoe? Or do you believe in determinism?"

He smiles distantly as he closes his eyes. "There are some who think the two are compatible. That our choices are determined by our character, but are still acts of free will. If our choices were not determined by our character, they would simply be random choices."

She considers it for a moment. "Fate and free will at the same time?"

"Something like that."

"Is that something you believe in? Or are you going to dodge that question too?"

For a moment, she thinks he's fallen asleep and won't answer, but then he murmurs, "I do believe in the many worlds theory, Olivia."

"I think I am beginning to as well," she says softly. "Goodnight, Lloyd."

II

In the morning, she gets Lloyd an x-ray, a full check-up, a referral to a good therapist, and breakfast with bacon in the hospital cafeteria, Dylan present as well.

They all agree it's rather rubbish, but that's all right.

They can try somewhere another time.

(And will, fate and/or free will seem to have already decided.

In this world, they might be right.)

II

FIN

Flashforward, Australia and the missing Thanksgiving, Islam and Europe (and Norway)

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 18:36:28 GMT

I'm feeling vaguely guilty all I seem to write of late come out Olivia/Lloyd from FlashForward, but oh well. *eyes fic-in-progress* Once I get attached to something, there is just no helping me. I even got a meta post on FF in my head, including my thoughts on book versus show, free will versus determinism, the joy of physics and why Jack Davenport is hot. Um, yes.

Seriously need more FF icons, too.

In that vein, Australia showed one episode of FF before the US and not all are too happy about that. Also, some seem to think Australia celebrate Thanksgiving, to which I say 'bwhuh?' Sorry, Americans and Canadians, but the rest of the world doesn't really do Turkey Day, for very, very obvious reasons.

Meanwhile, the ban on minarets passed in Switzerland has gotten both the Swiss and the rest of Europe talking. And some people want to follow the Swiss. I am not digging it. Minarets are no more disturbing than bell towers, so it's not really about that. Oh no. It's about Islam becoming visible in Europe and quite a lot of fear, too. And racism.

The Northern League in Italy wants a similar ban in Italy and also wants to stick a cross on the Italian flag. Because the Scandinavian countries do and as all know, we're like the most hardcore Christian countries out there. Oh, wait...

Seriously, the Northern League is really getting on my effing nerves with their fixation on Scandinavia. They've used Norway's royal family in some family value bullshit and their attempts to point to Nordic people as some sort of yay in their racist shit makes my skin crawl so hard. So lets get this straight: MY COUNTRY IS NOT YOUR PROPAGANDA PIECE. In fact, Scandinavia represets some of your pet hates: Secularism, gay marriage, pro-choice without even a debate on it, relaxed attitudes to sex, and a fairly open definition of family.

No one has proposed banning minarets in Norway yet, but a Progress Party dude suggested banning burkas. (And was promptly told off by members of other parties.) Because dictating what to wear is so bad we should dictate what people can't wear. Right then. (Not that I like regimes that make women wear them by law. I kinda loathe those. But banning certain clothes, how does that make us any better?)

Speaking of Norway, Obama is arriving here next week to get his prize and my peaceful little Norway is turning into a big loud mess and even losing garbage cans. I do not like. I mean, I like Obama on the basis of being not Bush, but Oslo pretty much shut down for two days and armed police all over and all the media bruhaha? I'm tired of it before it's even started.

In other news in Norway, a fake robber who had been hired in a robbery exercise went to the wrong petrol station and held them up. Only when the employers there reacted with real fear did he realise it was the wrong one. In his defence, he was a last minute replacement, but yeah. Maaayabe a situation where you want to double-check that address.

Hey, it's December! How is the month treating you so far?

In the news: The WTF, the weird, the moving, the Dalek, the shit, the drama

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 16:35:47 GMT

A friend of mine is having some financial shit. I've helped out a bit earlier and if you can, I and her would be most gracious. I'd certainly be willing to write you a fanfic treat or something if you did.

In the news:

- Husband was suspected of wife's murder - turns out the moose did it.

Um. That's seriously the first time I've ever heard of a murderous moose. (Moose can get aggressive when protecting their kids, but usually they just stare you down. WTF, truly.)

- An American is facing his 6th trial for the same alleged murder.

And when I read statements like one (white) American claiming that tt's all right for them (non-whites) to practise their culture but they should not take ours away from us. We are probably the most discriminated race in the country, my eyes are rolling so far into my head I can see my brain.

- At one university in the US, you can't graduate unless your BMI is below obesity or you can document weight loss.

I realise the US (and many Western countries) have a growing obesity problem, but seriously?!

- Norway's skating couch (an American) was fired for sexual harassment against one female skater.

What pisses me most off about this whole thing is that the female skater who reported it, she just reported what he'd said and never demanded the skating association do this or that. But when he gets fired, who gets a lot of online shit? Her of course. Yes, it's always so classy to blame the victim.

- In honour of the 100-year anniversary of the train route between Oslo and Bergen, NRK made a program showing the journey in real time.

A journey that takes over 7 hours, by the way. My mad, mad parents watched the whole thing and then bragged to me about it. Hah.

- A quite movie piece written by Patrick Stewart on domestic violence.

- One American judge got so disgusted with an American bank's behaviour, he erased one couple's mortage to it.

- A year old, but I hadn't seen it: Selling rape joke t-shirts on eBay and claiming them light-hearted. Err.

A Dalek runs Europe alongside Cathy Ashton.

I can't help but think at least a Dalek would liven up EU meetings a bit. ~~And maybe exterminate Berlusconi already.~~

- A fanfic writer turning up to defend and talk about why she writes 'lolicon' can just not end well at all.

And doesn't. (Note, she posts a bit of one fic in her comments. Though not graphic, could be triggering.) Admittedly, I tend to be of the 'your kink is not for me to call not okay, especially when it's fictional' school, but that is really pushing my attendance. Then again, so do a lot of fictional non-con. Ugh.

- The vandalized gingerbread city in Bergen is being rebuilt.

And now December can start as it should - just bring on some snow already, weathergods.

I think I'll do a 'December in Norway' photo thing the coming weeks, too.

Pic!spam: Hot Males According to Cam

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 23:08:47 GMT

Hot males!

This list is not all-inclusive - think of it as a teaser instead, as my full list of all males I find hot would run a whole day. Also, it reveals a certain tendency to go for Anglo- and Gaelic fellows, in addition to fellows from my home soil.

Morten Gamst Pedersen. He used to play for my favourite football team.

Johan Golden. Half of "Golden Goal" on television and also radio host.

Morten Harket. Still gets into leather pants past fourty.

Carsten Skjelbreid. TV host and winner of "Strictly Come Dancing" in Norway. He shook his ass a lot and I am shallow.

Colin Firth. Do I really have to explain this one?

Continuing our hot British male theme, Jack Davenport. Rawr.

Liam Neeson. Who could get on this list for his voice alone, honestly.

He sings, he dances, he has an Aussie heart about him. Mmm, Hugh Jackman.

Gary Dourdan. I am still in denial over his character's death on CSI. Why kill the hot, why?

And finally, Sean Connory. Vintage hot, hoo yeah.

Got any to add or want to underline any from my selection? Bring your pics!

The anon fic request for Christmas

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 05:16:17 GMT

Post an anon request for a fic you'd like to see for Christmas. If you see a request you'd like to take on, feel free to! I shall in any case do at least two, and see what else time and my brain will allow.

No real restrictions on fandom, but I am naturally more likely to write fandoms I actually know.

This post brought to you by six am on a Monday morning - everyone's favourite.

Gingerbread vandals, pleas to Hollywood on accents, black Vikings

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 12:26:20 GMT

Managing a new low, some vandals have destroyed the Gingerbread City in Bergen. Over 600 gingerbread houses, decorated by kids yesterday with the city to be put together this week. See, it's a non-profit activity aimed at children and children with developmental disabilities. It's been running for several years. People love it.

Pictures from previous years. You can see some of the destruction here.

That's just so utterly low I have no words. But people are pitching in to rebuild it, so I hope they manage.

Meanwhile, Hollywood, I have two pleas:

1) Please, please, please let British actors you cast either keep their accent (it won't bite, I promise!) or give them a dialect coach or something. Because listening to British actors not quite managing to sound American pains me and listening to them in their original accent would just please me. Rawr.

2) Please, please, please get American actors who are trying to do non-American accents some tutoring OR just have them do it all American and count on some suspension of disbelief. Because this half-half is bloody annoying. Also, throwing "ja?" at the end of a sentence does not make you German-sounding. Really. And The Swedish Chef is not a guide to Scandinavian accents. Really. And no, playing it like a stereotype that walked out of a tourist guide written by someone who has never visited the country does not make up for the actor utterly butchering the language.

... Yeah, I shouldn't get into that rant or I'll be here all day.

Meanwhile, they've cast Heimdall in the upcoming Thor movie and oh my. Granted, the comic it's based on isn't exactly staying true to Nordic mythology to begin with, and I guess this kinda reinforces it. Because the Viking gods are generally depicted to be pale in colour, mostly because the Vikings were and we all tend to envision things based on our perspective, you know? The Vikings were no expcetion. So I did blink a bit initially, I must admit. (There's even a Black Viking trope, as I learned.)

But I found myself really warming to the idea and you know why? Because neo-Nazis are going to have a fit. They've always tried to hijack Nordic mythology for their own racist, hateful agenda - just as the Nazis themselves did. To say this displeases me is putting it mildly. That's my cultural inheritance they're twisting and getting associated with their shit.

So I shall sit right back and laugh and laugh and laugh and hey, the dude isn't bad looking either. Win-win!

Fic: Slides Towards the Future [FlashForward. Mark/Olivia, Olivia/Lloyd]

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 15:24:38 GMT

Slides Towards the Future
by misscam

Summary: Afterwards, she does wonder - Was it inevitable even knowing the future, or is seeing the flash forward what made it so? [Mark/Olivia, Olivia/Lloyd]

Rating: Teen. Some non-explicit references to adult activities.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

Author's Note: The show will undoubtedly make this AU. Um, yeah. I'm writing FlashForward fic. Oops.

II

Afterwards, she does wonder - Was it inevitable even knowing the future, or is seeing the flash forward what made it so?

II

Ever since her flash forward, her life almost feels made of slides – as if she's half watching her own life and watching her own reactions too.

Mark and Olivia, married couple. Mark and Olivia, joint parents. Mark and Olivia, kissing goodnight.

Mark and Olivia, half strangers, fighting not to become totally so.

Olivia and Lloyd, definitely strangers.

For now.

II

She hasn't seen Lloyd for a while when suddenly, he's standing in the halls of her hospital, looking slightly perplexed. Apologetic too, when he sees her, and a flash of something else she doesn't want to acknowledge.

"I'm not here to bother you, I assure you," he says, sounding sincere. "I am merely here to sort out some financial matters."

"You're on the wrong floor then," she says, folding her arms. She knows it must look defensive and maybe she even wants him to see that.

"Ah," he mutters, giving her a quick glance. "I am sorry."

He's walked two steps before she hears her own voice, calling his name.

"Mister Simcoe! How is Dylan?"

Lloyd turns, smiling slightly without humour. "Good. He is a little confused. Seems to think your house is meant to be his home."

"Oh."

"Well, thank you again," he says, a touch awkwardly and she watches him walk away, somehow knowing it's not the last time she'll see him.

II

She doesn't tell Mark that she bumped into Lloyd at the hospital.

It's not that she couldn't tell him she bumped into Lloyd. She could. But then Mark would remind her of her flash forward and they would have another fight that isn't really.

It seems easier just to avoid the discomfort.

Mark doesn't tell her he hasn't been at work that day. She finds that out when a colleague calls, assuming she knows.

She didn't.

II

"I love you," Mark says, leaning across and kissing her. "I'm so glad we have this second chance."

"I love you too," she says, letting her head fall back on the pillow as he kisses her shoulder. "How was your day at work?"

"Good," he says smoothly, not even a hint of a lie in his voice. "How was yours?"

"Good," she says, wondering why she suddenly wants to cry.

Secrets. They seem to come more naturally now.

II

"Mom, how's Dylan?" Charlie asks at breakfast, Mark tensing at the question.

"He's fine, honey," Olivia replies calmly.

It worries her she'd like to know for sure.

II

"... knowing from their flash forward they were meant to be together, Adelaide Jones and Chris Crile sought each other out and got married today..." the television drones, people around smiling to the report.

Olivia doesn't. She tells everyone to get back to work instead and calls Mark at his workplace.

He's not there.

II

It's Charlie that has gone missing this time, not turning up in class after playtime. Just enough time for Olivia to panic and leave panicked message on Mark's cell when suddenly Charlie is there, at the hospital.

To see Dylan, as it turns out.

"Mom, he's our family too now," Charlie says simply when asked, and Olivia is sharply reminded of the phrase Dylan would keep repeating. His house. His house too.

Her flash forward must have been partly what the kids saw as well. – Lloyd and Olivia sharing bed and house and kids too.

They just seem to accept it as reality already.

II

What Charlie tells Mark exactly, Olivia isn't sure, but it must have been something. She can tell from the tense jaw line when she joins Mark in bed.

"Fine position you've put Charlie in," he says sharply and she winces.

"It's not my fault!"

"It's you who're going to cheat!"

"It's you who're going to drink!"

She rolls away as he takes in the words, and she hears the soft curse he mutters before turning away as well.

She doesn't sleep too well.

II

"I'm glad you called," Lloyd tells her sincerely as they walk along the side walk. "Dylan has been asking about Charlie too."

She glances up at him quickly, the sun on his face revealing to her he hasn't slept much at all. It makes her wonder what reason that might have and even what she could do to help.

She mustn't, she remembers. He shouldn't matter to her, mustn't matter to her.

"I'm not sure it's a great idea to let them get together," she says.

"Because of your husband?"

She grimaces a little. "He's not very happy about this situation."

"No, no, I understand. I wouldn't have been if it was me and you, I mean if... If my wife had..." he trails off. "I just made you more uncomfortable, didn't I?"

"A little," she admits and his smile is strangely catching.

"I'm just thinking of Dylan," Lloyd says after a moment. "He's lost so much familiar I feel bad keeping him from something he's formed a bond with."

"I understand," she says, and does.

II

She doesn't tell Mark about letting Charlie and Dylan meet up; even if she's sure Charlie will eventually let it slip anyway.

She just can't think of the words to make Mark understand.

It is as if they're talking two languages and translating between them feels more and more of a strain. Mark is angry. Mark makes her feel guilty. Mark makes her feel untrustworthy. Mark makes her feel like he can't be trust. Mark feels passive aggressive and makes her want to fight, just to get it all out.

Mark is a wonderful father and in flashes, makes her remember she loves him.

They just seem to come more rarely.

II

Mark comes by the hospital one afternoon, full of apologetic words and promises he'll get better at working with her on this marriage. He's just had this case at work that was so sensitive most of his colleagues didn't even know he was looking into it.

Connected to mosaic, he assures her. Another step towards changing their future.

Charming Mark, as remembers him. Charming Mark hugging her and kissing her and making her blood run a little cold.

Mark's kiss tastes of gum and mouth freshener and it's that, as definitely as the taste of alcohol would have, that tells her he's drinking again. He's drinking and not telling her and he feels miles and miles away from her.

II

Dylan and Charlie make castles in the sand together, laughing and being so familiar Olivia feels her heart ache at it.

She wonders if the reason they never pressed Charlie on what she saw is that neither Mark nor her really wanted to know. It might be something like this, something Charlie might even want.

A pseudo-sibling.

Lloyd isn't really watching the scene, his gaze somewhere far away from the playground. He does look at her when she walks up to him, carefully keeping a bit of distance.

"You look concerned."

"Sorry," he replies. "Work. You know how it is."

"No, I don't," she says, wincing when she hears the sharp tone in her own voice. "That wasn't directed at you."

He nods. "I suppose it is hard to know if no one ever shares with you how it is."

"Yes," she agrees.

In the end, Lloyd tells her a little of how it is working as a scientist and she tells him a little of how it is working as a doctor and they don't feel too dissimilar.

II

Mark is furious with her, as could be expected. Charlie finally tells him when she comes home full of stories about Dylan, Dylan, Dylan and the castle attacked by dragons they saved.

He does wait until Charlie has gone to bed, but only just.

"You've been seeing that man!" he fires at her.

"Charlie has been seeing Dylan," she corrects. "She can tell you all about it."

"Why?"

"They both need some certainty in their lives. Dylan lost his mother..."

"..leaving his father a widower, how convenient for you!"

"... Charlie is afraid."

"Whose fault is that?" he flings at her, but she refuses to flinch.

"I don't know, maybe it's yours. You were drinking again in your flash forward. You're drinking again now!"

His jaw sets as he stares at her. "One drink, Olivia. I was undercover, I couldn't risk blowing..."

"Mark, you're an alcoholic! You can't just have one drink."

"I can," he says firmly. "It was just one. I know that future won't happen. I got us a second chance."

"If you did, you're blowing it," she says sharply and walks away.

He doesn't come to bed that night.

II

She lies awake for a long time in bed, trying not to picture where her life might be leading.

The problem is, part of her wants to see it.

II

Mark is gone when she wakes up in the morning, and Charlie is sleeping soundly, looking so serene and innocent. It's all Olivia can do to watch.

So simple, to be a child and just accept what happens, happens. Embracing the inevitable.

How much simpler that must be.

II

Of all people to mention her worries about her husband's possible drinking, Lloyd is probably the least wise.

He's still the one she tells, when he stops by to make another Dylan-Charlie play date.

"He makes me feel like I'm driving him to drink when it's the last thing I want," she says.

"Guilt is very powerful emotion and not very responsive to logic," he says, and something in his voice tells her he knows guilt pretty well. Over Dylan, over the death of his wife?

"I don't know how he feels anymore," she says, sitting down on a bench. Lloyd joins her after a moment, his leg brushing against hers as he does. "I don't know how I feel anymore."

"About him?"

"About..." she traces off, all sorts of warning signs going off in her head as if she just walked into a minefield.

"About?" Lloyd repeats intently.

"Everything. I remember the feelings I had in my flash forward," she says, each word feeling like a betrayal. "I know it's just a memory but sometimes it's like I don't remember what I feel..."

"...but feel what I remember," he finishes and he must have moved, because he suddenly feels very close. She can touch him – is touching him, she realises, his eyes dark as he watches her fingers on his arm.

She just nods and looks up into his face, meeting his gaze.

The kiss is to begin with as awkward as half their interactions seem to be – noses bumping, his lips sliding across the side of her mouth before finding hers, her teeth scraping his bottom lip. But it is also gentle and free of anger or hostility or anything that could hide a taste of alcohol and as it grows less tentative and more assertive, it is pleasant too.

Could grow to be even more so, but she doesn't wait to find out. She puts a hand on his chest instead, pushing a little.

He seems to take the cue, breaking the kiss abruptly.

"Don't," she mutters, raising her voice when he pulls back a little. "Don't."

"O-Of course," he says, his voice still a little hoarse. "I do apologize."

He looks apologetic too, at least until she kisses him and then he just looks confused.

Makes two, she thinks.

II

She pretends to be sleeping when Mark comes home. It's late enough that she would be anyway, and Mark doesn't make a move to wake her.

He just undresses and spends so long time in bathroom she wonders just how much brushing his teeth needs.

Enough to mask certain traces, maybe.

II

Lloyd keeps calling her. She finally answers on the tenth, fighting the guilt as she does.

"Olivia," he says.

"Mister Simcoe, we shouldn't..."

"Lloyd. My name isn't a dangerous substance."

No, but it is a step closer to affectionate names and a possible future, she doesn't say.

"I'm sorry, I'm just busy..."

"Women don't normally kiss me and then run for it," he injects. "You might have fatally wounded my ego. You're a doctor. You should repair the damage."

She has to laugh, even if it's a lame joke. At least it's not a passive aggressive accusation.

"Olivia, I don't want to make things harder for you," he goes on. "I really don't."

"I know," she says.

"Charlie still up to meeting Dylan tomorrow?" he asks, abruptly changing the topic.

"She is looking forward to it."

"Good," he says, and she can hear his breath for a moment. "See you then, Olivia."

"See you then, Lloyd," she says to the dial tone.

II

"You don't know the strain I'm under at work!" Mark snaps.

"I'm a doctor! I think I know about work strain!" she snaps right back.

"That's different! You're not trying to save the future!"

"Yeah, I'm just trying to save lives," she says, walking away. Only then does she notice Charlie in the doorway, watching them.

II

"Mom," Charlie says in the car.

"Yes, honey?"

"What's a divorce lawyer?"

Olivia manages not to blink, fighting to keep her tone normal. "Why do you ask, honey?"

"Dylan said that's who you call when you have no more good days."

II

"My wife probably told Dylan that," Lloyd says thoughtfully. "She did say something like that when we got separated. 'All I can see are no more good days, Lloyd.'"

"My daughter told us that's what she had seen," Olivia says, watching Charlie smile at Dylan a few metres away. "I always wondered what she meant."

"Olivia, about..."

"Not yet," she interrupts. "Not yet, Lloyd."

"O-okay," he says, and she feels his gaze staying on her all the while as their kids play together.

II

"This isn't working, Mark," she says firmly as she walks into the bathroom. He pauses in his brushing to look up at her.

"Do you have a better way of brushing my teeth?" he asks, and for a moment, she feels ten years younger and in love again. For a moment.

Moments aren't enough to make good day of.

"Mark, you're a wonderful man. You're a wonderful father. You're just not always a wonderful husband."

He blinks at her. "You're sleeping with him."

"No," she says angrily. "I'm just... I'm tired, Mark. I'm tired of fighting just to get one good day in a week of bad ones. I'm tired of fighting just to get one honest word between us. I'm tired of fighting all this anger. I'm tired fighting my fear you'll become that alcoholic again."

"What makes you think I'm not?" he says, and she leans a little blindly into him. "Olivia, I love you. I don't want to give up on this marriage."

"You never knew when to walk away from a fight, from a case, from saving everyone," she says softly. "I married you for that tenacity. I know you won't give up."

She feels his hands on her back, warm and soothing.

"That's why I'm doing it for both of us," she continues, closing her eyes as she feels her own tears.

II

The closet feels emptier without two suitcases full of Mark's clothes. The bed feels emptier sleeping in it without his weight and warmth also there. The kitchen table feels quieter with just her and Charlie around it.

It's a strange thing, so much relief and so much grief mixed together.

II

It's pouring down, so Lloyd and Olivia take Charlie and Dylan to McDonald's instead, sharing fries and hamburgers and easy laughs, at least until Mark calls to arrange picking up Charlie and she has to tell him where and who she's with.

Mark very pointedly doesn't look at Lloyd when he arrives, just sweeping Charlie into a hug and holding on.

"Don't be sad, Olivia," Dylan tells her, taking her hand. "Charlie loves her mummy."

And her daddy, Olivia thinks.

II

When Mark doesn't come home with Charlie that night, Olivia falls asleep in a chair and only wakes when he comes at 6 in the morning to do so instead.

Charlie is all happy about the adventure of sleeping in a hotel room. Mark is all defiance and a little guilt, at least when Charlie goes to get her school things.

"Don't use Charlie to punish me," Olivia tells him sharply.

"She's my daughter too, Olivia. Or are you too busy finding her a new dad?"

"Don't," she simply says.

"Aren't you leaving me for him?"

"I am leaving you because of us," she corrects. "We've been down this road before, Mark. Your drinking, your anger. I've seen this future. I don't want to have it again."

"We fixed it!" he protests. "I stopped drinking. You know I did, Olivia. We fixed it."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "We just stitched it up. It never healed."

Funny it's taking her this long to realise it, she thinks.

II

"Dad says he doesn't want me to stop loving him," Charlie says as Olivia turns the light off. Another night of Charlie sleeping in the master bedroom rather than her own. There have been many of those since Mark left.

"Why did he say that, honey?"

"Because I said you had." Charlie pauses for a moment, hugging the pillow closer. "Mom, do I have to stop loving dad if you have?"

"Of course not, honey."

"Can I still love Dylan and Lloyd, even if dad doesn't?"

"Of course you can," Olivia says, putting her cheek against her daughter's. "You can love whoever you want."

In the morning, Charlie gives her a cut heart with a picture of them and the text 'I love my mommy Olivia' on.

They put it on the fridge together.

II

"He thinks we're sleeping together," she tells Lloyd, who is watching her intently.

"I could assure him that's not the case," he offers.

"Don't. I think he would like the excuse to hit you," she says. "And you would be lying."

"I would?" The look of confusion on his face becomes him, but she still corrects it by kissing him, his lips parting as she brushes her tongue against them. His hand touches her waist carefully, settling on her hip after a moment of hesitation. She slides her fingers through his hair, keeping her eyes open all the time.

She doesn't want him to think she's is imagining Mark. Doesn't want to tempt herself to go there, either.

"O-Oh," Lloyd says as she pulls back. "I see."

She smiles a little, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead.

"Olivia, I don't want you to sleep with me to spite your husband."

"I know," she says. "Neither do I. That's why I won't yet."

II

Mark is drunk when he calls her. She doesn't hang up on him, just listens to his words until he seems to run out and there's only silence.

"Go to an AA meeting," she tells him then. "Goodnight Mark."

It's Lloyd she calls, and he just listens until she is all out of words and tears.

"I know the pain of losing someone," he says when she tries to apologize for waking him. "I'll forgive you if you let me take you to dinner tomorrow. Ehm. Today."

II

Nicole agrees to babysit both Dylan and Charlie and neither kid seems to find it odd that Dylan comes to stay at the house.

He already thinks of it has his too, after all.

Lloyd is all smiles and nervousness picking her up, she's all smiles and a little guilt.

They eat at an Italian restaurant, Lloyd claiming he doesn't want to subject her to British (and his) cooking. He tells her a bit about particle accelerators, she tells him a bit about open heart surgery. They get drinks and it feels good not to worry about alcohol.

He flirts in a way she has come to recognise as his. She lets him see how she does it.

In front of her house, they kiss goodnight and don't seem to stop, clinging to each other; his hands on her back, hers against his chest with his heartbeats against her palm.

She's beginning to know why she saw herself in the future with strong feelings for him.

II

Dylan sleeps over, and so does Lloyd in the end.

On the couch. This time.

II

Mark sits across the table from her in the lawyer's office, watching her intently.

"I'm going to meetings again," he tells her.

"Good," she says, and means it. For Charlie, and for him.

"Maybe I could move back and we could..."

"No," she simply says.

"I'll fight the divorce."

"I know. You always fight. Doesn't mean you'll win, Mark."

For a moment he just stares at her, and then he seems to deflate a little.

"How did we end up here?" Mark asks, and the hopelessness in voice almost makes her reach for him. But there is also still anger in his voice, a flat tone of it that doesn't seem to go away no matter what. Only around Charlie does it seem to sometimes fade, but just for those few moments.

"Inevitability," she says. She might even believe that, if she tries hard enough.

II

She doesn't want to sleep with Lloyd in Mark's bed. Not for the first time at least, not while it still feels like hers and Mark's bed. One day it will become her bed only, and maybe then.

Certainly then, if the future is to be believed.

So they go to a hotel room, one neither has been to before. All new surroundings for a first time.

She's forgotten first times – awkwardness, anticipation and all unfamiliarity, becoming less so in the cause of it. Explorations rather than excursions, fingers learning new body maps.

He repeats her name as if it's dear to him, and makes her gasp his more than once as he coaxes her along.

Afterwards, she lies in his arms and tries not to think of what was different and what was akin to sleeping with Mark.

Neither of them deserves that.

II

Her lawyer calls in the morning, telling her Mark has agreed to shared custody of Charlie for now, even if he's still fighting the divorce.

At least they're not using Charlie as a weapon and she calls him to let him know he appreciates that.

The conversation even manages to be civil.

II

Lloyd calls her at work and she can tell he's stressed about something work related, but has still taken the time to talk to her.

One of these days, she will have to learn more about what he does, she decides, and invites him and Dylan over for dinner.

II

In the middle of the night, she wakes to an empty bed when it shouldn't be.

She finds Lloyd downstairs, watching the fire absentmindedly and the image of him there is so close to her flash forward she has to take a moment to compose herself.

"Hey, darling," she says, walking down to join him on the couch. She isn't sure she can ever call him 'honey'. It seems to much like willing a future she likes to think just turned out to be like that.

"Hey," he says.

"You look worried," she tells him, touching his forehead lightly. "What's wrong?"

"I worry I caused it to happen," he tells her earnestly.

"It's not your fault," she says reassuringly. It's not. Not hers or Mark's. The fault was between them. It would be far too easy just to blame a reason.

"No, I mean, I think I caused this."

She kisses him before he can elaborate; wanting him to understand she doesn't blame him. Mark probably will for a while, of course, but he's stubborn like that.

She can still think of that with affection.

"We all caused this," she says against Lloyd's lips, resting her fingers on his chest. "I don't know if we can change the future or if it's inevitable. I do know we all make choices, here and now, today. It's mine to be with you."

When he kisses her, it seems a little desperate, but most of all just wanting.

II

In the morning, she calls both him and Charlie and Dylan 'honey' and doesn't even notice in the stress of getting two kids to school.

II

She does still wonder sometimes - Was it inevitable even knowing the future, or is seeing the flash forward what made it so?

She doesn't know. If philosophers can argue over it for decades, Olivia Benford (maybe-to-be-Simcoe one day) doesn't have much chance of certainty. She can watch her life in slides forwards the future and still never know for sure.

Better to just live it, then.

FIN

What I'd like a chance to see

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 21:24:06 GMT

One of my favourite books is by Douglas Adams and isn't The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Rather, it's a little book called Last Chance to See that is utterly non-fiction and all the more sad for it.

In it, Douglas and Mark Carwardine (a zoologist) travel around the world to see various endangered species. At least one of these have been officially declared extinct in the wild since the book was written - the baiji dolphin.

Whenever I read it, I get an urge to explore. To see all the wonderful things this universe has to offer. Especially knowing that not all of them will be here forever and the chance to see them is limited.

I wish I could see everything - a supernova, a star being born in a nebulae, what May 8th 1945 in Norway was like, a Triceratops, the first Norwegians, the forming of the moon, the library of Alexandria, mammoths, the Decan Traps, the silence at the great depths of the ocean, the storm that never dies on Jupiter, a binary star system and so many, many other things.

None of these things are possible to see for me and this makes me a little bit sad. But there is still so much I can see. A shark. A tiger. Angor Wat. The ruins of the Incas and the Maya. Penguins in Antarctica. The Amazons. Nine billion diffrent people on this Earth.

There is how much I have seen. Fjords. Northern lights across a winter sky like some painter gone mad with green. Midnight sun. Kangaroos. The redness of Uluru against the blueness of a cloudfree sky. The stones of old Rome. An ampitheatre of Greece. A Buddhist temple in Thailand. A city of Svalbard, covered in snow and framed by darkness. A blue-tongued lizard taking a liking to my hair.

To quote the Discovery Channel - The World Is Just Awesome.

What would you like to see, if given the chance?

Stupid shit on a Monday, in better news and looking for icon help

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 19:26:32 GMT

Anyone willing to make a few icons for me from bases I've cropped? I am rubbish and have no photoshop. I offer gratitude and return favours/bribes.

I give you stupid shit on a Monday:

- Did you know white are facing racism and being discriminated against in Hollywood? That Heroes' writer sure seems to think so. Poor, poor him, never given any advantage. Except all the ones he has from birth, of course.

Oh yeah, my heart bleed for him. Won't someone think of the poor white males?

(Hey, I think of white males - if they're hot enough! Actually, that kind of goes for all males. Mmm, hot males of all kinds.)

- "No but I don't see the big deal. What is so horrible about it? Think about it. It's just sex you didn't agree to," says (hopefully) a troll or an utter, utter ass about rape. Yeah.

I mean, what's so bad about murder? It's just death you didn't agree to!

- A guild on my server is accused of ninjaing and shitty behaviour in PUGs. Some members take exceptions. 27 pages of wankiness ensue.

World of Warcraft is serious business, if you didn't know.

In better news:

- Book overdue by 50 years returned to library - with a 1000 dollar check to cover late fee..

- Sweden returns skulls to Hawaii to be reburied.

- Australian sniffer dog missing in action for eight months in Afghanistan is found in good health.

- A Zambian journalist has been acquitted of pornography charges after sending officials pictures of a woman giving birth in a hospital car park,

Off to kill some Yogg-Saron!

New shinies, lying to the Nazis is apparently bad bad (but letting people get murdered is good!)

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 12:32:37 GMT

I think I might be getting attached to Castle and FlashForward. Hum. Castle for the wit and snark and awesome female character and FlashForward for the premise and the Jack Davenport and John Cho (and maybe Jospeh Fiennes and Alex Kingston and others).

Things are always most shiny when new, right? I need new shinies. Haven't felt the urge to write something in ages. I should finish my BSG AU-Daybreak thing and the Star Trek-Doctor Who crossover, but a really strong urge is just not there.

Blah.

But hey, new Doctor Who to watch - maybe that'll spark something. Hmm, I wonder how FlashForward would work with Doctor Who?

So what would you do if you lived in Nazi Germany, you knew the neighbours were hiding Jews, you knew bad things were happening to Jews and Gestapo or SS men came asking you if you knew of any hidden Jews?

Apparently telling the truth and giving up the Jews is the Christian thing to do. At least according to one Christian fellow.

Personally, I'd lie my ass off, but maybe that means I'm a bad, bad person and a tool of Satan. For lying and potentially saving lives. Or something. Who else would be a bad lying person here?

In other news, I am never eating kebabs in Russia.

In real life news, working with nine-year-olds is tiring, wonderful and quite educational. I like.

Finally, still taking addresses for Christmas, if you want a card or are doing gift exchange with me. Mine can be found via here.

Man, time flies.

And what's up with you?

When you describe yourself as 'anti-consent', you've pretty much failed squared

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 17:10:07 GMT

A group of past and present University of Sydney students set up a ''pro-rape'' page in the sports and recreation section on Facebook, describing themselves as ''anti-consent''.

Anti-consent. Because that's so much better than pro-rape, naturally.

The list of allegations is pretty sickening as well, but hardly surprising if this is the sort of place to spawn a Facebook group like that. The fail is astounding.

I'm not sure if I feel more angry or sick. It's probably a tie. UGH.

First snow, missed BSG wank(?), Christmas wishlist and Africa's possible new sea

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 15:45:23 GMT

First snowfall this week. You can also see here. I like the snow, at least compared to wind and rain. Truly winter now, Norway. Get out your mittens and reflectors.

Did I miss wank in the BSG fandom? Because that secret and the comments make me think so (well, coupled with some deleted journals I've spotted).

If you haven't already, you can leave your address for Christmas stuff here. My address can be found here (if you're on my flist, at least).

Amazon.co.uk wishlist and Amazon.com wishlist. They have different stuff on them and I tend to use the UK one the most due to it being closer to me. Duh.

Other good stuff I'd be happy with for Christmas:

1. Stuff from Jinx and its World of Warcraft store. Oh yes. I even have a wish list there.

2. Icons of things I like - Norway, WoW, BSG, writing, hot guys, DW, etc etc. Other graphics like banners and wallpapers is also a hit.

3. Scenic/mature photographs, especially framed to put on a wall.

4. Collectibles from all over the world.

5. Books. I never have enough and read pretty much anything. Only trouble is that I might have read something already, but oh well.

6. Long scarves and warm hats for winter. Fluffy kinds are good.

7. Silver jewelry. I'm alleric to a lot of the metal alloids, so silver is preferable.

Or just something you think I would want ;)

Finally, Africa might be getting a new sea. Huh. Curious. Our world really is a world that keeps change, tectonically and otherwise.

Now I have weekend, marzipan and a new DVD with Marple stories. What's your weekend treat to yourself?

Addresses for Christmas

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 05:29:17 GMT

So, if you want a Christmas card from Norway or are doing a gift exchange with me, leave your address here in a comment. All comments are screened, so only I will see.

If you're doing the gift exchange, you can also leave a link to your wish list / Amazon wish list if you have one.

I'll be posting mine a bit later.

(Yes, I'm alive. Vaguely.)

Christmas gift exchange, a sickening story and trusting Norwegians

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 15:37:59 GMT

So, this week I have in addition to being madly busy to begin with 1) sprained an ankle and 2) gotten a cold. Had to go to hospital for x-rays on the ankle, while the cold just likes to hang around. Real helpful, body.

But teaching is brilliant and kids manage to be utterly adorable and pests at the same time. It's uncanny. Very interesting experience. I have to think more on it when I actually get time to reflect a bit.

Anyway, point of this entry is (apart from letting you know I live) Christmas gift-exhange. Yes, it's a bit early, but I have to start planning already as December will be rather busy in other ways.

So, same procedure as last year, really. ~~First ten who comment here with "gift me!" gets on the gift exchange list. (Some are already on it.)~~ All taken now! Everyone else who wants will get a Christmas card from Norway. I'll do a post for leaving addresses in screened comments in November.

Time sure flies, huh?

Meanwhile, this story sure is a reminder that there is something seriously wrong with some people. There are just no words.

Go hug the nearest decent person to you, yeah? That's what I felt like after reading it at least.

Finally, research shows Norwegians are most trusting in Europe. Naive? Sure. But it kinda works for us, in this tiny country of ours.

Studies in Orc-Human Relations [Warcraft, Jaina/Thrall]

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 16:30:18 GMT

(*eyedart* Um, yes, well.)

Studies in Orc-Human Relations
by misscam

Summary: All she ever wanted to do was to study. An innocence ago. Before a human became the enemy of all living and an orc became the dearest of all living to her. [Jaina/Thrall, references to past Jaina/Arthas]

Rating: Teen (a gentle one). Very non-explicit references to what adults can get up to.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

Author's Note: The timeline would put this just before patch 3.3 in gametime. Vague references to a role Jaina will take in it, nothing beyond what Blizzard has already revealed. Much thanks to lotus79 for being encouraging and giving me many an 'aww!'.

II

It's always cold in Northrend, metaphorically and literally so. Literal for all constant winter, metaphorical for the lack of life in more than one way. Jaina is still not used to the continent, despite multiple visits and she finds herself wishing she had brought more furs. Especially this time.

She might not be leaving Northrend again and she doesn't want the last thing she feels here to be cold.

Thrall's tent is warm enough, not that she would expect anything less of a shaman with such mastery of the elements as him. She is grateful he has dismissed his guards this time and that Garrosh is not here. What she has to say is for Thrall alone.

"I thought he would have learned by now," Thrall continues, long into his complaints about Garrosh. She has only half listened, truth be told, but she thinks Thrall needs someone to voice it aloud to more than someone who listens. "His actions in Dalaran deeply disappointed me."

"I was not pleased with King Wrynn's disposition either," she admits, an understatement they both know is exactly that. But her Theramore is small and Stormwind has regained strength. Certain things must remain understatements for the sake of peace.

Thrall knows it and smiles faintly, a smile she returns before it falters and she feels so very tired and cold again.

"What is it, Jaina?" he asks and there is a tone to his voice she has not heard before. It takes her a moment to realise it's a hint of fear.

For her, she knows instinctively. Maybe he even knows what she is about to say.

"I am going to the citadel," she says, her voice clear and cold even to her. "I must know if there is anything left in him of Arthas."

"Highlord Fordring thinks there is not," Thrall says after a moment. "I do not believe him to be untrue."

"I don't either," she assures him. "But Tirion did not know Arthas as I did. I have to... I have to be sure, Thrall."

She can see him consider her words, keeping his blue eyes on her all the while.

"Yes," he says, almost as if it is to himself. "If it had been Tari, I would have wanted to be sure too."

"And if it had been me?" she asks before thinking, as Antonidas all too often chided her for in her youth.

The winds of Northrend suddenly seem the least cold thing in the tent, as a chill sets in her bones. It could have been, she knows. It could have been her. If she had gone along with Arthas at Stratholme, if she had gone with him to Northrend, if she had touched Frostmourne too...

The Lich King and a Queen, she imagines absurdly. Arthas and Jaina carved in ice like Arthas once carved the names in a tree such a lifetime and youth ago.

"If it had been you," Thrall repeats and she looks at him. "I would not accept it."

The words seem to thaw something in her and Thrall's eyes are strangely warm as they stay on her.

"You are an honourable woman, Jaina Proudmoore. There is no evil in your heart, only the grief for what is lost."

"You are a very dear friend, Thrall," she tells him in return, smiling faintly. "I will remember your words."

She can see he intends to see more, but she rushes ahead before he can, determined to get through all she intends to say.

"Thrall, If I do not return, you must not let what we have built fall."

"You will return," he says, and it almost sounds like a command.

"You must keep the peace," she insists. "Even if the Lich King is defeated, there are other forces in this world that would rather see us at war. You must..."

"We," he says, and now there is anger in his voice, growing with every word. "Jaina, you have not come to say goodbye to me."

She had planned it so, she thinks, but she hadn't expected this much fury in him. She can't help but put a calming hand on his arm, feeling his muscles flex as she does.

"I did not wish to leave something unsaid between us," she says quietly, and before he can protest she goes on. "Not a goodbye. Just words long overdue."

He is so very still when she leans forward and kisses him, carefully avoiding his tusks. She isn't sure what orcs consider romantic, but she is sure Thrall grew up among humans long enough to know the meaning of a kiss.

When she pulls back, he follows, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Arthas was my first love," she whispers. "He will not be my last."

There, it is said. The one thing she wanted Thrall to know above all and she only recently came to realise herself.

"You will be my last," Thrall says, and she has to chuckle a little. "What?"

"I just imagined Varian's face if he heard us," she says and Thrall laughs heartily at that. She has to laugh with him, the sound too irresistable and the will to much too strong.

"I do believe we have found one thing Garrosh and Varian would have in common," Thrall says as his laughter fades, causing hers to erupt a little again. He watches her, blue eyes bright and his hand come carefully to rest at her hip.

"Thrall, would your guards find it odd if I kept you occupied a little longer?" she asks, glancing at the many furs he has stacked in his tent to keep the cold out.

"They already find it odd I welcome you in," he replies. "They will say nothing, Jaina. I am the Warchief. It is my privilege to be odd."

She nods at that, her fingers braiding themselves into one of his braids.

"I have never bedded an orc," she admits.

"Nor I a human," he admits. "There are some among my people who say it is an agreeable experience, and I do not believe they would lie to their Warchief."

"You have asked your people about sexual experiences with humans?" she asks and Thrall looks slightly embarassed.

"I did not wish to be unprepared, if you ever..." he trails off, then seems to find words that sound less awkward. "I always liked to study."

All she ever wanted to do was to study, she remembers. An innocence ago. Before a human became the enemy of all living and an orc became the dearest of all living to her.

She kisses Thrall again, much less carefully this time, brushing one of his tusks with her thumb while her fingers rest against his cheek. It is uncomfortable to tip-toe to reach, but a moment later his arms go around her and lift her as easily as if she was made of air.

She feels furs under her as he settles her down, carefully not putting his weight on her as he settles down next to her.

"Are you sure about this, Jaina?" he asks, and for a moment she imagines Arthas, saying the same words and leaning over her too. She was sure then, so very sure she would be a great sorceress and Arthas would be a great paladin and they would love each other forever and ever and beyond the nether.

She will not be arrogant again. She has seen where it can lead, where it led. She will not be sure of anything.

"No," she tells Thrall, kissing his nose when he looks confused. "But I want it. I want you."

Tomorrow, she may go to her death for the mere hope of redemption for her first love. Tonight, she keeps her eyes open to the touch of an orc, the unlikely (about-to-be) lover she'd like to come back to.

It's always cold in Northrend.

Tonight she forgets that.

FIN

In which we learn Norwegians probably would have given Polanski a Peace Prize (& other absurdities)

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 14:45:54 GMT

So, following the Nobel Peace Prize announcement, I've heard, seen or read the following claims:

- Norway doesn't have its head screwed on right.

- Norway has given out the award because we've been invaded by muslims here.

- Norwegians are terrorists.

- Norwegians are actually Swedish liberals who have been 'excited by black iconography' and are actually being racist in giving out the Nobel Peace Prize.

- Norwegians are being condescending.

- Norway is north of Sweden. (No, it's mostly west of.)

- Norwegians are naive and self-flagellating and whiter than Sweden.

- Norwegians are decendents of Vikings and thus don't understand the meaning of peace. (Yeah, we haven't started wars in Scandinavia for centuries, clearly we know nothing at all about peace.)

- Norwegians are Nordic lefties who have drank the Obama Kool-aid looking to stick it to America.

- Norwegians have aimed to help Obama pass a healthcare plan. (Hey, I predicted this on on Twitter yesterday!)

- Norwegians are Quislings that help hold fraud elections in Afghanistan and give awards to other Quislings. (Yeah, not like Quisling was deeply hated in Norway or anything - oh, wait...)

- Norway is the next France.

- Norwegians have something 'the matter with them' and gave to award to get Obama to visit Norway.

- Norwegians like their presidents the same way they like their metal - black.

- Norway doesn't produce anything of use Americans could boycott. (Yeah, not like we have oil or anything.)

- Norway would also give the Nobel Peace Prize to Roman Polanski. (This one actually repulses me on amazing amount of levels.)

- Obama bribed Norway to give the award with stimulus money.

- It's all about Norway's awkward-foreign way of wanting to be in the in-crowd.

- Norwegians are trying to conquer the US with European socialism. (Hey, I predicted that one too!)

- Norway doesn't know about Twitter. (Oh hahahaha.)

- Norway is a bunch of idiots better suited to be called Noway.

- Norwegians are ignorant damn liberal Euro-trash and apparently we have ACORN here, too.

- Norway probably collaborated with Hitler during WWII. (Actually, we were invaded, but thanks for playing!)

- Norway should be invaded.

- Norwegians are anti-semetic and this is another sign of our anti-Jew agenda.

- Norway is apparently Swedish for "Sweden". (*facepalm*)

- Hitler had a bigger influence on Norway than perviously thought.

Sigh.

I see at least one Norwegians newspaper has been getting a lot of angry e-mails from Americans, too.

So, in case you have missed a few vital point, here is how the Nobel Peace Prize actually work:

- Alfred Nobel was a very rich Swede, who in his will set out that he wanted achivements in medicine, physics, literature, chemistry and peace to be honoured with an annual award. The money part of the award comes from the means he left.

- For whatever reasons of his own, he decided that the Norwegian Parliament was to be the one to award the Nobel Peace Prize, while Sweden had the responsibility for the others. Why he divided it like that, we cannot be sure as he didn't say himself, but there are a couple of likely theories out there.

- The Norwegian Parliament appoints a committee according to the stipulations in the will, and with a few of their own - while the people in the committee do represent parties in Parliament, they cannot currently serve in it or be in government. This to make the committee a little more independent.

- The Norwegian people have no say in the award, do not vote in it and have only a tiny indirect influence through elections to Parliament, since the set-up of Parliament will play into who is appointed to the committee.

- It is not awarded by Norway the country. The committee is independent, possibly a bit more so than Nobel had in mind, even. This is by choice of Parliament, who wants the committee to have that independence.

- Norwegian people often disagree with the award. Norwegian politicians often disagree with the award, actually. It's not an award that represents Norway, though it can at times reflect certain Norwegian values.

I actually know the leader of the Nobel Committee (he and dad were in politics at the same time and have many mutual friends) and well, this is just like his kind of thinking. (A lot of fellow Norwegians I've talked to have also remarked this is 'typic Jagland'.) If you read this misconceptions about the Nobel Peace Prize it's the last sentence this one is really all about. I can't say I excatly agree in this case, but we'll see how it plays out.

Ironically, this week Norway was also named best country in the world to live again and yesterday was Leif Eriksson Day in the US. Some timing.

Now, to do a week's planning of teaching or attempt to write something... Bleh, sometimes I hate choices.

So Obama wins the Nobel Peace Prize...

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 10:24:56 GMT

The Norwegian Nobel Committee awards the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize to US President Barack Obama..

Um. Right Well then. That's more for intention than achivement, that's for sure.

So now the US right-wing is going to be slamming Norway and claim various absurd untruths about us again, right? Oh joy. It's always such fun. What are we going to be this year, evil socialist bitches? Probably some absurdity about us trying to force socialist healthcare on the US through awarding this prize.

And if Obama comes here on December 10th to accept the award personally - man, that's going to lock down the whole of Oslo and be the biggest bruhahaha ever.

It's funny how Norway never gets much peace whenever the Nobel Committee awards its choice. Thanks a lot, Alfred Nobel.

Are there actually any good reasons to be awake at six a.m.?

camilla.sandman@gmail.com — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 04:27:50 GMT

"Because of work" is clearly not one. Ugh ugh. Add to this being October, making it pitch dark and wet outside. I hate October in Norway. It looks so dreary and usually involves too much rain.

So, do you have any actual good reasons to be up at six a.m.? Being creative is allowed.

(First day of teaching 9-year-olds ahead. Oh my.)

This has been your "mornings are so unfair" whinge post.