#collin wikes

[multifandom-damnation]

Sprinting one by one down to the sickbay, their footfalls thundering in the vast space of the Batcave, Shazam and Abuse held tightly to their friends until they were laid gently on hospital white bed sheets, tucking them in and stepping back to surrender them into the care of the Bat-family.

“Do you think they’ll be ok?” Collin whispered to Billy later, reaching across the wide table they were seated at while they watched and waited, threading his fingers through his.

Billy squeezed. “They will be now.”

I love these guys and love them working together. I think there needs to be more work with them all together because although they're not even really in the same universe and Colin technically doesn't exist anymore, I still think there should be more.

(This is for oooi and Whoami? who asked for more. oooi for waiting a year for a new one and Whoami? for pestering me into writing one in two days instead of studying for SACs and I couldn't thank you more for it x)

Abuse and Shazam carried their precious cargo through the streets and alleys of Gotham city. Abuse with a young boy in yellow and green and black decorating his skin, head pillowed on his arm with a trickle of blood soaking down his skin from his raven hair, breathing shallow and eyes fluttering behind their lids. Shazam held another boy, taller than the other, in reads and blues, green shards dotting across his body from the pieces the larger men couldn’t get, his heart beat slow and his skin too cold to be normal.

They were both tired, footfalls landing heavily on the uneven ground and echoing in the silent night of the city. Abuse’s bones ached and groaned beneath his skin, the dull throbbing of agony shotting from the base of his spine to radiate into the rest of his body was only tell-tale of what was to come once he turned back. His skin was splattered in red, blood both his and Robins, bruises littered the expanse like comets on the beach and his breathing was ragged from the glass shards in his side. Shazam looked down at the large gash on his forearm as Superboy stirred and groaned in his arms. His pain was similar to his friends, and he knew that once they turned back they would both pass out from the pain, as they had last time and every other time before. His suit was ripped and torn and coated in sticky splashes of oil and blood. His ribs ached when he breathed, the pain darting along the fractures like lightning in the sky.

“Billy,” Collin said, looking through his hair at Shazam. “Do you think we should stop? We’re not going to make it tonight.”

“I don’t think they’re going to make it tonight.” Billy sighed, looking at the boys in their arms. “We have to keep going.”

“You can get at least one of them home,” Collin argued quietly, pausing to push his shoulder back and crack his back with a grunt and a loud snapping sound, sighing through his nose at the respite from pain and continuing his walk. “Damian has a fever and I’m pretty sure a concussion. Jon is covered in Kryptonite. You know what that stuff does to Superman. We don’t even know if they’re any under the skin.”

Billy chewed at his lip before he answered, knowing that if he said the wrong thing, he’d send Collin into another panic attack. He barely got through the last one. “We got most of it off.” He told his friend quietly, standing closer to him and bumping shoulders. “If there are any in his skin, they’re tiny slivers and Batman will take them out quickly when we get back.”

Collin’s shoulders relaxed slightly, the panic subsiding. “Yeah, ok, yeah. Right, Batman, we’ve got to get them home.” He eyed Billy again, begging with his eyes. “You could still fly at least one of them, if not both of them.”

Sighing, Billy nodded. “I can take them both.” He admitted, glaring at the ground. “But then I’d leave you-”

“I’ll be fine.” Collin said quickly, too quickly, and Billy paused his steady tread to look at him. “I just won’t change back until you come by and get me. I’ll be fine. I can handle myself, well, Abuse can. If you take them, they’ll get there tonight and then you can take care of them and they’ll be fine and you can get me later.” He was rambling now, his voice getting higher pitched despite being deep and rumbling, but he was frantic now and he needed Billy to listen. “I’ll be fine. If you take them, they’ll get help and so will you. I’m not even that bad.” He insisted, turning to face Billy who and paused and looked incredulously at his muscled friend.

Once Collin had finished his rant, Billy blinked once, mind made up. “No.” He said simply, turning and continued walking.

“Why not?” Collin exclaimed, jogging painfully to catch up with his friend, trying not to jostle Damian in his arms. “I swear, I’ll be fine.”

“Collin, you know you won’t cope with being left alone.”

“Fine! I’ll change back and you can carry me too.”

“You’ll be in too much pain to hold on. You remember what happened last time.”

Collin did, and he shivered as he recalled it. He’d been bed ridden for weeks and in constant unbearable pain. “Fine. Why don’t we call someone then? Have them pick us up?”

Billy shook his head. “Damian’s phone was shattered and Jon left his back at the farm. You don’t have one and I left mine at JL headquarters because I knew Damian would bring his. We don’t have any money for a payphone and anyway, who would we call?”

When there wasn’t any reply from his friend, Billy looked over to Colin staring heartbroken at Robin’s crumpled form held softly but securely in his much larger arms, eyes glued to the motionless form of his best friend with the fear and hopelessness that could only look like bravery and determination on Abuse and his vast frame, full of bulging veins and throbbing muscles, a dirty brown trench coat covering his body, brass plated knuckle dusters with his name on them. Often, Billy couldn’t help but compare silently in awe at the vast difference between Abuse and Colin Wilkes. One was big, menacing and strong with a voice as deep as the thrum of an airship powering up, all jagged scars and too-big teeth when he grinned. The other was tiny and timid, under-developed and sickly, feared most everything and with a voice so high pitched it was like a dog whistle when he was frantic or frightened, all knobbly knees and who was most commonly found clutching onto his teddy bear for dear life.

“Alright,” Collin sighed after a moment of thinking, pulling Billy out of his thoughts. “We’ll walk then.” Damian shivered in his arms and borrowed closer into his trench coat, on hand gripping it painfully tight like a life line. In Billy’s, Jon moaned and threw his head back, eyes rolled up into his head so the whites shone like bonfires in the night. “Scratch that. We’ll run.”

As one, the Abuse and Shazam took off together, side by side down the run down streets of Gotham city to the brightly lit beacon of Wayne Manor, where they knew Alfred and Bruce and some other family members no doubt would be home resting from patrol and would be ready and determined to help their friends.

20 minutes later, the doors to Wayne Manor burst open in a frenzy of reds and browns and yellows and blues, the wood creaking and smashing against the walls and two very large men holding onto two smaller bundles of blood and cloth.

“Help them!” Abuse shouted, catching the attention of the rest of the house who scrambled quickly from where ever they were to land by the feet of the giant, panting, bleeding man with agony lacing his eyes, mixed in with fear. “Someone please, help Damian and Jon!”

Moments later, Bruce ran up, placing his hand against his son’s throat while Alfred did the same to Jon. Bruce held his arms out to Abuse, silently asking him to relinquish possession of his son, but Colin shook his head and held him tighter. Bruce sighed. “The Batcave, come quickly.” His eyes darted up the staircase to Dick holding tightly to the banister railing as if he were stopping himself from leaping over and going to his brother. Their eyes met. “Call Clark.” Bruce said and his eldest son was gone before the words had completely left his mouth, needing a task to keep himself from panicking.

Sprinting one by one down to the sickbay, their footfalls thundering in the vast space of the Batcave, Shazam and Abuse held tightly to their friends until they were laid gently on hospital white bed sheets, tucking them in and stepping back to surrender them into the care of the bat-family.

“Do you think they’ll be ok?” Collin whispered to Billy, reaching across the wide table they were seated at while they watched and waited, threading his fingers through his.

Billy squeezed. “They will be now.”

What seemed like hours later, Superman -still in civvies-  flew down the railing of the Batcave, eyes full of worry as he floated to his son’s side. He threaded his fingers through Jon’s hair, muttering quiet words of love and reassurances in his ear when he caught sight of the men sat at the table.

Colin was resting his head on Billy’s shoulder, his hat lying on the table, his hair over his eyes. His face was covered in fist sized bruises, cuts and scrapes and the soft grunting on every inhale told Clark that he was probably just as hurt-is not more- than the boys on the medical costs. Billy’s head was pillowed on his hand, eyes fluttering open and closed, the rattling to his breath and the mostly clotted over gash on his arm, the flecks of oil.

Clark knew firsthand what would happen when they turned back and knew why they were stalling, but with one glance with x-ray vision, Clark knew he needed to do something. Placing a kiss to Jon’s head, he stood up and strolled over to the exhausted boys.

“You should turn back and sleep.” Clark’s tone brokered no room for argument but as their head’s snapped up and their eyes widened to the same size as their mouths, he knew he was going to get one anyway.

“We can’t-” Billy objected.

“No no, we shouldn’t-” Colin shook his head.

“You know what will happen-”

“We’ve made that mistake before-”

“We’re better off waiting for them to wake up and then going home because-”

“We know better now because-”

In a great crescendo, they finished together as if reading each other’s minds. Or having had this same conversation with other adults. “It hurts too much otherwise.”

Knowing he was going to get nowhere with arguing, Superman sat down on one of the chairs at the table, removed his glasses and placing them on the tabletop. “Alright.” Clark said evenly, gently, understanding. “If you don’t want to leave, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Slowly, tentatively, the boys sat up, grunting from the pain already setting into their bones and their joins. “We were ambushed.” Billy admitted, looking side eyed at Colin, who was hiding behind his hair and staring at the table as though he wanted it to open up and swallow him whole. “We didn’t see it and we walked right into a trap.”

“You didn’t sense it?” Clark asked, “Or Jon?”

“I hadn’t changed yet and Jon was arguing with Damian.” Billy explained, sighing as recollection hit. “I think it was about fighting tactics. Jon was making fun of Damian for having to build his tech when he had his biologically built in, like lasers.” Billy grimaced at the look on Clarks face and for ratting his friend out to his dad, but it needed to be done. “It was Colin who, uh, noticed.”

Surprised, Clark snapped his vision to Colin, who flinched from his gaze and slunk further into his massive form. “How’d you do that Colin?” he asked. “I didn’t think Abuse had any powers like that.”

A shake of an orange haired head was the only response Clark got from the boy and Billy put a hand on his friends back.

“Bane was there.” Billy continued “And a few lower-class criminals. It wasn’t too much to handle, but they had fire and oil-” he held up his arm, showing off the dark patches of oil sinking deep into the red of his uniform. “Colin pushed me out of the way and broke the flaming thing before it could get me. Jon jumped in front of Damian who was fending off a few guys and didn’t see the thing from behind. The canister was full of Kryptonite-”

“What colour was it?” Clark asked, dread filling into his heart and spreading through his body like the blood in his veins. “The Kryptonite.”

Billy blinked, exhaustion bringing a thick fog of confusion over his mind but Colin looked up tentatively for the first time since Clark spoke. “Green.” He explained “It was just green. I checked. I would have made Billy get here faster if it was any other colour.”

Clark nodded, relief falling into space between his veins thicker and stronger than the dread. “What happened next?”

Taking that as his cue to keep going, Billy recounted the story again. “Jon went out like a light and I carried him away and hid him. Damian was hit hard in the head and went down next so I took him to where I’d put Jon and went back to help Colin.”

That explains how our boys got hurt, not how they did, Clark thought glaring at the men in front of him. No, not men, these were just children, 10 year olds with too much responsibility and power and torment in their young lives that even aged up and turned into super powered fighting machines Clark was calling them men. Even though their voices were deeper and they were taller, stronger, more capable- Colin was still the paranoid little orphan with a teddy bear clutched permanently in his fist and Billy was still the bold boy who wore a fearful sneer on his lips in the face of danger. And here they were, hiding their injuries from a man who could obviously see they were lying, all to make sure their friends got the help they deserved. Like men.

“Right.” Clark leant forward in his chair, forearms braced on the tabletop. “Thank you for looking after Damian and Jon. What about your injuries? How did you get them?”

Colin flinched, instantly sucking in a gasp of pain. Billy chewed on his bottom lip. He eyed Collin again, who looked about two sentences away from hiding his face in his hands. Billy sighed, squeezing Abuse’s hand. “Colin was ahead of us, said he heard something.” He reluctantly explained, felt Colin stiffen from beside him. “I said he was the first to notice? A thug jumped out from behind a wall and shoved a broken glass bottle into his side. He changed to Abuse instantly, but it was already mostly in there. He was the one who fought Bane while I got the others out, that’s why he’s covered in bruises. And the cuts and blood are from a few guys who got lucky hits on with knives.”

Resiting the urge to grap Collin and hold him, Clark stayed very still and nodded. “And you?” He asked Billy, meeting the youngers eyes.

“I lost sight of Damian at one point and someone came at me with a machete.” He clarified. “I didn’t see it and if it wasn’t for Jon pushing me out of the way it would have killed me. Bane punched me in the side before I could make it to Jon so I could take out the bigger pieces of Kryptonite and then Colin took over.”

“Did you subdue Bane?” Clark asked Colin, confused at another head shake.

“I shoved him over the pier and watched him swim away.” He mumbled, “I had more important things to worry about, like making sure all the Kryptonite was out of Jon and Damian didn’t die in my arms.”

Clark sighed. “You guys did a good job. Why don’t you change back, sleep here and we can fix you up while you’re asleep and then you can be here when the boys wake up?” He suggested, silently begging them with his eyes to agree.

They seemed to have a silent conversation, all expressions and gestures but Clark waited patiently. Suddenly, they paused, seemingly making up their mind and Superman bit his lip in anticipation. “Fine.” Billy submitted, holding tighter to his friend’s hand. “Try and hold it in.” He suggested to Colin who rolled his eyes weakly in response.

With a sound of bones stretching and reshaping, the cracking of muscles being put back into place, the pained pants and grunts and groans from Colin rapidly becoming a small boy and Billy raising his head up and calling "Shazam!" with a lightning bolt magically appearing from nowhere and hitting him , illumating his form in a blast of light until he shrunked down to normal sized before Superman’s very eyes, Colin and Billy’s bodies rearranged themselves to their normal sizes and shapes, the bruises and blood and pain magnified now on their smaller forms. Their eyes rolled back into their heads and they laid there, twitching in pain.

Clark carried them to the cots, placed them on separate beds and covered them in a blanket. Wiping the blood off their faces, he retold their story to Bruce and returned to his son’s bedside.

When they woke up, their ears were filled with joyful laughter and exasperated sighs, their bodies shaking from overexertion and agony, their eyes not wanting to open. Billy woke before Colin, his body bandaged and a glass of water with some tablets on the bedside which he promptly took. When Cullen stirred beside him, they both made their way past the flimsy paper curtain and stumbled to their friends, still covered in bruises and freshly wrapped bandages. They looked up as the curtain parted and was Damian smiling?

“I’m so glad you’re ok!” Jon cried as he leapt off the bed and ran to hug each of his friends, forgetting that super strength and body aching agony didn’t mix. “Dad told us what happened. We thought you weren’t gonna wake up for a while.”

Billy smiled at him. “I’m just glad you’re ok. We got most of the Kryptonite out, we just had to carry you both home.” He turned to Damian who hadn’t moved from his position on his bed. “How did they even get a hold of Kryptonite?”

“Father is looking into that as we speak.” He waved his hand absentmindedly before his eyes fixated on Colin, leaning heavily against the cold stone wall. “Is it true? Did you really take on Bane alone and win?”

Feeling the blush already spreading across his face and neck, Colin looked at the clipboard by Damian’s bedside instead of at his friend. “Yeah,” he mumbled, eyes scanning the paper without reading the words. “It’s not important. I wasn’t going to let him hurt you, so I got rid of him. Billy was needed more than me, so I kept Bane busy while he got you out.”

Damian had reached across now to grab at his friend’s arm, pull him closer and away from the wall. He turned his head and signalled for Alfred to hurry over, bending down to listen to what Damian had to whisper in his ear before nodding with a smile on his face and darting off almost as suddenly and as silently as he had come. “There’s something you’re not telling us, Wilkes.” While the name was usually said sharply, condescendingly to command and organise, this time it was said with love and patience and gratitude and everything Colin never thought himself capable of having. “What happened? What is weighing on you so heavily that you cannot even meet my eyes?”

That did it. Colin yanked his arm from Damian’s firm grip and fell to the ground at the foot of his bed with his head in his hands, sobbing deeply. “I’m sorry!” He bawled, yanking at his hair with his fingers as his palm pressed hard into his eye sockets. “I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault!”

Jon, Damian and Billy each exchanged confused looks until Jon (who was the only one able to function with painless movement) crouched down next to Colin, rubbing his back with one hand and raising his chin up with the other. “What are you talking about Colin?” He asked, rubbing soothing circles on his friends back. He was thin, Jon could feel the uneven bumps of his spine and ribs through his skin, trembling with pain and the exhaustion of long consecutive nights as Abuse. He wondered if the women at the orphanage was feeding him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. We don’t blame you for anything.”

“B-but-”, Collin was blabbering, the words he wanted to say slipping too fast and not fully formed out of his tear and snot and spit soaked lips as he tried to breathe through the pain in his bones and the pain in his lungs and the pain in his heart. “I was in the f-front, I-I should have seen it before any-anyone else could get hurt and if-if I was paying just a little m-more a-attention then we wouldn’t be in this mess a-and you wouldn’t have gotten h-hurt.”

Arms tightening around his shaking friend, Jon shushed him with calming and loving words until Colin’s tears tapered off into dry sobs and tremors. He wiped the tears from his face. “I’m really really sorry.” He whispered, eyes low to the ground.

Suddenly, another pair off arms were wrapped around him, helping to lift him and pull him onto Damian’s cot where he dragged his friend to lay beside him. Jon pulled his over so it was flush next to Damian’s and dragged Billy to join him as well. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Damian insisted, voice soft and caring, although that just might be the mild concussion. “We should have been paying closer attention. Do not worry Colin, just sleep tonight and tomorrow we can focus on getting better.”

“You know I can’t sleep,” he yawned, eyes wide open. “That’s why I wanted to go home. I didn’t bring Rory, I left him in my room.”

Damian hummed, a smile playing on his lips. “Did you?” He asked smugly, knowing the answer. “Because I was so sure that you brought him over that I sent Pennyworth to fetch him for you.”

As if on cue, a finely tailored black suited arm shoved its way through a gap in the paper curtain and Colin gasped, frantically reaching for the old and worn teddy bear in its grasp. “Thank you, Alfred!” He breathed, clutching Rory tightly to his chest as though it were protecting his heart like a layer of cartilage. “Thank you so much!”

A soft, receding chuckle told the boys that they were alone once again, and as Colin settled down between the folds of thin blankets and friendship, finally calm for the first time that night, they realised no amount of debating and arguing could bring them closer together than nearly dying together every night and fighting side-by-side in a family unit tied by stands of friendship, stronger than detest and competition and annoyance.

Now, their only problem was stopping Colin from looking up at the ceiling tomorrow and seeing a roof filled with dark bats, a fact he had forgotten as he barged down in a panic before, and Damian pre-emptively covered his snoring friends head with one of the blankets to prolong the inevitable.

Billy threaded his fingers through Colin’s again and squeezed.

[kwistowee]

|| TEAM FREEWILL ||

X

[the-faerie-circle]

I keep seeing posts about misha limping lately and I was just wondering if we know why he’s limping? I feel like it is known to the public but I honestly can’t remember seeing anything on it. Sorry to bother you about it but I noticed you mention it in your tags a lot and figured you may know something about it🤷🏽‍♀️ Ps. Sorry if you get this ask twice but slightly different, I thought I sent one but idk if it got sent or if I hit cancel when I met to send it😰😰

hey anon,

yeah sadly misha injured his hip in the seattle marathon back in november and he’s also mentionned that he hasn’t been able to run since bc he’s developped arthritis in his hip :(((( he now has a semi permanent limp :(

[denimatio]

Il arrive souvent que la nuit monte mal sur l’âme et de telle sorte que celle-ci, forcée de tentations et lasse, ne sait plus très bien d’où elle vient : d’en haut ou d’en bas, de la lumière ou des ténèbres. (...) Mais qui me dira en vertu de quoi je me suis décidé à choisir ma conscience. L’homme vit le Bien et la Mal comme si une force les lui dictait mais il ne s’est jamais vu à la Source distributrice des impulsions innomées qui le portent à juger et à préférer. Quand il fait le Bien il le juge meilleur, rassurant et très préférable, mais quand il fait le Mal, ou quand un instant il y pense il se demande si ce n’est pas lui par hasard qui serait le meilleur, et pour quelles raisons, ces raisons justement disparues de sa conscience et que le Mal vient d’enténébrer, le Bien a été conçu par lui comme Bon et le Mal comme mauvais, alors que Dieu (…) n’a jamais cessé de lui dire. À s’accepter ainsi sans curiosité pour Dieu et sans problème, l’homme n’est plus cet inerte automate, générateur d’ennui et de folie, qu’a déserté toute conscience, et que l’âme encore pure a fui, parce qu’elle sent percer le moment où cet Automate va accoucher de la Bête (…). J’ai donc senti qu’il fallait remonter le courant et me distendre dans ma pré-conscience jusqu’au point où je me verrai évoluer et désirer.  (…). Et les êtres ont beau ânonner que les choses sont telles quelles et qu’il n’y a plus rien à chercher, moi, je vois bien qu’ils ont perdu pied, et que depuis longtemps ils ne savent plus ce qu’ils disent, car les états avec lesquels ils se tendent au-dessus du flot des idées, et où l’on prend les mots pour parler, ils ne savent plus où ils sont allés les chercher. — Antonin Artaud (Supplément au voyage au pays des Tarahumaras, 1955) photo : Le marine Vernon Wike auprès d’un soldat mourant à la bataille de la Colline 881, près de Khe Sanh, Sud-Vietnam sud (Catherine Leroy, 1967)

[greenstudies]

My ‘To read’ book list

Everyone seemed to like my ‘to watch’ list of movies so I decided to share my list of books I want to read!

📚 Fantasy

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child J. K. Rowling  5/10 

Eon: Dragoneye Reborn Alison Goodman

Eona: The Last Dragoneye Alison Goodman

The Unbound Victoria Schwab  8/10

The Diabolic S. J. Kincaid  9/10

Kaziměsti Martin Bečan  10/10

Hvězdopravec Martin Bečan

Ink Alice Broadway  7/10

Spark Alice Broadway

Strange the Dreamer Laini Taylor  7/10

The Ruins of Gorlan John Flanagan  8/10

The Burning Bridge John Flanagan  8/10

The Icebound Land John Flanagan  6/10

Oakleaf Bearers John Flanagan

Game of Thrones George R. R. Martin  9/10

A Clash of Kings George R. R. Martin

The Hobbit J. R. R. Tolkien  8/10

Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring J. R. R. Tolkien

The Last Wish Andrzej Sapkowski

Animal Farm George Orwell 9/10

The Colour of Magic Terry Pratchett

Good Omens Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman 7/10

Neverwhere Neil Gaiman  9/10

American Gods Neil Gaiman

Metamorphosis Franz Kafka 6/10

The Pied Piper Victor Dyk  8/10

Nikola the Outlaw Ivan Olbracht  5/10

Shadow and Bone Leigh Bardugo

The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm Christopher Paolini

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars Christopher Paolini

Rozhněvané Malé Děti Zašek

Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief Rick Riordan

The Priory of the Orange Tree Samantha Shannon  9/10

The Song of Achilles Madelaine Miller

The Midnight Library Matt Haig

Iron Widow Xiran Jay Zhao

A Court of Thorns and Roses Sarah J. Maas

Throne of Glass Sarah J. Maas

Piranesi Susanna Clark

📚 Sci-Fi

Annihilation Jeff VanderMeer  8/10

Rebels of Eternity Gerd Ruebenstrunk  6/10

Genius: The Game Leopoldo Gout  5/10

The Power Naomi Alderman  9/10

Metro 2033 Dmitry Glukhovsky  10/10

Metro 2034 Dmitry Glukhovsky

Fahrenheit 451 Ray Bradbury  7/10

Authority Jeff VanderMeer

Acceptance Jeff VanderMeer

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Suzanne Collins

1984 George Orwell 9/10

R.U.R Karel Čapek  6/10

An Absolutely Remarkable Thing Hang Green

Scythe Neal Shusterman

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Douglas Adams

📚 Biography

The Wisdom of Wolves Elli H. Radinger  7/10

Talking as Fast as I can Lauren Graham  6/10

📚 Thriller/horror

The Girl on the Train Paula Hawkins  8/10

Pet Semetary Stephen King  7/10

Doctor Sleep Stephen King  8/10

Angels and Demons Dan Brown

The Bat Jo Nesbø

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo Stieg Larsson

You'll Be the Death of Me Karen McManus

📚 Humor

If the Impressionists Had Been Dentists Woody Allen  8/10

Saturnin Zdeněk Jirotka  8/10

📚 Realistic fiction and classic novels

Turtles All the Way Down John Green  8/10

Paper Towns John Green

Norwegian Wood Haruki Murakami

Sherlock Holmes: Classic Stories Arthur Conan Doyle

Anne of Green Gables Lucy Maud Montgomery 

The Secret Garden Hodgson Burnett

A Good Girl's Guide to Murder Holly Jackson

The Blackbird Girls Anne Blankman

They Both Die at the End Adam Silvera

📚 Classic Novels 

The Mother Karel Čapek

Great Gatsby Francis Scott Fitzgerald 6/10

The Call of the Wild Jack London 9/10

Bâtard Jack London

To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee  6/10

Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen

Robinson Crusoe Daniel Dafoe

Moby Dick Christopher Chabouté, Herman Melville  5/10

Three Comrades Erich Maria Remarque 8/10

The White Disease Karel Čapek  6/10

📚 Personal Growth and Education

You are a Badass Jen Sincero  7/10

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck Mark Manson  2/10

The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Marie Kondo  7/10

The Little Book of Hygge: Danish Secrets to Happy Living Meik Wiking  5/10

7 Habits of Highly Effective People Stephen Covey  0/10

The science of staying well Dr Jenna Macciochi  8/10

Atomic Habits James Clear

The Four Agreements Miguel Ángel Ruiz

A Brief History of Time Stephen Hawking

The Anthropocene reviewed John Green

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 9 October 1832

6 ½

11 40

rainy morning breakfast at 8 10 with my father in ¾ hour – wrote the whole of yesterday - at 10 ¼ note basket of grapes from Miss Walker Lidgate to my aunt and note 3 pages of ½ sheet in envelope to me to consult me about her tenant Collins who has Lidgate farm removing to Wike and having sent his cows away without saying a word or her knowing anything about it till her cook told her this morning she had no milk - asked what to do - the substance of my advice was that on the man’s coming to speak to her she should be very civil, say she was rather surprised and that she would think about it - being cautious to avoid giving any hint of what she would or would not do - and to let him and her servants be as little able as possible to calculate from her manner what she thought of doing - probably the man wanted to annoy her into doing something or other he could turn to his own advantage but her perfect self command and temper would foil all chances of this sort - Bayldon would not serve her in a case like this - not to mind that - Collins has property and she has hold enough of him - my 1st impulse was to go over to her this afternoon but it was not necessary, and, on 2nd thought (most prudent and best) determined (if I could get over tomorrow) not to go till 8am on Thursday -  her note begins how little did I imagine when we parted last night that I should so soon have had the pleasure of addressing you my dear friend   under other circumstances I should not have dared to take up my pen but the plea of soliciting your advice seems at least a tolerably fair excuse  then comes the subject of Collins  ending with my kind regards to Mr and Mrs Lister believe me yours very sincerely Ann Walker – Had Booth the mason and Murgatroyde the carpenter and settled with them (paid in full) for George Naylors’ stable at upper place, and the work done in the library passage i.e. flue making in the hall chimney and stove setting and new window putting in and one new light of window in my blue room - wrote and sent at 11 ¼ by Miss Walker’s servant returned from Halifax my note to Miss Walker Lidgate 4 pages of ½ sheet in envelope merely writing the latter I had been very busy the cloak was not brushed and the man had had to wait ¼ hour I began with your note my love surprises me but surprise is not the only or the uppermost feeling which engrosses me  I leave you to imagine what I mean  for surely you already know me too well to be wrong in any surmise you may wish to make    then follows my advice about Collins and conclude with I am to thank you very much for the grapes which  with your usual good judgement you have directed to my aunt  I am doubly flattered doubly obliged  the cloak was of the greatest use to me last night  except among Alps and Pyrenees I know not when I have been out in such a storm of rain and hurricane of wind which last [night] was so strong against me that I was literally blown off the causeway five or six times   forgive me if I can hardly regret even your vexation about Collins  remember it is to him I owe your note and to him I owe this present unexpected pleasure of assuring you how much I am affectionately and very faithfully yours A Lister I wonder what she will think of this   I told her yesterday I thought her pretty proof said she of how blind love is told her how nice she looked in her evening gown for dinner on Thursday she said she thought I rather looked at her   in fact she will soon I think put me less and less in competition with Cliff hill if I can only manage her tolerably the first night at 12 40 had just written so far of today - dawdling over 1 thing or other (rain from before 1 to 2) till 2 - standing musing about Miss Walker whether I can at all satisfy her or not and how we shall get on together – went out at 2 with John and with him till came in at 6 – planting a score raspberry plants, and a bed of scarlet strawberries and ivy at the foot of the embanking walls, and along the wearing near the great sycamore tree in my walk – did 10 pp. French vocabulary – dinner at 7 – read the 1st 100pp. sketches of India in 1818 published in London in 1824 – (by Captain Skinner) – went into the little room at 8 40 – so hot asleep almost immediately till my father went to bed – came upstairs at 10 5 – just before and afterwards read over tonights courier – rainy morning – cleared up about noon – then between 1 and 2 more than afterwards fair and finish afternoon and evening F57° now at 10 40pm

[newshubnaija]

Pensioners lament, say gratuities not paid in Rivers since 2014

Pensioners lament, say gratuities not paid in Rivers since 2014

Pensioners in Rivers State have pleaded with the state government to commence the payment of their gratuities and pension arrears gradually, which they say have not been paid since 2014. The appeal was made to Governor Nyesom Wike by the Chairman of the Nigeria Union of Pensioners in the state, Collins Nwonkwo. The Chairman said,… Read More

[the-forest-library]

March 2018 Reads

Spirit Animals Book 2: Hunted - Maggie Stiefvater The Name of the Wind - Patrick Rothfuss Radio Silence - Alice Oseman Strays - Britt Collins The Blue Castle - L.M. Montgomery Lincoln in the Bardo - George Saunders Opal - Maggie Stiefvater The Little Book of Hygge - Meik Wiking Nick and Charlie - Alice Oseman

Bold = Highly Recommend Crossed out = Nope

Thoughts: What a great month of books! If you’re going to read one of these, I suggest The Blue Castle. It’s nothing that you would it imagine it to be. If you’re going to listen to one, go for Lincoln in the Bardo. There are around 160 voice actors for all of the characters. It’s amazing.

2017 Monthly Wrap-Ups: J | F | M | A | M | J | J | A | S | O | N | D | 2018 Monthly Wrap-Ups: J | F |

[9jabreed]

Pensioners in Rivers State have threatened a mass protest over what they term the failure of the state government to loo

Pensioners in Rivers State have threatened a mass protest over what they term the failure of the state government to loo

Pensioners in Rivers State have threatened a mass protest over what they term the failure of the state government to look into their welfare, despite repeated efforts to get the attention of the government.

Chairman of the Nigerian Union of Pensioners in Rivers State, Collins Nwankwo, handed down the threat during the South-South Zonal meeting of the union held in Port Harcourt, the state…

[veryfineday]

Tuesday 9 October 1832

6 1/2

11 40/..

N  N  +

rainy morning breakfast at 8 10/.. with my father in 3/4 hour – wrote the whole of yesterday – at 10 1/4 note basKet of grapes from miss walKer Lidgate to my aunt and note to me 3 pp.pages of 1/2 sheet in envelope to consult me about her tenant Collins who has the Lidgate farm removing to WiKe and having sent his cows away without saying a word or her Knowing anything about it till her cooK told her this morning she had no milK – asKed what to do –

the substance of my advice was that on the man’s coming to speaK to her she should be very civil, say she was rather surprised and that she would thinK about it – being cautious to avoid giving any hint of what she would or would not do – and to let him and her servants be as little able as possible to calculate from near many what she thought of doing – probably the man wanted to annoy her into doing something or other he could turn to his own advantage but her perfect self command and temper would foil all chances of this sort – Bayldon would not serve her in a case liKe this – not to mind that – Collins has property, and she has hold enough of him – my 1st impulse was to go over to her this afternoon but it was not necessary, and, on 2nd thoughts, most prudent and best, determined (if I could get over tomorrow) not to go till 8 a.m. on Thursday ���

her note begins  how little did I imagine  when we parted last night that I should so soon have had the pleasure of addressing you my dear friend  under other circumstances I should not have dared to take up my pen  but the plea of soliciting your advice seems at least a tolereably fair excuse    then comes the subject of Collins  ending  with my kind regards to Mr. and Mrs. Lister believe me yours very sincerely Ann Walker –

Had Booth the mason and murgatroyde the carpenter and settled with them (paid in full) for george Naylor’s stable at upper place, and the worK done in the library passage – i.e. flue maKing in the hall chimney and stove setting and new window putting in and our new light of window in my blue room – wrote and sent at 11 1/4 by miss Walker's servant returned from H-x[Halifax] my note to ‘miss Walker Lidgate’ 4 pp.pages of 1/2 sheet in envelope merely writing the latter I had been very busy the cloaK was not brushed and the man had had to wait 1/4 hour –

I began with  your note my love surprises me  but surprise is not the only or the uppermost feeling which engrosses me  I leave you to imagine what I mean  for surely you already know me too well to be wrong in any surmise you may wish to make   then follows my advice about Collins and conclude with  I am to thank you very much for the grapes which with your usual good judgment you have directed to my aunt   I am doubly flattered doubly abliged  the cloak was of the greatest use to me last night  except among Alps and Pyrenees  I know not when I have been out in such a storm of rain and hurricane of wind  which last was sso strong against me that I was literally blewn off the causeway five or six times   forgive me if I can hardly regret even your vexation about Collins  remember that it is to him I owe your note  and to him I owe this present unexpected pleasure of assuring you how much I am affectionately and very faith fully yours A Lister   I wonder what she will think of this   I told her yesterday I thought her pretty  proof said she how blind love is  told her how nice she looked in her evening gown for dinner on Thursday  she said she thought I rather looked at her  in fact she will soon I think put me less and less in competition with Cliffhill  if I can only manage her tolerably the first night –

at 12 40/.. had just written so far of today – dawdling over 1 thing or other (rain from before 1 to 2) till 2 – standing musing about Miss Walker  whether I can at all satisfy her or not and how we shall get on together – went out at 2 with John and with him till came in at 6 – planting a score raspberry plants, and a bed of scarlet strawberries and ivy at the foot of the embanKing walls, and along the wearing near the great sycamore tree in my walK – did 10 pp.[pages] French vocabulary –

dinner at 7 – read the 1st 100 pp.[pages] SKetches of India in 1818 published in London in 1824 – (by captain Skinner – went into the little room at 8 40/.. – so hot asleep almost immediately till my father went to bed – came upstairs at 10 5/.. – just before and afterwards read over tonights courier – rainy morning – cleared up about noon – then between 1 and 2 more rain afterwards fair and fineish afternoon and evening Fahrenheit 57º. now at 10 40/..p.m. –

[thorne93]

First Impressions (Part 6)

Prompt: Imagine your friend, Anthony Mackie, brings you with him to an event and introduces you to his friend, Sebastian, who’s blown away by you. He immediately starts flirting and acting silly because you make him nervous and he just wants to impress you

Warnings: flirting (adult style), language (always, with me, come on), and drama (later on in the fic)

Word Count: 2018

Notes: If anyone has kids or wives out of the celebrities mentioned, in this universe, they sort of don’t exist….Just for the sake of keeping it concise. Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes (because shes perfectly amazing) and I could NOT, not, just not have done any of this at all without my amazing girl, @amarvelouswritings

Forever Tags: @amarvelouswritings @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejulesworld @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis  @bubblyanarocks3​ @thefridgeismybestie​

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock  @lenawiinchester​ @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi​

Chris Evans Tag (Normally wouldn’t, but he’s featured a lot): @nedthegay​ @camigt1999​  @lostinspace33​​ @alwayshave-faith​ @elleatrixlestrange

First Impressions Tag: @goodnightwife​​ @spacemarkimoo​ @masha-meow01​ @axelinchen @smuoooshie​

Song: Don’t Say - The Chainsmokers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

White invaded your vision, then red, then you could see again. Meanwhile, in your stomach, the biggest rock settled in your gut as you tried to swallow, but it seemed stuck in your throat.

Your face faltered in the slightest, showing your emotions, but you corrected it immediately. Finally, you were able to speak.

“Well you two have a good lunch,” you bidded.

“Y/N,” Sebastian started in a quiet voice.

“You better go, don’t want to keep your girlfriend waiting,” you said kindly, your eyes going to her then to him. Guilt and sorrow crossed his handsome features but you just gave him your red carpet smile.

Marissa pulled on his arm and said, “Come on,” in a sweet voice, but his eyes stayed planted on you. Eventually, he gave into her request and turned around and followed her.

You were no longer feeling hungry, so you decided to just go and work on the screenplay and read over it and make any changes. When Sebastian returned from lunch, alone, he found you immediately.

“Y/N,” he breathed as he jogged up to you.

Immediately, you tensed up at his presence. Him being near you now made your stomach sick. You continued to look at your work in your chair as you responded, “Yes?”

“Look, I’m sorry okay. I should’ve told you,” he said immediately.

“Yes, you should’ve,” you snapped, flipping your papers down onto the clipboard. “I thought we had something,” you said as you looked up at him once you got out of the chair

“We do,” he insisted.

“Oh, so you just wanted me to be the other woman then,” you surmised. “Sorry, Sebastian, but my dignity isn’t quite that low yet.”

“It’s not like that,” he argued, frowning at you.

“Then what is it? Why did you fail to mention you’re with someone else?!” you demanded in a hushed, angry whisper.

“It didn’t come up,” he defended, shrugging.

“It never came up? In all the time that we almost kissed, shared moments, went on dates, you never thought to mention it?!” you said, your voice raising with each word.

“No! Look, I didn’t mean for this to happen okay? I didn’t mean to start….feeling things for you and I didn’t mean to string you along.”

“You know what? It’s fine,” you said, shutting down. “Just forget it. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think this could be real. It makes sense now why you never made a move.”

“Y/N, please…” he tried.

“No, Sebastian. I am done talking about this. Let’s just get back to work. Go to makeup and get ready for the next shot,” you ordered. He stared at you a moment, you glaring right back until he shook his head and turned and walked away.

---------------------------

Filming with Sebastian was a little different for the rest of the day. Rather than the usual sweet direction you gave him, it was dry. You merely said, “More anger,” “Shout this word.” The sort of magical way of working with him had evaporated.

At the end of the day, you were packing your stuff to head out when he approached you.

“Y/N?” he asked warily.

“Yes?” you asked in an even tone.

“Are we okay?” he wondered. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend, at least”

You took a deep breath and turned. “I’m an adult. You’re an adult. You were dating someone and for a moment, you were intrigued in another woman. It happens. Nothing happened between us so...sure, we’re fine.”

“Really?” he questioned, brows knitting together.

Sighing, you nodded and said, “We were friends before your girlfriend and we can still be friends now.”

It was true. Yes, you wanted Sebastian. But what could you do? No point to mope, cry, scream, or complain about it. It was something you couldn’t change and it wasn’t worth the fight. You’d thought over it all day and you weren’t the type to become childish and ignore him.

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief.

You two stood and an awkward silence fell over you two. You wanted to scream at him, to ask him how he could do this to you, to ask him how he could do this to his girlfriend. But the truth was, despite the answer, it wasn’t worth the fight. So you swallowed your anger and pain, like you always did.

“Well, I’m gonna get out of here. Goodnight,” you said as you picked up your belongings.

“Yeah, night,” he said somberly.

You got to your car, threw your stuff in, got behind the wheel and took a deep breath and then started the car, getting off the lot and out into traffic.

Eventually, you found yourself at the front door, and you pounded on it.

Bee opened it.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” she greeted.

“You knew he wasn’t single,” you accused in a controlled, angry tone.

Bee gave you a sad smile and stepped aside to let you in. She ushered you to the table, where Chris then joined you.

“Y/N found out about Marissa,” Bee informed quietly.

“Ah,” he said, his eyebrows going up before he sat down.

“Why didn’t either of you two say anything?” you demanded, distraught.

“We wanted to,” Chris started.

“No, I wanted to, but Chris said to keep out of it,” Bee said. “He said it wasn’t our place.”

“Well someone should have. I looked like a god damn fool flirting with him all the time. Jesus,” you said, your head going into your hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe me, I wanted to say something. Better than him being with that bitch,” she commented.

“Bee,” Chris lightly chided.

“What? You and I both know that girl isn’t good for him. I don’t wike it,” she said, mimicking her husband’s signature phrase. The phrase made your mouth perk up at the sides. They had a beautiful relationship. Playful, caring, sweet, and everything you ever wanted from a relationship that you never got. It was why you dove into your work head first. You chose to be alone for a long time, and this sort of shit is precisely why.

“What’s wrong with her?” you wondered. You weren’t usually one for gossip, but in the case of a man you had a strong interest in and his girlfriend not being up to par, you were curious.

“Well, they’ve been going out for like four or five months,” she started. “She’s just all about her. She’s Alan Collins daughter.”

“Wait, the oil mogul?” you asked.

“That’s the one. She models but the only reason she does that is because her dad had to pay off the companies to let her model.”

“How do you know that?” you asked.

“She told us,” Chris informed. “She thought it was like an achievement. I think she said something along the lines of her dad could get her anything. She threw out her job as an example.”

“She honestly can’t model. I’ve seen her before...it’s not good,” Bee added. “That’s the sad part. We invited her to the pool party but she didn’t come. She said she had something to attend but she always does that to Sebastian. He has to attend all of her shows, all of her events, but she can’t make it to any friendly gatherings or his premieres, or anything.”

“Maybe the schedules just don’t line up,” you tried. You weren’t really thrilled at the idea of defending this girl, but at the same time you didn’t like to bash people you didn’t know. You tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

“No, trust me, she avoids them. She will say she can’t go, then the next day she’s got pictures on her Instagram of her partying. She’s just a liar,” Bee said.

“So is that why you were pushing him to ask me out?” you wondered.

“Yes! Because you’re a good person, you belong with him. She doesn’t deserve him,” she insisted.

“If she’s so awful, why doesn’t he just leave her?”

Chris answered, “He doesn’t see it. He just gives her excuse after excuse.”

“I see.” You sighed. “Well this is just great.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, we wanted to tell you but…” Bee started, reaching across and squeezing your hand.

“I know, it wasn’t your place. If Seb wanted to do something or to be with me...he would’ve done something about it.”

A moment of quiet fell over the table.

“So what are you going to do?” she wondered, peering at you.

“There’s not much I can do. He’s with her. I’m not going to come between them. I’m just going to go on and live my life. I mean, it’s not like I lost anything. We weren’t dating, we were just friends. That will continue, just without the possibility of a romantic relationship,” you said simply. It was true. Yes, of course knowing Sebastian wasn’t available hurt like hell. The connection was there between you two, but connection or not, he was with someone else and that was something you respected. You weren’t going to break hearts or destroy any relationships. You were far over all of that drama bullshit.

“I respect that,” she started, “but Sebastian is a really good guy, Y/N. Do you think you could maybe talk to him and see if there’s something there between you two? I saw the way you two interacted and believe me that was more like a couple than I’ve ever seen him and Marissa act.”

You shook your head. “No...I don’t think so. I don’t want to cause problems there.”

“She’s right,” Chris said. “She needs to let Sebastian make the decision.”

Bee groaned. “I just don’t like the idea of Marissa being with him.”

“Neither do I, but we can’t go meddling. Sebastian and her need to sort it out,” Chris said.

They nodded and looked at you with apologetic faces.

“I appreciate you all keeping your loyalty to Sebastian,” you said. “It wasn’t yours to tell and I admire that.”

“We didn’t want to cause any problems,” Chris said softly.

“I know...You didn’t...He did.” You sighed. “I was really beginning to feel something for him, you know? If he had just told me he wasn’t available, it wouldn’t be a big deal. We could’ve been friends. But the entire time I was flirting, sharing things that I thought I was sharing with someone with a mutual interest. So now, I’m stuck with feeling things neither of us can return. Even if he feels the same, I’m not about to be the other woman.”

Bee nodded. “Yeah, we get that. I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said.

“Not your fault. Do you know why he didn’t tell me?” you asked, looking at them.

Bee shook her head. “We don’t know.”

“I tried to get him to tell you about her, to avoid this situation right here, but….Obviously he didn’t heed my advice,” he said with an eyebrow raise.

You shook your head. “Well, nothing left to do now but to move on.”

“You could just wait,” Bee offered. “See if he breaks things off with her. I can tell you care for him,” she tried. You could tell Bee wanted you and Seb to be happy, and especially to be happy together. But so far it was looking like the stars weren’t aligning for that.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don't wait on things like this. It could take him months or years to figure this out and I’m not the type to sit around and wait.”

“I understand that,” she concurred, nodding slightly.

“Thank you for letting me bother you so late,” you said as you stood.

“Any time,” Bee said as she walked you to the door. In a quiet voice, she said, “If you need to talk about any of this, I’m here for you, day or night.”

“Thank you, Bee...But there’s nothing to talk about. He chose her.”

[piathabia]

It all started with a trip to the annex of Green Apple Books in San Francisco. The bookstore in the Inner Richmond district of the city has become a haven for me, and I’ve gone for the past 11 years. But it was about three years ago when I picked up a copy of Kinfolk, a lifestyle magazine based in Copenhagen, Denmark.

As soon as I picked up the magazine and started reading it, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm. I remember driving home to North Oakland and settling in a brown, wicker papasan with a cup of tea, eager to dive into the magazine. I would savor every page, each photo and story, because reading it had a calming effect on me.

Since then, I’ve owned every issue. There are also a bunch of issues strategically placed in my room, so that I’m always reminded of that feeling. It wasn’t until lately that I realized what it was that made me so enamored with Kinfolk, so drawn to its mere presence — the Danish concept of hygge.

More hygge, less hassle. (Source)

Hygge (pronounced as hoo-gah) is a Danish word which has no direct translation, but it roughly means “cozy” and it pertains to a kind of lifestyle that the Danes have adapted, and has influenced the way they view or arrange their homes, their offices, down to creating the kind of atmosphere that is hyggeligt (as in, hygge-ful); to a feeling of being at home within ourselves and in the society, a moment to let their guards down. It also comes from the Norwegian word meaning “well-being.”

About a month ago, I came across Meik Wiking’s The Little Book of Hygge: Danish Secrets to Happy Living (Amazon | Indiebound) and decided to get into it. But instead of the good ol’ way of holding a physical copy, I got an audio book through Audible. Within the two days that I listened to the book, I learned about the hygge lifestyle: its origins, how to hygge at home, in the office and outdoors, what makes for a hyggeligt time and how my obsession with Kinfolk, candles and books finally make sense.

What freedom is to America, hygge is to Danes.

One of the central elements of hygge is light. According to Wiking, when you light a candle, that’s instant hygge. He also mentioned that the sweet spot for lighting is a 5000k lightbulb. What does this obsession with light mean?

Winter in Denmark means days that are short and dark for the most part, from October to March. What this told me about the Danes is that lighting then is not just for aesthetic, but a survival strategy. After all, figuring out how to survive the harshest winter months is necessary.

And since we’re talking about light, fireplaces are the next best thing because they create a safe, warm and bright atmosphere.

Couple this with a book, a blanket and a warm cup of cocoa. Hyggeligt.

A quick search for images on what hygge looks like will yield the following photos:

It all looks very hipster-ish to me, but it happens to be the real deal. Candles, check. A book with warm socks, check. A fire pit with friends by the water, check. Good food (and plants), check. To the outsider, hygge can look like a hedonistic pursuit. A toast to the good life. It is, but the underlying meaning and intentions give it its depth — far more than what an observer will be left with.

I admit though, hygge is perfect for introverts like me, which is probably why my Instagram feed looks like a variation of all these photos. What attracts me to hygge is how it prioritizes we over me, how it chooses to keep things simple, and how it teaches you to appreciate the small, humble things in life. It’s like the exact opposite of American culture. At some point though, I couldn’t help comparing how this kind of lifestyle is geared towards affluent nations only because I can’t imaging the Philippines following suit. It wasn’t until I read this book that I realized how the bedrock of hygge is the Danes’ capacity to work for and make collective well-being possible, thereby increasing the social safety net of the country’s most vulnerable. In short, it’s a proud welfare state.

I think the U.S. can learn a lot of lessons from the Danes, when it comes to real health and well-being. Ingen af ​​den kapitalistiske lort som Trumpcare, som vi hele tiden skal beskæftige os med. Jubel. 

Hygge chooses harmony over competition; we already like you.

* * *

The Little Book of Hygge: Danish Secrets to Happy Living (Amazon | Indiebound) by Meik Wiking William Morrow & Company/Harper Collins (240 pages) January 17, 2017 My rating: ★★★★

Teach Me How to #Hygge, with Meik Wiking It all started with a trip to the annex of Green Apple Books in San Francisco. The bookstore in the Inner Richmond district of the city has become a haven for me, and I've gone for the past 11 years.

[allofbeercom]

The hygge conspiracy | Charlotte Higgins

The Long Read: This years most overhyped trend is a wholesome Danish concept of cosiness, used to sell everything from fluffy socks to vegan shepherds pie. But the version were buying is a British invention and the real thing is less cuddly than it seems

Inescapably and suddenly, Britain has been invaded by hygge. The Danish word, previously unknown to all but the most hardcore Scandophiles, is now the subject of an avalanche of books, hundreds of Identikit newspaper features, and endless department-store winter displays. Every story on the subject explains that the word defies literal translation, before offering cosiness as a workable approximation its not exactly that, but rather, a feeling of calm togetherness and the enjoyment of simple pleasures, perhaps illuminated by the gentle flicker of candlelight.

Not the least of the paradoxes of this craze, which you might also call a wildly overhyped trend, is that simply pronouncing it is almost impossible for British tongues. The first mention of hygge in any text where it sits so invitingly on the page, with its row of curvaceous descenders usually comes with a phonetic guide. This is in order to prevent readers from committing the faux-pas of uttering higgy or huggy or, worse, hig. Hue-gah, hoo-gah, heurgh and hhyooguh are among the approximations offered in the (at least) nine books on hygge published this autumn. (The Sun, helpfully, suggests it should rhyme with cougar.)

The titles of these books, carefully calibrated for search-engine optimisation, are: Hygge: The Danish Art of Happiness; The Little Book of Hygge: The Danish Way to Live Well; Hygge: A Celebration of Simple Pleasures, Living the Danish Way; The Cozy Life: Rediscover the Joy of Simple Things Through the Danish Concept of Hygge; Hygge: The Complete Guide to Embracing the Danish Concept of Cosy and Simple Living; The Art of Hygge: How to Bring Danish Cosiness Into Your Life; How to Hygge: the Secrets of Nordic Living; The Book of Hygge: The Danish Art of Living Well; Keep Calm and Hygge: A Guide to the Danish Art of Simple and Cosy Living.

It is the most striking publishing trend I can remember, in terms of the sheer number of titles published at the same time, Caroline Sanderson, who writes about non-fiction for the Bookseller magazine, told me. And so, inevitably, there is also a 10th book a parody. Its publication was announced only 29 days after the first of the straight books came out. Say Ja to Hygge: How to Find Your Special Cosy Place suggests that the crucial word be pronounced huhhpg-ghuhrr. This is not the only occasion when the parody is hard to distinguish from the volumes it is apparently spoofing.

Just as chic is the thing that everyone knows about the French, the word hygge must now be affixed, almost by law, to any media story about Denmark or, indeed, anything remotely Scandinavian, whether the subject is clothes, furniture, cookery, travel, or working hours. The headlines are mostly absurd. Get Hygge With It! Hungry For Hygge! Ten Reasons to Hygge It Will Make You Happier, Fitter and Slimmer! Give Your Home a Hygge! There is even a New Statesman article titled The Hygge of Oasis: Why I Find This Band Strangely Comforting.

According to this now vast popular literature, the creation of an atmosphere of hygge is aided by glgg (mulled wine), meatballs and cardamom buns. Certain activities and entertainments, often involving candles, woollens, or nature, are also said to promote feelings of hygge. One of the less sophisticated books suggests projects for making winter bunting and a mug cosy, the latter to be fashioned from buttons, sequins and an old sock. Its advice to take up the hyggelig activity of cycling is accompanied by a motivational quote from that byword of existential contentment, Sylvia Plath.

I have seen hygge used to sell cashmere cardigans, wine, wallpaper, vegan shepherds pie, sewing patterns, a skincare range, teeny-tiny festive harnesses for dachshunds, yoga retreats and a holiday in a shepherds hut in Kent. The Royal and Derngate Theatre in Northampton has even opened a Bar Hygge craft beer and open sandwiches a speciality. Its hard to pinpoint a definition for the Danish word hygge, proclaims the website. It sits somewhere between warmth and comfort, cosiness and friendship, making the most of every moment, away from worries. We wanted to borrow some of that and bring it to Northampton.

Hygge has been listed as a word of the year by both the Collins and Oxford dictionaries alongside Brexit and Trumpism in the lexicographers annual public-relations exercise. Tremblings of a hygge backlash, seen in skits such as a Daily Mash piece titled Hygge Is Byllshytte, serve only to emphasise its ubiquity. The Eurosceptic Daily Telegraph ran an article suggesting that readers adopt a bracingly British version of the trend brygge.

One morning in October, I walked around John Lewiss London flagship store with Philippa Prinsloo, its head of design: we ran our hands over fake-fur throws and hot-water bottles, felt the nub of Scottish woollen blankets, admired hyggelig tableware that favoured sharing and simplicity. The theme of the homeware displays was, she said, winter warmth. Making sure things are ready to cosy down. An early adopter, the store first promoted hygge as a theme last autumn (we should have done it again this year, said Prinsloo). Will hygge last, I asked her? Will it be more than a flash in the plan? Oh yes, definitely. People really want it and need it at the moment.

Hygge is catnip to social media: on Instagram there are almost 1.5m #hygge posts of falling leaves, bowls of pumpkin soup and babies adorably wrapped in blankets. On Pinterest, there has been a year-on-year rise of 285% in hygge-themed pinning. Interest is especially strong in Britain, according to a spokeswoman for the site, where it skyrocketed in September this year.

Hygge is now the subject of an avalanche of books. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

The author of one of the books on hygge, Meik Wiking, called it the second Viking invasion. But thats not quite right: hygge has been deliberately imported and reinvented by eager Britons. The concept may be indelibly Danish, but the hype has been made in London. And amid the clamour and frenzy of late 2016, this sudden taste for closing the door to the world, for retreating back to the hearth, is selling like hotcakes.

Hygge has not arrived in our midst by accident.Its sudden presence in Britain is a matter of deliberate inducement and persuasion. In its most visible manifestation the onslaught of books on the subject it is a trend that has been carefully concocted in the laboratory of London publishing houses, and then disseminated through the ready collaboration of an enthusiastic neophile press.

It is book editors largely young, female and bright who created the formula of hygge for a mass British audience. The starting point for these young lifestyle alchemists was an article that appeared on the BBC website in the first autumnal days of October 2015. Its writer, Justin Parkinson, had been casting around for news features and zeitgeisty articles from the open-plan expanses of New Broadcasting House, London, four glassy floors above its newsroom. Hed read about hygge in Helen Russells popular memoir The Year of Living Danishly, and hed heard the word on a TV cookery programme. I wondered whether I could work it up into a feature, he told me recently, so he Googled hygge UK.

I thought some people might think it was a slightly poncey, head-scratching idea, he said. In fact, his article, published on 2 October 2015, received over a million hits, and was outread that day by only five stories two pieces on a school shooting in Oregon, and articles on Syria, terrorism and cancer. It was a small island of cheer on a grim news day. The article was immediately followed up by others in the Express, the Independent on Sunday and the Telegraph, the beginning of an extraordinary spike in hygge coverage: in 2015, the word appeared in 40 pieces in national newspapers. This year, that figure has shot up to more than 200, a bump of 400% and thats not counting the huge proliferation of articles in blogs and lifestyle magazines.

One person who saw the BBC article was a publisher named Anna Valentine. She was starting a new imprint, Trapeze, at the publishing conglomerate Hachette, whose UK headquarters occupy an angular modern building on the north bank of the Thames. The BBC article ticked so many boxes on so many levels, she said. Denmark, with its crime drama, its New Nordic cuisine, its classic design, its consistent spot at the top of national happiness league tables, was hot, for a start. Then there was the notion intriguingly, in a time of Brexit that we are looking to other cultures for guidance on how to live our lives. If you look at the biggest-selling lifestyle books, its things like Marie Kondos The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up, which is inspired by Japan. Then there was Norwegian Wood last years non-fiction surprise hit, a Scandinavian ode to the charms of wood-chopping.

Valentines aim was paradoxical: to publish books that would be bought by people who arent book-buyers. Hygge seemed like a perfect distillation of popular lifestyle obsessions beginning with mindfulness, which has moved beyond being a publishing phenomenon and into being a way of life, and has fed into so many trends, like healthy-eating books and adult colouring books. She added: It seemed to tie into an interest in digital detox, too. So many recent fashions, she said, had been about self-discipline and self-deprivation tidying up, clean eating. Hygge was an antidote to all that.

I reflected on the publishing industry offering first one trend, and then its remedy, as if handing out a sequence of uppers and downers. The industry loves repetitions and hybridisations crossing one already popular book with another, so as to cook up a new, or sort-of new, book, designed to replicate the success of previous formulas. (In this context of test-tube book-breeding it is perhaps inevitable that there is a hygge-themed colouring book on the market this autumn. Watch out, too, for books about lagom a Swedish word meaning lack of excess next autumn.)

Around London last winter, other editors were thinking similar thoughts. In the sleek art deco headquarters of Penguin Random House, Emily Robertson and Fiona Crosby were working, separately, on potential titles for their respective imprints, Penguin Life and Michael Joseph. Each had also spotted the BBC article, they told me, when we met in a room off one of the buildings echoing marble hallways. I spend an embarrassing amount of my time flicking around the internet, said Robertson, looking at what people are reading and sharing on Twitter. Pinterest is big for this. Its a case of looking at what people are talking about.

Once the idea had been hatched, it was time to find writers but this was not a straightforward exercise: the notion of hygge is so taken for granted in Danish language and culture that there was no readymade cohort of authors or experts to call on. The editors had to either track down a willing Dane, or identify someone with tangentially related knowledge. Valentine contacted an agent she knew, who suggested Charlotte Abrahams, a British writer on interiors and expert on Scandinavian design. Robertson approached political scientist Meik Wiking, who runs the Happiness Research Institute, a Copenhagen thinktank. Hygge wasnt exactly the kind of thing the institute researched, but the commission was canny, since the association suggested to the reader that hygge might help provide a shortcut to Danish levels of wellbeing. (The Happiness Research Institute has since become a ubiquitous presence in newspaper reports on the subject, lending the imprimatur of social science to the hygge industry.) Crosby found Marie Tourell Sderberg, an actor in the Danish historical drama 1864, which had been shown on BBC4.

For each of these authors, the idea of writing about hygge was unexpected Wiking told me his friends were amazed that anyone thought he could get a whole book out of the concept. Abrahams was actually hoping to write a book about running, but she set about putting together a proposal: she had heard of hygge, but not given it much thought. (When I visited her at home in the Cotswolds, later, she confessed that candles gave her migraines.)

It was only at the end of January, through a colleague in the Penguin rights department, that Crosby and Robertson realised they were both publishing books on the same thing. Thats despite the fact that they work in the same open-plan office and can see each other from their desks, if they stand and look over the piles of Zadie Smiths and Deborah Levys and Jamie Olivers. The discovery necessitated a meeting over bad coffee, but it was a friendly encounter, not hygge at dawn, said Crosby.

It was actually quite reassuring, Robertson told me because it meant hygge was definitely a thing. (Abrahams interviewed Meik Wiking for her book while he was working on his, The Little Book of Hygge, though he didnt let on.) The first volume to come out, in August, was Louisa Thomsen Britss The Book of Hygge: The Danish Art of Living Well, published by Ebury, which is also part of Penguin Random House.

So far Wikings book has been doing best a brisk trade at 46,000 copies in the UK, according to Nielsen Book Research, and it is being published in 23 other countries. That means that the British, oddly, have become the agents of the dissemination of Danish hygge, as if the very idea had been invented in London which, in a sense, it was.

Each book has its different flavour. Wiking takes a broadly sociological approach, laced with disquisitions on interior design and cooking. Sderbergs is a notably pretty book, homey and intimate, scattered with reflections from ordinary Danes. Abrahams writes as a foreigner investigating hygge; she combines expertise on Danish design with a memoir-ish approach about the search for contentment in her own life.

But for all the earnest cultural analyses, linguistic glosses and quotations from Kierkegaard, it is the images, more or less common in style to each title, that one falls for: hands cupping warm mugs; bicycles leaning against walls; sheepskin rugs thrown over chairs; candles and bonfires; summer picnics; trays of fresh-baked buns. To look at them is to long for that life, that warmth, that peace, that stability for that idealised, Instagrammable Denmark of the imagination.

A family relaxing together around a candlelit table epitomises hygge. Photograph: Klaus Vedfelt/Getty Images

When you arrive in Copenhagen, it quickly becomes clear that for Danes, hygge is so omnipresent as to be almost invisible. It is used in numerous common phrases Hyg dig!, or have hygge, is a common way of saying goodbye, for example. It offers itself up elastically in noun, verb and adjectival forms, and is part of innumerable compounds: you can listen to hygge-music, have a hygge-Christmas, sit in hygge-corner with hygge-lighting perhaps enjoying hygge-chat. There is a verb, rhygge, which means, literally, to raw-hygge, that is, to enjoy strong, or authentic hygge; to hygge with someone might mean to have a certain kind of sex (and not the abandoned, up-against-the-fridge kind). As we walked down a street together in central Copenhagen, Mette Davidsen-Nielsen, chief executive of the newspaper Information, answered her phone to her daughter. When she finished the brief call she told me that shed used used the adjectival form of hygge three times I kept telling her it would be hyggelig to see her.

Hygges sudden popularity abroad seemed both pleasing and bemusing to most of the Danes I spoke to, as if there were a sudden craze in Germany for books extolling the spiritual virtues of British-style apologising, complete with an encyclopaedic range of helpful accessories available for purchase. For others, its escape from national boundaries seemed a potential subject of study. We should have an academic conference on the international fame of hygge, said Carsten Levisen, an associate professor of linguistics at Denmarks Roskilde University. He believes he is the first person to have written an entire academic book chapter on the word from a linguistic perspective. I surprised myself by being able to do it, he said.

For all its ubiquity, hygge is also recognised as a self-evidently positive and particularly Danish value. Though the word itself is actually imported from Norwegian, its emergence as an element of national culture is sometimes traced back to Denmarks loss of territory in the 18th and 19th centuries, when it was forced to abandon tracts of what are now Norway, Sweden and Germany. It is stitched deeper into its language than equivalents in neighbouring countries (such as the German Gemtlichkeit, and the Swedish mys) and is firmly entangled with the way that Danish society organises and projects itself.

You could almost see hygge as the private, intimate analogue of the public, civic Danish welfare state. Both hygge and the welfare state rely on a state of trust, a feeling of smallness (small nation, small circles of friends), and an assumption of equality. Each feeds on the other: the welfare state offers the conditions for hygge to prosper, for it ensures a 37-hour working week and the time to devote to hyggelig activities; and on the other hand hygges disdain of hierarchy and conspicuous consumption imparts values important to sustaining a society in which stark differences in financial means are banished. In Denmark our basic needs are covered, Marie Tourell Sderberg told me when she hosted breakfast for me at her apartment candle flickering, bread straight from the oven. We dont need to fight for our survival and so we have time to do things that we find meaningful.

Everyone has their own, highly personal image of the most hyggelig hygge. One brisk October evening, I met up with a contributor to Sderbergs book called Mikkel Vinther, who is a teacher of social media at a school that offers continuing education to adults. He took me to a Copenhagen community centre. It was hosting a cheap communal supper to be followed by a game of bingo (organised fun is a noticeable feature of Danish social life). There were 200 people there; everyone seemed young, middle-class and attractive. Our neighbours at the big communal table leaned over curiously. Excuse me, are you doing an interview? asked one of them. He was called Simon Falk Christensen, and worked as a project manager for Danish State Railways. Intrigued, he offered his own definition. For me its a lot about family. Being together. Candles. Its never about being posh, about cakes from the right place. Its cake you baked yourself. Its a feeling. Its something that has meaning in itself, its not a means to becoming a better person, like doing exercise. I associate it with being a child, the smell of my mother cooking onions in the next room. The smell of the Christmas tree.

Over lunch the following day, Davidsen-Nielsen and her colleague, media commentator Lasse Jensen, debated the meaning of hygge. Intellectualism is not hygge, said Davidsen-Nielsen. Severe debates on philosophy and ideas thats not very hyggelig. Alcohol, sugar and fat are the three key ingredients of hygge. He added: It used to be beer and aquavit, now its wine. She said, Theres something about socks and hygge. He added, Handknitted socks.

While hygge had many variations, depending on whom you asked, it was always anti-modern, and always tinged with nostalgia. Your mobile phone is not hygge. In its native form, hygge is regarded as essentially uncommercial, and by definition modest; yet at the same time it is helped along by certain consumer props especially candles or gently glowing lamps.

Davidsen-Nielsen told me that walking down the street in the dark, she could look into her neighbours windows and spot who was Danish and who was foreign, just by their lighting as if hygge was not merely the essence of Danishness, but also a kind of cultural border that outsiders could not quite cross. Sderberg, too, told me a story about Syrian refugee friends of hers, who had searched all over Copenhagen for fluorescent tubes to light their apartment the tale was told fondly, but their choice of domestic lighting was a marker of their otherness no Dane would make a choice so lacking in hygge. (I had never encountered a cosy bicycle shop before I visited Copenhagen but their windows were draped with chic, low-wattage bulbs agleam in the dusk. Davidsen-Nielsen gave me an artificial candle, which is the coming thing in Denmark, as everyone is starting to get worried about how unhealthy it is to breathe candle fumes. It flickers convincingly; it is made in China.)

To Danes, nothing could be less political than hygge since talking about controversial subjects is by definition not hygge and yet it is clear that the concept lends itself to political use. Davidsen-Nielsen and Jensen told me that the prime minister, Lars Lkke Rasmussen, was hyggelig the kind of guy you could imagine having a beer with. Hes folksy and informal. Hes one of the guys. And he gets away with murder almost, said Davidsen-Nielsen. Hygge is a useful strategy for disguising power. Politically, you can cloak quite aggressive or radical acts with an impression of hygge. Hygge says, lets forget about everything. Lets block out the world and have some candy.

Almost nothing written about hygge in Britainsuggests that it has a troubling side. Wikings book does mention that hygge may sometimes feel excluding to outsiders. It would be considered less hyggelig if there were too many new people at an event. Foreigners, he told me, find it hard to penetrate tight-knit Danish social circles: hygge can only really exist within groups who know each other already. But he stops well short of the kind of critique that, for instance, Dorthe Nors brought to bear when we spoke. Somewhere along the way, hygge became a form of social control, said the Danish author, whose novel Mirror, Shoulder, Signal will be published in Britain in February. Its a little like feel-good in America the cult of the feel-good book or the feel-good movie. Its a cocoon.

Last year Nors published a chilling short story, inspired by an article she had read about a Danish man who had murdered his wife. He was quoted as saying, Nors told me, that he committed this act shortly after the couple had got hyggelig together on the sofa. In the storys introduction, she writes, Hygge is used as a way to suppress feelings in a family or relationship. Every time someone wants to address some kind of unpleasant emotion, this person is in danger of spoiling the hygge and will be told: Now, lets just hygge which basically just means: Lets just stay on the surface and behave hyggelig Its a beautiful thing, the Danish hygge. And its also a little bit dangerous. Nors happily admitted to a little inconsistency, for she loves to partake in a bit of hygge (she has candlesticks in her office, for example). But, she said, You should see us at Christmas. It scares the freak out of me. Youre not allowed to be unhappy.

The suppression of difference inherent in hygge, Nors said, was not confined to family life. She related the word to Denmarks historically largely agrarian economy and rural society. Its a very small nation and we all used to be farming, although thats changing fast. In this kind of society, conformity is really important. Hygge provides a way of establishing consensus. Those who rock the boat, who think differently, who speak out they are spoiling the hygge, she said.

Aside from hygge, there is one other peculiarly Danish notion that visitors tend to encounter. This is the so-called Jante law a set of attitudes said to govern Danish social life, described in Aksel Sandemoses satirical 1933 novel A Fugitive Crosses His Tracks. The first rule of the law, which takes its name from the fictional town of Jante, is Youre not to think that you are anything special,and the others are more or less variations on that theme: essentially, dont get too big for your breeches. Dont stand out. Dont be different. Sandemoses novel caused controversy for its unblinking vision of rural small-mindedness, but Danes recognise the law of Jante as containing a certain truth: that conformity, and an almost aggressive modesty, are central to Danish culture.

The founder of the far-right Danish Peoples Party, Pia Kjrsgaard. Photograph: Keld Navntoft/EPA

These qualities may promote unity and solidarity of a sort useful in maintaining an egalitarian society, but its not hard to see the drawbacks of cultural norms that suppress individuality or dissent. In the chapter on hygge in Levisens book Cultural Semantics and Social Cognition: A Case Study on the Danish Universe of Meaning, he recounts a story about Sepp Piontek, the German football manager who took the Danish national team to their first World Cup in 1986 and quickly discovered that hygge was an obstacle to the teams success. In order to achieve any results in Denmark, the national team had to go through a minor cultural revolution, Piontek wrote in his memoir. The general attitude was that it should be fun and hyggelig to be a part of the national team.

A common critique of hygge, according to Mikkel Vinther, is that it makes the democratic process weak because to discuss difficult things is not hyggelig. Vinther, himself, is more positive: it has the potential, he argues, to provide a powerful, non-confrontational way for people to come together. But first it needs to be reinvented: he wants to develop what he calls hygge 2.0. The culture minister, Bertel Haarder is in the process of establishing a cultural canon for Denmark, inviting Danes to submit ideas about what they find most valuable in their national life. But Haarder himself has sounded a note of caution about placing hygge in such a list it should be done only if it is something that includes rather than, as is often the case, excludes. On second thoughts, I dont want to take hygge with us into the future, he said in an interview earlier this year.

Hygge is, itself, the place where politics are set aside, Levisen told me. But it is precisely this sense that it is beyond politics as well as its ubiquitous, irreducible Danishness (and thus not-foreignness) that allows it to be mobilised by politicians, particularly those of the xenophobic far right, who have become a rising force in Danish politics over the past decade. (For those who idealise Danish society, it came as an unpleasant shock when it was reported earlier this year that parliament had approved a plan to strip refugees of their valuables, including jewellery and watches, with an apparent unconcern for any troubling historical resonances.)

A case in point is Pia Kjrsgaard, the founder of the anti-immigration, anti-Brussels Danish Peoples Party, which is currently the second-largest party in parliament. Kjrsgaard has subtly projected herself as the protector of Danish hygge against the unknown forces of the globalised world. According to Nors: Hygge is part of the whole set-up of the radical right wing in Denmark. Their commercials will have all the emblematic hygge symbols.

Kjrsgaard, who is now the speaker in Denmarks parliament, gave an interview last year in which she described, in detail, the importance of making her office hyggelig with family photos, lamps, porcelain and knick-knacks. I cannot thrive and work in offices that arent hyggelig, she said.

Creating a hyggelig work environment is completely ordinary in Denmark when I visited the ambassador to Britain, Claus Grube, he lit candles, switched off overhead lighting and put a cushion behind my back. But Kjrsgaard and her allies use hygge with particular, and deliberate, force, according to Nors, promoting a popular image in which being Danish is about sitting round a table and eating cake or pork. And, they imply, everyone outside that is not Danish and it taps into a fear that globalisation and refugees will destroy everything. The Danish Peoples Partys perspective is that Denmark is an almost perfect country, with its long history, its generous welfare state, and its cultural distinctiveness. But anything that threatens that safe community, including alien values and ideologies, cannot be tolerated.

The lightly encoded thought process, then, is that if hygge is uniquely Danish, and hygge can only be enjoyed by insiders, then migrants and outsiders will destroy the nations hyggelig atmosphere, and therefore effectively destroy Denmark. Lotte Folke Kaarsholm, an editor on the newspaper Information, said, Of course hygge excludes. The whole problem with Scandinavia is that these countries can only really work if you shut the borders. You have all these ideals of kindness on the inside, but for our solidarity to function, you need pretty tall walls.

Handknitted socks are quintessentially hygge. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

The year in which hygge has explodedas a British lifestyle trend has been extraordinarily turbulent. If 23 June was like an earthquake, 8 November was its answering tsunami a phenomenon yet more tremendous than the original shock. For all those who mourned and worried about the victories of Brexit and Trump, there were others who rejoiced. These disturbances revealed societies, on both sides of the Atlantic, that are utterly divided. Young vs old, educated vs uneducated, rural vs urban, women vs men, black vs white societys cracks became gaping and obvious. If years can have moods, 2016 was savage in its anger and abject in its fear.

In fact, the mood of 2016 could even be described as uhygge. The word does not, precisely, mean uncosy it does not summon up sharp-angled open-plan offices with severe furniture. It means frightening; it means sinister. If hygge is sitting round the campfire, all differences forgotten, warmed by the dancing flames, uhygge is the darkness beyond that enchanted circle. Uhygge, in fact, threatens to engulf the warmth, the solidarity, the kindness. In the unfathomable bleakness of uhygge exist those terrible things from the outside that could destroy you. On some atavistic, deep-buried level, migrants, refugees, and those with starkly different values, bring with them the fearful perfume of uhygge.

In the tension between hygge and uhygge, the warmth of the hearth and the family, and the terror of the lonely world outside, are linguistically bound together. You can see this reflected in Danish culture most obviously, for those of us in Britain, through its crime drama. Dorthe Nors joked to me that she thought Nordic noir was a kind of pressure release from all the hygge all the dark stuff has to come out somewhere, right? Watching such programmes is a way of keeping uhygge things at bay, safely confined in a corner of the room, on a screen. The hero of the TV series The Killing, police officer Sarah Lund, operates in a Denmark that is dank and grey, cold and unforgiving the chill grey weather and long winters from which hygge is particularly adept at affording protection. She herself is far from the campfire. She is alone. She is terrible at intimate relationships; she backs out of rooms where hyggelig family activities are taking place.

The series, with its darkness and violence, exemplifies uhygge and yet the viewer will, most likely, experience it from the safety and warmth of the family home, bottle of wine open, heating turned up. A detective story is a way of dealing with the dark: it is about gathering and containing death and horror within a safe and predictable narrative structure.Hygge does the same work through different means: it draws us in towards warmth and togetherness and forgetting. But it also somehow depends on the existence of the dark, too. In Wikings book theres a remark to the effect that an especially hyggelig situation he remembered (the scent of a stew simmering on the stove, an open fire, a group of friends) could have become more hyggelig with the addition of just one thing: a raging storm outside.

Hygge is, then, a retreat, an escape, a turning-inwards. If its emergence as an element of national culture is often traced back to Denmarks loss of territory an embrace of the intimate smallness of newly sharp national borders perhaps its distinctly British avatar disguises a similar national turning-inward, a pulling-up of the drawbridge against the terror of the world.

The editors who coaxed the British hygge trend into existence were not weirdly accurate weather forecasters, predicting the full bleakness of the conditions to come when they commissioned their books back in February. But they had put their fingers in the wind and, consciously or otherwise, found in hygge much that chimed with the times.

If this is the year in which globalisation has been found wanting by millions, hygge appeals to an earlier age, an imagined past, where one could take back control or make a country great again. The consumerist trappings of hygge, the books and throws and cushions and candles and holidays and recipes, are not just sold as products with a particular and practical use, but rather as magical objects that might summon up feelings and emotions: of safety and solace, of comfort and calm, of a being-in-a-time-before. Hygge appeals to both sides of our great political divides: on the one hand it nostalgically hints at a better past (of community, of family, of simple pleasures) and on the other it offers a refuge from the great, unleashed tempests of the times.

Carsten Levisen asked me if I thought the appetite for hygge in Britain was partly about a fantasy of what Britain might have become, if it had had the chance: Denmark as a kind of alternative, but squandered, possible future. Perhaps, but if he is right, it would be a wonderful contradiction. When Britons are asked whether they want a stronger welfare state and more equality the basics of a more hyggelig life they tend to vote no pretty hard. Britain is hungry for the accoutrements of hygge, but not the costs such as high taxation that come with it.

If, for Danes themselves, hygge has an element of fantasy through the way it draws back from difficulties, difference and debate then the British import is a fantasy of a fantasy. Hygge may be quintessentially Danish, but there is something utterly British about the nostalgic longing for the simple accoutrements of an earlier time especially if it can be bought. At the same time, it is hard to deny that just at the moment, the most natural thing in the world is to want to huddle round the fire and wish the outside away. Settle in: its going to be a long winter.

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from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-hygge-conspiracy-charlotte-higgins/

[allbestnet]

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Oi Dog! by Kes Gray

Dork Diaries: Frenemies Forever by Rachel Renee Russell

Homo Deus by Yuval Noah Harari

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

East West Street by Philippe Sands

The Little Book of Hygge by Meik Wiking

The GCHQ Puzzle Book by GCHQ

The Pigeon Tunnel by John Le Carré

Reality is Not What it Seems by Carlo Rovelli

Inside Vogue by Alexandra Shulman

I Contain Multitudes by Ed Yong

Talking as Fast as I Can by Lauren Graham

Writing to Save a Life by John Edgar Wideman

Pumpkinflowers by Matti Friedman

Not Dead Yet: The Autobiography by Phil Collins

The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo by Amy Schumer

Real Food / Fake Food by Larry Olmsted

Critics, Monsters, Fanatics, and Other Literary Essays by Cynthia Ozick

Just Kids by Patti Smith

A Life in Parts by Bryan Cranston

A Woman Looking at Men Looking at Women by Siri Hustvedt

Shakespeare's First Folio by Emma Smith

Makers and Takers by Rana Foroohar

Global Inequality by Branko Milanovic

Seinfeldia by Jennifer Keishin Armstrong

The Confidence Game by Maria Konnikova

Shoe Dog by Phil Knight

Kill 'Em and Leave by James McBride

Timekeepers by Simon Garfield

Turner by Franny Moyle

Persiana by Sabrina Ghayour

Super Food Family Classics by Jamie Oliver

The 24-Hour Wine Expert by Jancis Robinson

Scandinavian Comfort Food by Trine Hahnemann

Thug Kitchen 101 by Thug Kitchen

Deliciously Ella Every Day by Ella Mills Woodward

Cravings by Chrissy Teigen

Dali: Les Diners De Gala by 

Salt is Essential by Shaun Hill

Good + Simple by Jasmine Hemsley

Taste of Persia by Naomi Duguid

All Under Heaven by Carolyn Phillips

Food52 a New Way to Dinner by Amanda Hesser

Home Cooked by Anya Fernald

Around the Fire by Greg Denton

Dim Sum Field Guide by Carolyn Phillips

Yashim Cooks Istanbul: Culinary Adventures in the Ottoman Kitchen 2016 by Jason Goodwin

Mastering the Art of Japanese Home Cooking by Masaharu Morimoto

Smashed, Mashed, Boiled, and Baked and Fried, Too! by Raghavan Iyer

Small Victories by Julia Turshen

Classic Koffmann by Pierre Koffman

La Mere Brazier by Eugenie Brazier

His Bloody Project by Graeme Macrae Burnet

The Couple Next Door by Shari Lapena

Night School by Lee Child

Truly Madly Guilty by Liane Moriarty

Rather be the Devil by Ian Rankin

Conclave by Robert Harris

The Widow by Fiona Barton

Out of Bounds by Val McDermid

Six Four by Hideo Yokoyama

The Trespasser by Tana French

Before the Fall by Noah Hawley

Cold Earth by Ann Cleeves

The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware

Bone by Bone by Sanjida Kay

Missing, Presumed (DS Manon, Book 1) by Susie Steiner

Die of Shame by Mark Billingham

When the Music's Over by Peter Robinson

Love You Dead by Peter James

Black Widow by Christopher Brookmyre

The Black Widow by Daniel Silva

The Obelisk Gate by N. K. Jemisin

Binti by Nnedi Okorafor

Arcanum Unbounded by Brandon Sanderson

Death's End by Cixin Liu

Central Station by Lavie Tidhar

Sorcerer to the Crown by Zen Cho

Azanian Bridges by Nick Wood

Too Like the Lightning by Ada Palmer

A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers

Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee

Nevernight by Jay Kristoff

The Gradual by Christopher Priest

The Hanging Tree by Ben Aaronovitch

Virgins by Diana Gabaldon

The Race by Nina Allan

All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders

Borderline by Mishell Baker

Morning Star by Pierce Brown

The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman

The Queen of Blood by Sarah Beth Durst

The Devourers by Indra Das

Four Roads Cross by Max Gladstone

Roses and Rot by Kat Howard

The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor Lavalle

Lady Midnight by Cassandra Clare

A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas

Holding Up the Universe by Jennifer Niven

Empire of Storms by Sarah J. Maas

Everything, Everything by Nicola Yoon

Heartless by Marissa Meyer

Beautiful Broken Things by Sara Barnard

Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy by Cassandra Clare

The Sleeper and the Spindle by Neil Gaiman

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater

The Crown (the Selection, Book 5) by Kiera Cass

The Boy at the Top of the Mountain by John Boyne

The Fever Code by James Dashner

Mount! by Jilly Cooper

It Ends with Us by Colleen Hoover

One with You by Sylvia Day

Bridget Jones's Baby by Helen Fielding

Under a Pole Star by Stef Penney

Feverborn by Karen Marie Moning

The Wind Off the Small Isles by Mary Stewart

See Me by Nicholas Sparks

Falling by Jane Green

A Summer at Sea by Katie Fforde

Miss You by Kate Eberlen

You and Me, Always by Jill Mansell

First Comes Love by Emily Giffin

The Arab of the Future by Riad Sattouf

Such A Lovely Little War by David Homel

5,000 km per second by Manuele Fior

Rosalie Lightning by Tom Hart

Geis by Alexis Deacon

Gorgeous by Cathy G. Johnson

Hilda and the Stone Forest by 

Megg & Mogg in Amsterdam (and Other Stories) by Simon Hanselmann

Patience by Daniel Clowes

Plutona by Jeff Lemire

Rolling Blackouts by Sarah Glidden

Wonder Woman the True Amazon by Jill Thompson

Ghosts by Raina Telgemeier

Hot Dog Taste Test by Lisa Hanawalt

Last Look by Charles Burns

Mooncop by Tom Gauld

Patsy Walker, A.K.A. Hellcat! Vol. 1: Hooked on A Feline by Kate Leth

[simplylinly]

ok but Damian taking Maps and Colin with him to Wayne Balls. No one could stop him from taking more than one date, and really the batfams just happy he has friends. The hijinks they’d get up to-god if you’d think the other wayne kids got up to trouble wait till you see this trio.

Colin’s exceptionally good at lying and pulling out the orphan story and Maps of course knows all the passages in the house (and her bubbly personality makes people doubt she’d ever get up to mischief) and well Damian plays along to whatever they want to do. IT’s usually just getting away from the big party to hole up in some room with cocktail weenies and plates of crab puffs-but the fun is evading all the guest that want to fawn over he Wayne boy and his little friends.

the three of them in like matching suits and sunglasses-immediately they shoot down any unfair rumors about Maps seeing that she’s the only girl.

[9jabreed]

The police in Rivers State have arrested three suspects who allegedly detonated explosives at a Pentecostal church, Chri

The police in Rivers State have arrested three suspects who allegedly detonated explosives at a Pentecostal church, Chri

The police in Rivers State have arrested three suspects who allegedly detonated explosives at a Pentecostal church, Christain Universal Church International, located at Mile 3, Diobu area of Port Harcourt.

The church is said to be owned by the father of Rivers State Governor, Nyesom Wike.

It was learnt that the suspects numbering about five attacked the church around 8 pm on Saturday.

It was…