#anita wall

[overgrown-estate]

For the Doctor Who fans out there.

[xamassed]

⟬ @eraseur / s.c ⟭

It was easy to forget that at one point in time, his teacher had been teenager. The thought promoted a whole days worth of questions, but he went with the first one that sprang to mind.

"Aizawa-sensei, were there any heroes you looked up to when you were my age?"

[xxlumos]

Finally living my best and healthiest live: working out at the gym till I pass out and reading smut in between sets

[doctor-rapture]

Raleigh Dining Room

[cherryswisherz]

KARMIC BALANCE ✷ CHAPTER I

✷WARNINGS cursing, unrequited love, shitty parents

✷NIYAH SPEAKS #justice4farrah yall should know this is a slow burn

✦✦✦✦

SENIOR YEAR

In theory, coming home for Thanksgiving is supposed to be a relief. I’m supposed to bask in the free washing machine and dryer.

But in actuality, nothing is free. Not in my house. 

While I don’t actually pay for the washer and dryer with USD, I pay in silent tears and withheld remarks. 

Y’know how in the movies, the wealthy family is actually really chill and has to pretend to be prim and proper in front of company? Well, in the Johnson household, we actually are prim and proper. 

Even though no one but me and my parents are here, I have to keep my tattoos covered, my piercings hidden and my locs are braided down and a quick-weave is flowing a little past my shoulders. 

My room is still disgustingly monochromatic with every piece of furniture being the same shade of blue as my walls and bedspread. The rest of the house is just as basic with a black and silver theme.  It’s nothing like Jane and I’s apartment, where there’s yellows and greens and oranges everywhere. 

Last night, when I called Jane to check on her and see how well Yanna was blending in with her family, she told me that she loved being home, and she never wanted to go back to Storrs. She told me that they loved Yanna and that they made humiliating jokes about her height. She told me that they got her case for not introducing her sooner and that she’d better keep her. 

I fucking hate being at home. Every time I come here, I’m overwhelmed with the judgment. I’d never invite my friends from college to come with me for a break and I sure as shit I couldn’t imagine ever bringing a girlfriend here to introduce her to my parents.

“Anita, come make sure the piano is tuned for tonight.” I cringe at the use of my middle name.

Mom’s always called me Anita instead of Xavia because that’s what she wanted to name me.

Dad always wanted a boy so he could have a junior and name him Xavier, but by the time they found out I was a girl, Mom had already decided that she was never doing the pregnancy thing again, so they just made Xavier into Xavia and that was that. 

 “Okay give me two seconds to get dressed.” I shout so she can hear me through the door. 

My parents never really supported the whole ‘there’s no privacy in this house’ thing. They allowed me to close and lock my door as I pleased, which I’m grateful for in this moment because if Mom saw me with this Backwoods bonnet on she would lose her fucking mind. 

After looking in the mirror and deciding I’m Parental-Unit-Presentable, I make my way down the stairs and sit on the piano bench. 

Mom wanted to name me Anita, after Anita Baker, because she wanted my voice to be as beautiful as hers, but I can’t even describe the hurt displayed on her face when she learned that I can’t sing. So she put me in private piano lessons when I was six and I’ve been playing at every party they’ve hosted since then. 

I’m actually really good at piano. I just hate playing for my parents’ events because everyone always stops to watch me play. They always have this impressed look on their face, like they’re more amazed by the person playing the music, rather than the music itself. 

Ripped from my thoughts, I answer the FaceTime from Jane and smile when I see her and Yanna cuddled up in a hammock. 

Jane and Ayanna have been together since freshman year when we stayed in the dorms. The day after the party that they were introduced at, Yanna dm’d Jane and asked if she wanted to get hangover smoothies with her and the rest was history. They’re sickeningly in love, and Jane is for sure going to get her league babies. 

“Hey Xavi, whatcha doin’? Jane asks. 

“Practicing piano for the annual Johnson Thanksgiving party, what about you?” 

“Uh, we’re in the hammock in my backyard, but forget that. Why have I never known that you play piano?” 

“Because it’s never been relevant to any conversation we’ve had.” 

“Bro you could have played for Geno’s fundraiser!” Yanna butts in. 

“Yeah I’m not doing that but do you wanna hear me play something?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Playing at events like that is the exact setting I hate playing at. 

“Of course!” Jane squeals- literally squeals- with excitement. 

As I play the song, my mind travels to an alternate reality. 

If I’d stayed in Storrs like I’d wanted, Jane and I would be at the UCONN women’s basketball team’s house tonight. Having Friendsgiving and enjoying each other. Jane and Yanna would be attached at the hip, KK would tell us all that she’s thankful for us in the most sarcastic way, we’d all talk about how much we miss Nika and Aaliyah, Farrah would say how thankful she is for Paige, and Paige would awkwardly smile and try to hide how much she hates her girlfriend. 

Let me rephrase: she doesn’t hate Farrah, she just hates dating her. She’s never said this but if you asked me, to Paige, Farrah is a spectacle. The pretty girl that wears her jersey at games and jumps into her arms after a big win. She doesn’t actually love her. Hell, she doesn’t even like her. But Paige has the mindset of every serious athlete.  She needs a pretty girl on her arm so that her image looks a certain way. 

By the time the song is over and Jane and I have gossiped about which side of her family is bringing the mac and cheese, I have an hour to get ready for the party. So I take my shower and do my make-up and squeeze myself into the dress Mom bought for this specific occasion. 

And when I’m all dolled up and ready for high society, I walk downstairs and greet the guests before assuming my position on the piano. 

The night goes by smoothly. I smile in between songs, and close my eyes when I’m actually playing. I take requests for Christmas songs, even though it’s Thanksgiving and decline tip offers that people make because they think I’m hired help, rather than the daughter of the hosts. 

At the end of it all, I stalk back to my room, exhausted and ready to sleep. I check my socials and see that Jane and Yanna are already on a flight back to Storrs and make a mental note to set my alarm so I can be at LAX by 9 in the morning. I see KK’s close friend's story, showcasing her new tattoo. I see that Farrah and Paige went to Farrahs for the break. 

I swallow the part of me that yearns to be the one hanging on Paige’s arms and instead focus on the part of me that wishes I was having a good time at home.

Everyone is enjoying being at home, surrounded by family and friends. Meanwhile, I’m miserable and avoid my parents at all costs. 

God, I fucking hate being home. 

“What about you Paige? What are you thankful for?”

Farrah’s mom sits at one end of the table and her dad sits at the other. Her siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins and even a few family friends are all staring at me, waiting for me to say what I’m thankful for. I feel like I’m at a fucking press conferance right now and anything I say can be used against me. 

“Um- I’m thankful for my family, my team and my friends.” I say and go back to picking at the plate in front of me. The way I see it, the less I talk the better. 

“And of course Farrah, right?” Mr. Musa speaks in the most chill voice ever, but still, my heart stops. 

“Oh- Yeah of course! Always thankful for my girl!” I rev up the cheer and sling my arm around Farrah, planting a kiss on her cheek. 

“AWWW!” Mrs. Musa gushes, “How sweet!”

Good fucking save, P.

When Farrah and I return to her childhood bedroom, the look on her face tells me that even though I fooled her parents, I wasn’t off the hook. 

“You couldn’t remember to say my name for Thanksgiving?” I think she’s trying to sound mad, but I know her feelings are hurt. “We’ve been together for almost five years, and you couldn’t say my name at the table?” 

I can’t even really be mad at her. If I was her, I’d be pissed. 

“Faye, it was an accident.” I say, going to my duffel bag to get my clothes and bathroom necessities. I just want this day to be over. “You know how grateful I am for you.” When I get to the bathroom, I lock the door and look in the mirror. 

You probably think I’m a horrible person, and you may not be wrong in your assumption. I met Farrah freshman year, and we were friends for a solid two weeks before I asked her to be my girlfriend. I really did have feelings for her at the time, but after about six months, the feelings faded. By that time, the internet had become enveloped in our relationship. She was the topic of every interview, every DM, every comment. They loved us. My agent's exact words were, “You’re the internet's parents.”

So I couldn’t leave her. It would have been too messy and hurt the way the media viewed me. 

So here we are, four years later. I’m on my last chance at a national championship, and Farrah is in her masters program. Almost five years and we have nothing to show for it; haven’t moved in together, gotten promise rings or matching tattoos, or any real sign of our commitment to each other. Each public display of attachment made me sick, sex felt like a chore, even coming to her parents house, felt completely unnecessary. 

In the shower, I wash the day away under the burning water. I mentally prepare myself for an even more emotional Farrah as I dry off. I think of a gameplan on the way back to her room. 

And when I get there, I see Farrah, just as I’d expected. Tears streaking down her face, hands shaking, and leg tapping at a demonic speed. 

“Faye what’s going on?” Faking oblivion was the best route. 

“I just-” She sucks in a breath and pushed the hair out of her face. When her eyes meet mine, I turn to put my things away. “I just can’t believe that you didn’t say my name.” I turn around to find her right behind me with her hands on her hips. “Are you not thankful for me? Are you mad at me? Are you not happy in the relationship?” 

Some caged, suppressed part of me bangs at its enclosure and screams TELL HER THE TRUTH YOU ASSHOLE! THIS IS YOUR CHANCE!” 

But I step into her space and grab Farrah’s waist, pulling her to me, fighting off the grimace that threatens to take over my face. In this moment, telling her what she wants to hear is the only way to fix this. 

When her hands grip my sides, mine grab her face. I make a show of looking her in the eyes and say, “Farrah Musa. You have idea how fucking grateful I am for you. I wouldn’t be where I am without you. You make my life so much easier on a daily basis. You’re funny and sweet and I’m grateful that you choose to share yourself with me.”

It’s not even a lie. Like I said, Farrah was my friend before any of this, and she really is a funny and kind person. We’d be great friends if I hadn’t royally complicated things between us. And she does make my life easier. Without her, I wouldn’t have gained the attention I have, and therefore I wouldn’t have accomplished all that I have.

She tries to fight the smile, but it’s plastered on her face before she can remember what she was even mad about. 

“I love you, Paigey.” 

“I love you too Faye.” That’s the lie. “Now come on, let’s lay down.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m scrolling on my phone with my back to Farrah. I’ve never been a cuddler. I know she’s still awake, because I can hear her nails tap on her phone every time she swipes. 

On Instagram, I slide up and yell at KK for not telling me that she was getting a tattoo. I like Yannas story of her and Jane in turkey onesies. I debate asking Xavia about the picture of her hand on a piano, but decide against it. 

She liked the story I posted of Farrah and I with our plates, which threw me off because Xavia is the only one, besides Azzi, who can tell that I’m dying in this relationship. 

She’s always making weird faces when Farrah and I hold hands or kiss, and she’s never tried to get to know Farrah, which of course bothers the fuck out of her because she wants everyone to like her.  Xavia’s never flat out said anything, but I always get the vibe that she knows something is up. 

I wonder what she’s doing right now. I know her parents are like- filthy rich- but she’s never said anything about them. She does have an ‘eat the rich’ sticker on her laptop, but I think that’s an old artifact from her teenage rebellion. 

She’s always so happy, and preaches about doing good deeds and being good to others so others will be good to you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry, and even when she’s upset, she’s never gone below the belt. When I think of Xavia, I think of the hippy family member that genuinely strives for world peace.

She’s a really good friend to Jane and she’s just become a part of the family over the years. But she’s also a mystery to me. She never talks about herself, always counselling everyone else. 

I’m pulled out of my thoughts but Azzi FaceTiming me. Making sure Farrah is asleep by now, I creep down the hall to the bathroom and answer. 

“Yo,” 

“How was your Thanksgiving loser?” She’s flossing her teeth. 

“Uh- It was fine…”

“What did you do, Paige?” she deadpans and looks at her phone.

“Bro why do you always think I did something?”

“Because you’re always fucking doing something.” She’s got a point.

“I forgot to say her name when we were saying what we’re thankful for.” Azzi’s jaw drops like she’s a cartoon character. “But don’t even worry! I fixed it, we’re good now.”

“No! You’re not ‘good’, Paige!” Judging by the look on her face, and the tone in her voice, I know I’m about to get a world class Azzi Fudd lecture. “You can’t keep doing this to Farrah. She’s a really good girl, and the longer you string her along, the more it’s gonna hurt her when you eventually can’t lie to her anymore and that’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass.”

I sigh at her dramatics but she nips that in the bud quickly. 

“Don’t fucking dismiss me Paige.” she wags her finger at me like an old woman. “Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.”

I don’t think she understands that I don’t want to be doing this. I don’t wanna be this  ‘ asshole who lies to everyone. But I don’t have a choice. 

When I go to sleep, I think about how much different my life would be if I’d never asked Farrah out that day. Yeah, I wouldn’t be as fortunate, but I’d probably still have a fucking soul.

✷TAGLIST @patscorner @riyahtheballer @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @janaelalfysblunt @mrsengstler @kmoneymartini @sageworld

@darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @justliketoreadsowhat @pb524830 @dnftpn @sierrale8ne @numberonepartyanth3m

@pppaaiiiggggeeeeee @uwupaige @paigeluvvr @colorthecosmos444 @authentic-girl03 @makethemhoesmad @lovegalor333

@sellasstories @heart4caitlin @avvwritesstufff @st4rrzynight @bueckersstrap @paxaz535

@mrsarnold @thelightknight21 @bueckersp @ellapurnellmybeloved @darcyemmasgf @cbfj177

[avayarising]

DPxDC prompt: Here is the News

“You’re watching CDTV Now, and I’m Ace Atchinson with a special feature. Last week, the nation was shocked when a team of junior heroes affiliated with the Justice League apparently vandalised one of America’s most beloved national monuments.”

A short, jerky video plays, showing an explosion on a large stone face – one of four carved out of the side of a mountain. The smoke clears to reveal a large hole where the nose used to be. Several figures fly out of the stone and are caught by some sort of flying vehicle. It swoops across the mountain and away.

“With me live in the studio this afternoon are some of the members of Young Justice, here to tell us their side of the story. Superboy, Wonder Girl, Impulse – did you destroy Mount Rushmore?”

“Yeah, we did,” says the boy with black curly hair and a leather jacket over his brightly coloured hero suit. A bar appears across the bottom of the screen. Superboy, it says. Member of Young Justice. “On purpose, too.”

The girl, with stiff black hair and large square glasses, scowls in his direction. “We weren’t trying to destroy it,” she says as the camera closes in on her. The bar across the bottom of the screen now reads Wonder Girl and Member of Young Justice. “We were rescuing our friend.”

“She’s a ghost you see and the apes captured her and held her in this secret base –” The brown-haired boy in goggles stops when he is nudged by the girl beside him. The bar flickers for a moment to say Impulse before returning to Wonder Girl.

“OK, so, we need to go back, like, five steps here. There was a secret government base inside Mount Rushmore where they were conducting inhumane experiments on ghosts.”

The host laughs in a strained, nervous way. “Ghosts?” he asks.

They nod. “I’d like to introduce you to another member of our team,” says Wonder Girl. A mist forms behind her as she speaks, and swiftly coalesces into the form of a pale, slight girl, hovering behind the sofa. “Um,” she says nervously. “My name is – I mean, I go by – Secret, and… I’m a ghost.”

-––––

“Danny! Turn on CDTV now!”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it!”

–––––

“–torture and imprisonment, and she hadn’t even done anything! They’re just prejudiced against ghosts because they think they’re dangerous!”

“She is dangerous,’ says the black-haired boy proudly. The label Superboy appears on the screen again, in case anyone had forgotten. “She can shape-shift and go through walls and even possess people –”

“K– Superboy!” hisses Wonder Girl. “Not helping!”

“I’m right here,” says the ghost girl. The people who do the labels have obviously been hard at work, because she now has one too, saying Secret and Alleged ghost. “And I can do those things, but that doesn’t mean I want to hurt people or –”

There’s yelling from off camera, and a crash. A bolt of blue-white energy flies past the camera and the image whites out. There’s a scream, and a burst of static. The image returns, fuzzy and striated. Another bolt of energy. A large man wearing white rushes into view. Someone in green boots and a yellow and black cape lands on his head and knocks him down. A bang, and the image turns sideways as the camera crashes to the floor. The sound cuts out. There’s smoke, and running feet, and suddenly the side of the studio sofa, before another flash of blue-white light and the screen goes dead.

Nothing happens for almost a minute, and then the TV starts playing a rerun of the highlights of last week’s sports game.

––––––––

“Well, shit,” says Danny.

Superboy here is not in fact Kon but Match pretending to be Kon and trying to sabotage the team. Robin was hiding in the ceiling behind a lighting rig because Batman is going through one of his ‘we are cryptids’ phases and wouldn’t allow him to appear on screen. Anita hasn’t joined the team yet, which is good because her dad is one of the agents and it would have been awkward.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Xia Meng, also known as Hsia Moog or Miranda Yang (Sunrise, Bride Hunter)—For those who are familiar with Hong Kong's early cinema, Xia Meng is THE leading woman of an era, the earliest "silver-screen goddess", "The Great Beauty" and "Audrey Hepburn of the East". Xia Meng starred in 38 films in her 17-year career, and famously had rarely any flops, from her first film at the age of 18 to her last at the age of 35. She was a rare all-round actress in Mandarin-language films, acting, singing, and dancing with an enchanting ease in films of diverse genres, from contemporary drama to period operas. She was regarded as the "crown princess" among the "Three Princesses of the Great Wall", the iconic leading stars of the Great Wall Movie Enterprises, which was Hong Kong's leading left-wing studio in the 1950s-60s. At the time, Hong Kong cinema had only just taken off, but Xia Meng's influence had already spread out to China, Singapore, etc. Overseas Chinese-language magazines and newspapers often featured her on their covers. The famous HK wuxia novelist Jin Yong had such a huge crush on her that he made up a whole fake identity as a nobody-screenwriter to join the Great Wall studio just so he can write scripts for her. He famously said, "No one has really seen how beautiful Xi Shi (one of the renowned Four Beauties of ancient China) is, I think she should be just like Xia Meng to live up to her name." In 1980, she returned to the HK film industry by forming the Bluebird Movie Enterprises. As a producer with a heart for the community, she wanted to make a film on the Vietnam War and the many Vietnam War refugees migrating to Hong Kong. She approached director Ann Hui and produced the debut film Boat People (1982), a globally successful movie and landmark feature for Hong Kong New Wave, which won several awards including the best picture and best director in the second Hong Kong Film Award. Years later, Ann Hui looked back on her collaboration with Xia Meng, "I'm very grateful to her for allowing me to make what is probably the best film I've ever made in my life."

Anita Ekberg (War and Peace, La Dolce Vita)— I'm going to be frank with you. Every time I look at this woman, I lose my ability to form sentences.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Xia Meng:

Anita Ekberg:

“I haven't seen much starring her (YET) but the scene of her in the Fontana di Trevi in La Dolce Vita is some of the most jealous I've ever been of Marcello Mastroianni maybe and that's saying a lot. Cinema history. Historical.”

[manhattansangels]

I love how Anita is just chill with everything. The microwave is bigger on the inside? Okay! The buzzy screwdriver fixing everything? Fine! The gallifreyan covering the walls? Alright!

[howthebestwaslost-blog]

Anita: He’s not your boyfriend, then?

Doctor: I -

Donna, bursting through a wall:

[dwarvenhobble]

As one of those "Gamergate Nerds " (seriously do you fuckers even know what Chuds are or are you just repeating it to fit in?) allow me to respond. 1) There is no evidence of what actually happened to Anita, Anita claimed to be getting harassed the the press ran with it. Seriously got back and look at all the articles about her being harassed none of them show any such examples of said harassment. It was claimed to have happened in the Kickstarter comments. Well they were all archived No really https://web.archive.org/web/20230000000000*/https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/566429325/tropes-vs-women-in-video-games/posts/242547 You can read like 99.99% of the comments in the archives and you won't see this claimed abuse having ever happened. The comments were in fact backer only so only people paying could comment there from the start In recent years Anita has since claimed it was comments on the video linked in the Kickstarter. Only after she made it private so no-one could verify her claims. Added to that Anita at the UN claiming she believed it should count as harassment to tell her she's wrong online it really makes one question what exactly "harassment" Anita received

2) We do not control the media. The media chose to put out article after article about here promoting basically every video she put out on many different sites. We didn't rush to defend her thinking she was a Damsel in Distress like the media did and the media ran with it constantly propping her up. So yeh, actual sexism in the media not being willing to actually do the same kind of critical analysis to Anita's own work that Anita claimed to be doing to gaming.

3) As for "Feminism 101" maybe but it would be a branch of 2nd wave feminism that many see as out of touch and even in feminism much of the conversation had moved past these talking points and debunked what Anita was claiming outside of a small hardcore still in academia.

Well, with Anita Sarkeesian announcing she’s shutting down Feminist Frequency after 15 years, I felt like poking the hornet’s nest and asking if after all this time, it ever sank into the skulls of any of the trash nerd gamergate chuds out there that their own personal Anti-Christ would have probably never have been as well known or lasted as long if they hadn’t decided to all have a collective shit hemorrhage over what was ultimately the most basic-ass Feminism 101 takes imaginable. …oh what am I sayin’ of course it hasn’t.

[hijinxinprogress]

Young Justice is made up of snarky traumatized losers with terrible coping skills so whenever something bad happens or just mildly inconveniences them, they’ll just mutter something completely out of pocket

Any of them waking up in a gurney after a fight in response to ‘are you okay’: “I mean nothing will ever hurt more than the fact that my family will never know me as well as my friends do”

A villain giving some variation of the ‘we’re the same/we’re not that different from each other’ speech after doing some off the walls crazy ass scheme that harmed multiple people?

Cassie: it’s almost like being home

Cissie, nodding: and getting lectured by-

Kon, who only heard ‘lectured’ bc he’ll be damned if he has to pay attention to some villain monologue and Clark: -Superman?

Cassie and Cissie, imitating muscle man: My mom

Tim’s tech loses power for some reason while he’s doing research for a case?

“Okay cool, just die on me like my parents…no this is great”

A villain saying anything along the lines of ‘stop hiding’ or ‘where are you’ and a YJ member responding back “why are you more concerned with my whereabouts than my literal family?”

“Tim, where’s the evidence??”

“Gone like my parents for my entire childhood. Jesus, do I look like I know?”

Someone lies/betrays anyone in yj but particularly Anita or tim?

“Ooh, plot twist! I’m kidding, I’m always expecting someone to betray my trust”

“Is this the part where you reveal that we’re related???”

“I’m not saying I expected this but I kinda expected this…”

Anyone in YJ but particularly Tim and Bart in response to ‘how was your day?’:

“I don’t think I’ve ever really taken the time to process the death of my loved one(s)”

Anyone coping better than yj: “Are you…good??”

“Not really, no. Do you want an extremely detailed explanation for this cool thing I know?!”

A villain made an insult that hit a little to close home towards Cissie, Tim, or Cassie?

“The only person that’s allowed to make me feel like shit is my mom!”

“Thank you for that! God, it’s like talking to my mother.”

Bart gets hurt on a mission?

“Wow, that hurt almost as much as leaving my friends and family to their impending doom back home”

“Yikes, this is almost as bad as being stuck in the past with a family that wants nothing to do with me” 

“I’m okay, nothing hurts more than when I realized despite having a family, my friends make up my entire support system…”

[These are all comments made casually to the titans or justice league bc YJ are deeply concerning individuals that traumabonded and think they’re funny (they are) but really they’re just traumatizing their mentors/coworkers and friends/loved ones]

[xamassed]

𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢?

sunflower. you are optimistic nearly to a fault. the friend everyone goes to when they are upset, you are selfless and caring by nature. but you have likely had a hard past, and understand what it means to commit towards stretching up to the sun. you're hard working and beloved by everyone who encounters you. extroverted, a leader, not a follower, and someone who delights in being surrounded by others. sometimes, you struggle to speak your feelings or admit to struggles. but it's okay to say you're not okay love, it's okay to be the one who needs some comforting every now and then! let yourself rest sweetheart.

tagged by: @goresugars ( thank!! ) tagging: whoever wants to do this!

[blueiscoool]

Former Nazi Bunker Turned Into Luxury Hotel in Germany

At 58 meters tall - just a little taller than the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but with considerably more heft - the St. Pauli bunker in Hamburg, Germany, has dominated the city skyline for just over 80 years.

Built using forced labor during Adolf Hitler’s Nazi regime, it’s a relic of the darkest period in Germany’s history - but this concrete hulk has had a surprising rebirth.

The relaunched Hamburg Bunker is now packed with two restaurants, a five-story Hard Rock Hotel and a newly built pyramid-like rooftop bar and garden from which greenery flows abundantly over the concrete facade.

The REVERB by Hard Rock is a fitting addition to a city with an impressive musical history – this is, after all, where The Beatles began their career at the start of the 1960s.

The Karoviertel neighborhood in which the fortress-like bunker sits is a cool enclave filled with stylish coffee shops and vintage stores, plus the Knust nightclub in a repurposed abattoir.

The amenities

Rooms in the 134-key REVERB range from 180 euros for a classic room, with amenities including a 55-inch flat screen TV and Alexa in-room assistant, to 269 euros for a suite with sweeping citywide views.

The hotel also has the kind of modern details you’d expect in any self-respecting hip hotel, such as self check-in, smart technology and co-working spaces.

You don’t have to be a hotel guest to enjoy the bunker’s amenities, however. On the ground level, there’s the Constant Grind coffee shop and bar, and a Rock Shop for those seeking Hard Rock merch.

Bar-restaurant Karo & Paul, by German TV chef Frank Rosin, opened as a bar in April 2024 and occupies the first three levels of the building. The restaurant area is still coming soon.

The restaurant La Sala – Spanish for living room - is open for business on the fifth floor, offering lofty views and an international menu.

Finally at the top is the Green Beanie roof garden, with bar and walkway looping round the building, which can be accessed by the public for free.

The challenge

The Hamburg bunker was one of eight flak towers – above-ground anti-aircraft bunkers which doubled as air raid shelters - which Germany built after British air raids on Berlin in 1940.

The history the Hamburg Bunker wears is heavy, but a 76,000-tonne concrete behemoth with walls 2.5 meters thick can’t be easily demolished or ignored.

The only flak tower to have been completely destroyed is one at Berlin’s zoo, as the others are in heavily populated areas where the explosives involved would be too great a risk, AFP reports.

“The idea of raising the height of the building with greenery was to add something peaceful and positive to this massive block left over from the Nazi dictatorship,” Anita Engels, from the Hilldegarden neighborhood association which supported the project, told AFP.

The association has helped with this new chapter in the Hamburg flak tower’s history by collecting testimonies from people who lived in the wartime bunker as well as records of the hundreds of forced laborers who built it.

An exhibition on the first floor now tells the full story of the building’s history.

By Maureen O'Hare.

[ghostlyglimmer]

Lockjaw

Summary:

Missing for three weeks, Danny finally escapes, only to be found dead and taken to a funeral home. But death isn’t the end—Danny awakens on the embalming table with his jaw wired shut and terrifying new powers. Disoriented and desperate, he must find his way home, knowing nothing will ever be the same again. CW: Gore

Chapter 1: Bring me to Life

By GhostlyGlimmer

Anita Grayves stretched her back, each vertebra popping with a satisfying crack as she exhaled a long sigh. The dim, sterile light of the embalming room cast a clinical glow over her as she donned her PPE, the familiar rustle of the fabric and snap of the gloves a ritual she knew too well. Her technician, Dalton, rolled in the gurney with the next client, the wheels creaking slightly on the cold tile floor. With deliberate care, he unzipped the black body bag, revealing the still form inside.

Danny Fenton, just seventeen years old, lay before her. His once vibrant eyes, now milky white and clouded, stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The raven-black hair that had probably once been meticulously styled was now disheveled, a sharp contrast to the pallor of his skin. He was small for his age, almost fragile-looking, and Anita couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow as she gazed down at him.

But it was the Y-shaped scar on his chest that made her pause. Her brow furrowed in deep thought. She had seen countless autopsy scars in her career, but this was different. The coroner’s report had mentioned it wasn’t a typical dissection; it was a vivisection. The word sent a chill down her spine. She had heard stories, whispers of unsanctioned procedures, but she never thought she’d be the one to witness the aftermath.

Taking a deep breath, Anita began the embalming process. The familiar hum of the pump filled the room as she attached the trocar to his abdomen, starting the slow, methodical draining of blood from the body. The crimson fluid seeped out, replaced with embalming chemicals that would preserve what remained, ensuring the semblance of life for his final viewing.

With the embalming fluids circulating, she moved on to setting his face. It was important that he looked peaceful, almost as if he were merely sleeping. She began with his mouth, loading the needle injector with a barbed-tipped wire. The tool clicked as she pressed it against the maxilla, the wire piercing through the bone with precision. She repeated the process with the mandible, then twisted the wires together, securing his jaw in place. There would be no risk of it coming loose during the funeral, sparing his family the distress of seeing him slack-jawed in the casket.

Next were his eyes. Anita carefully pulled back his eyelids, reaching for the eye caps—small, clear discs with barbed spikes on the inside. They would help his eyes maintain a natural, slightly closed appearance, preventing the sunken look that so often accompanied death. She was inches away from placing them on his clouded eyes when her stomach let out a loud grumble.

“Damn it,” she muttered, the sudden urge reminding her of the coffee she had downed earlier.

Reluctantly, she pushed back her rolling chair, the casters scraping against the tile. She stripped off her PPE, each piece coming off with a practiced flick, and headed for the bathroom. The small, clinical space echoed with the sound of her footsteps as she entered, the door clicking shut behind her. She hurried through her business, then paused at the sink, methodically scrubbing her hands. As she looked up into the mirror, her reflection stared back at her—haggard, with dark circles etched under her tired eyes. She grimaced, making a mental note to try and get some sleep tonight.

Just as she turned off the faucet, the lights flickered, followed by a low, otherworldly groan that seemed to reverberate through the walls. Anita froze, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sound unlike anything she had heard before—something between a wail and a whisper, as if the air itself was being torn apart. A chill ran down her spine, and she stood there, paralyzed, staring at her own reflection, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

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Anita jolted at the horrific sound, the air around her vibrating with an unnatural, bone-chilling resonance. Her hands flew to her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, but it was too late. A searing pain shot through her head, her vision darkening as her eyes rolled back. She crumpled to the cold, sterile floor, her body limp, blood trickling from her ears and pooling beneath her head in a dark, crimson stain.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton’s eyes shot open in terror. His pupils contracted painfully against the blinding fluorescence of the room, his breath catching in his throat. His mind, sluggish and disoriented, struggled to make sense of what was happening. His hands moved instinctively to his face, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase a bad dream.

But this was no dream.

As his vision cleared, he looked around, taking in the stark white walls and the cold steel surfaces of the embalming room. The air was thick with the acrid scent of formaldehyde, stinging his nose and making him gag. Panic surged through him as he realized he was completely naked, save for a thin cloth draped haphazardly over his waist.

But it was when his gaze fell on his chest that the true horror set in.

There, etched into his skin, was a large, brutal Y-shaped scar, stretching from his shoulders to his pubic bone. The sight of it made his stomach churn. His face contorted in terror, a scream tearing from his throat, raw and primal. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, each one more desperate than the last, as he clutched his head in his hands, trying to comprehend the impossible. The room seemed to close in around him, the sterile environment suffocating, the silence after his scream deafening.

Danny was alive—but something was horribly, irrevocably wrong.

Ȃ̵̢̡͕̲͍̺̬̩̪̯͖̝̤̱̖̮̼̝͎̭͇̖̥̫̒̈́̔̃̎̄̌̿̍͘̕͝A̵̡̨̙͇͚̥̦͚͙̘̝̤͎͙͒̽̃̒́́͛̉̂͋͝ͅÄ̶̧̨̢̛̛͖̭̠̤͈͈̘͔̣͔̱͇̱̜̯͎͚͍̩͚̺̦̜͑̑̓͂͋͌̄͜͠͠͝Ą̴̧̢̢̧̢̝̱̻̥̹̖͕̦̠̬͙̭̜̣̱͓͚̗̗̬̮̙̤̲͇̟͚̣̜̜̼̹̻̮͇̟̤̹̩̬͕͖̖͙̤́̈́̓́̾ͅͅA̷̧̡̢̨̧̩͙̥̥̘̘͚̞̣̮̣̯̮͔͚͈̤͙̦͈͕͙̣̳̝͈̩͙͇̲̳͈͈͖͙̦̥͈̗̠̖̣̐̇̇̆͒͂͗̃̾̀̆̈́̽͆̆̕̚Ą̷̧̨̥̠̦͙͍̘̬̥̘͕̦͚̫̣̱̤͎̹̰̣̥̰̥̟̘̜̗̪̫̘̤̱̈́́͐̌͛̄̀͆́̓͂͛̈́̇̉͜͝͠Ą̸̢̡̞̻̪͎͔͕̠̗̖͈̲̯͓̜̝̭̼͎̟͕̀̌̀̈́̑̏̑͐́̋̄͌̏́̈́͋̈́̊̋̓̓̀̏̏̀͝͝ͅA̷̧̡̧̧̛̛̠̘̻̮̱̦̠̦̣̫̩̬͚̦̳̮͙͎̞̞̗̮̩̩̪͓̩̻̪̱̰͉̼̮̞͖̒͋͐́͒͗̒̋̑͂̅̎̾̀̓̔̋̇̈́͑̆͐̌͌̑̌̋̅̔͘̕̚͝ͅA̴̛̛̛͙̮͌̌̅̀̊̅́̉̈́͆̅͑̐̏̄͆̈͗̒͐̓́̀͊̆̔̅̄͂͊̃̍̽̈́̊͌̀̿͛̓̈́͗̆̓͋̈̑̚̚͝͠͝͝À̷̢̧̡̢̙̪̰̮̼͙̣̜̭̦̞͓̩̝̣̙͕̞͙̳͇̦͉̼̜̠͈͔̰̺̟̜̳͍͚̥̺̫̈́͛̾̌̊́̿͊̈́̑̓͌̕̕͝ͅA̷̧̨̧̧̧͍̦̖̖̭̪̭̞̦̹͎͈͕̖̮̙͇̪̥̣͕̪̫͓͙̖̜̙͍͉̭̺̘̰̞̰̯͓̔̐̂͋͋̀̓̍̓̉͑̇͊̊̃̈́̌̅͑͆̍̑̋͑̍̔̂̒̀͗͌̇̂̆̈́̂́̈́̉̀͗́̐͛̇͆̂̀͂̔͐͛́̈́̉̃̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅĄ̷̥̗͕̙͍̭̠̮́̈̀͗̈̏̅̓̓̄̈͆̄̈́̃̌͒̓͑͐̉̔̉́͗̌̍͆́̍̆̕̚͘͜͝A̷̧̙͓̫͚͐͐̉̈́̾̍̇́͋̎̆͒̆͒̋̌̕Ą̵̨̡̧̧̢̢͓̯̤̹͙̘͈̹̭̥̪̬͕̜̦̠̻͓̫̤͈̜̣̲͙̬̦̣̺̖̞̗͎̙̙̩̯͍̱̥̝̖̅̀̋͊̇̉̔̈́̈́͗̇͗̈́͋̇̆͐͌̽̓̾̀̀̀̏͒̑̉̔͂̚͜͜͜ͅͅA̸̧̡̨̡̢̻̜͓͚͖̞͚̜̞̙̻̥̠̞̰͔̠̗͎̝̖͇̳̎̀̄̌̒̓͒̐̎̚͠Ạ̴̧̢̫̣̻̬̮̙̫̯̪̙̻͈̟̪̳̅͆͗̌̓̒̍͗̅͊́̏̃͐͑̃́͆̒̍̓̍̈̔͑̾̽̽̐͗̂̑̋́͌̚̕͝͠͠͠Å̵̧̨̢̡̛̯̻̬̻͈̩̹̜͓͎̣̜̥͔̜̩̟̞͓͓̠̬̬̟̜͓͓̲̻͚̟̦͇͓̰͕̲̝̳̺͕̝̭̣͕͈̥̲̪͎͎̻̟͚̖̋͋̀̋́́̊̎̐̀͊̑̊̾̓̈͛͒̄̊̀̕̚͜͠͝ͅͅA̶̛̛͕͈̻̺̲̤̳̖̋̓̀͋́͗̀͒̃̈́̉̅̉̉͑͑̋̅̃͒̎͋̎̏́̓͌̆͋ͅȦ̵͖̪̘͛̋͒͠͝ͅĄ̴̧̨̢̛̦̱̦̺̩̞̟̲̻̬͈̪̖̬̯̝̝̲̰̣̩̯̫͈̫̪̜̳͇̮͖̪̱̠̹̤̰͓̭͕̥̹̣̀̅̉̒̃̽͊̆̊̈́̄̐͌́̓̾̓̍̌͑̓͌͊̾̊̂͒͌̀̔͒̕͘͘͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅÄ̶̢̢̱̯̰̟̙͇͔̰̗̜̦̤̪̟̞̪͍̞̟̠̰̗̬̖͎͓̰̫́̈́̊̈́̒A̷̧̢̢̛̹͇̩͎͎̥̱͔͉̞͍͕̠̮͔̭̪͔̜̜̘̰̞͇̱̙͖̮̞̖͉͚̯̟͙̞̫̭͔̰̞͙̗̱̹̺̰͖̭̮͚̪̩͒͑̽̉̋̔͗͗̃̊̀̽̾̿̒̍͗͑̇̅̒͛̈́́̍̿̒̾̊͋́̃̃̈́͂̔̀͐̿̆͌̑̐̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅA̴̡̢̢̧̡̧̛̯͔̭̝̪̰̳̭͚̗̣̼͕̗̟͈͔̩͖̪̖̪͈̝͉̭̭̝̳̘̠̬̩̰̳̳͍̘̫̪̓̀̾̉́̿͂̓̾̎́͐͑̄̉̿̈̍̅̎̏̈́̓͘͝͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅA̶̙͇͎̤̓̿͗́̄̔̆͋̋͆̒̔͐́̽̄͒̎̏͛̂̅̒̋̽̈̋͂͐͐̎̅̌̋̾͑͌͋͐͘̕̕͝͝Ḁ̶̧̡̨̡̢̛̛̰̫̰͓͍̥̝̤̤͕̟̬͕̺͔̻̯̗̠̺̯̬̲̠̳̗͇͇̖̳̙͈͖͕͚͖̖̟̻͉̼̈̈͆̉͊̃̐́̎̊̌́̆̓͆̈̉́̅̆͌͐̽͌̀͒̽̌̿͐̀̽̈́́͋̑̕͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠ͅA̷̡̨̢̛͕̟̜̰̼͔̠͉͈̼̫͚̟͈̻̖͛̍̍̇̑̐̓̓̀͠Ą̷̱̲̱̳̦͔̥̼̠͕̠̟͎̣̘̮͉̖̗̙̗̞̣̟̈́̾̽̿̍͌̚͘͜͠A̴̡̛̹̗̥̯͇̥̙̣̙̜̰̪̰̘͈͐̌̃̓̌̾̿̃̈͒͋̃̐͒̔̍̈́̓͑̓́̔̔̒͂̐̉̀͋͆͌͂̾͘͘͝͝͠͠Ā̶̡̛̛̖̳̟͕͖̻̲͓̦͈͓͚͈̺͍͙̲̗̒̐̍̂̆͋̈̃͑̽̉̓̃̇͘Ą̴̨̛̣͓̞̪̱̰̜͂̏̀̆͒̀̿͆̑͊̿̈́̑͋̀̌̾̀̈́̾̽̈̈́͐͊̀̒̈́̇͒̈́̀̐̌͒͋͌͊̉̂͒̄̒̇̇̐̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͝͝Ā̷̛̛̬͙̠͉̰̼̼̦͉͕̤͈͙̯̈́̿̅̊̋̽̈́̓͌̈́̏͋̍͌͑̆́̄̂̍̿̉̑̈́͊̀͐̈́͋́͆̌̉̀̔̂̍̍̾́̔̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝A̷̡̧̡̢̨̡̡̢̢̘͉̭̠̖͈̠̭̖̞̭̞͎̤͚͕͔͖͚͇͇̯̟̝̪̖̦͙͙͇̳̪̼̮̫̥̲̲̙͔̟̭͈̺̺͚̬̱͓̠͒̎́̒͐͋͒͂̍̈́̅̐̇͜͜͠Ą̷̢̡̢̢̛̲̝͉͓̺͉̣͇͖̺̜̝̗̹̥̩͎͔͕̦͉͍̜͉͔̫̟̥͓̯̬̖̣͙͍̭͇͔̱̺͈͈̱͗̓̽̒̐͂̓̿͒͊̓̌̅̈́̉̅̓̎̈́̎͗̈́̍̌̒̂̈́̋̐͋̓̆́́̈̇̂͐̔͘̕͝͝A̴̢̡̛̭͈̺̥͇͓̟̻͔̪͇̝̰̱̮͇̦͕̞͙̘̤̻̺̐̎̇̉̓́̐͂́̀͌̽̋̒̀̋͊̀̾͒̓̇̽̂́͛̓̀̓̄̉́̅̀̾͒͌̈́̐͐̑̈́͒́̌̈́̿̽̾̃̽̀͋͛͘͜À̶̡̧̧̨̨̛̛̮̹͓̥̠̱̱̯̪̹̹̮̳͔̞̫̗̹̘͙͙̝̘̳̠̠̳̱̺̗̳̬̰̤̩̖͙̬̥͔̬͈̭̳̬̻̼̐̎͌͆̎̈́̀͆͌̒̅̾͂̋̍̏̈́͛͆̓̊͐͊̄̀̂͐̽̓̍͊͆̚̚̕͜͠͠͝͝Ą̷̧̛̛̛̛͈͖̞͓̱̦̬̣̭̗͍̤̣̦̯̪̹̘̟̙͈̼̬͑̿͊̈͑͛͒͗̑̀͆̏̒̓̃̊̏̐̉̿̄͒̂͛̈̀̂̈͋̀͗̃̆̏̾̏͐̂͂̊̈́̏̐̉͆̂̍̓̚͘̚͘̕͝͝͝͝ͅͅÁ̴̡̢̧̢̩̰͔̰͈͖̬̯̱̙̱̣̭̟͇͙̦̭̣̱͉͇͚̗͌͋͘͜Ä̵̧̛̝̘̼͇̬̭̼̬̠̞̩̩̜̤̰͙͔̼̬̟̟̫͓̥͇̱͕̦̜͙͚̪͚̩̱̟̗̥͙͇̩̞̬̞̗̥̻̘͓̹̻̰̫̙̯̗̹̹́̐͐̎̇̿͗̊͂̏́̂̋̀͆̆̾̄͑͑̽̌̈́̄͋͋̈̂̆̐̀́͌́̎̋̅͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅA̷̧̢̡͇̣͈̥̻̗͓͈͖͔̭̩̪͎͍̻̥̝͈̝̭̤͍̘̺̥̲͉̰̦͓̫͇͓͙͙̣̼̫͇͛̋͒͐̄́̔̓͐̅͒͆̏̅̎̇́̚̚͜͜͜ͅ

As Danny’s scream echoed in the sterile room, he froze, realizing something was terribly wrong with his voice. It wasn’t his voice. It was distorted, hollow, like a death rattle echoing from the depths of a crypt. The sound made his skin crawl, every hair on his body standing on end. It was the kind of voice that belonged to something not of this world—something dead. He slapped his hands over his mouth, horrified, tears welling up in his cloudy white eyes.

He felt something hard under his lips and pulled them open, trembling fingers probing inside his mouth. His breath hitched when he encountered metal wires, woven cruelly through his teeth. Panic surged through him, and he tried to wrench his jaw open, but it wouldn’t budge. A sharp, searing pain shot through his skull, and he winced, the realization of his confinement crashing down on him.

Tears streamed down his face, his entire body quaking with fear and confusion. Sobs wracked his fragile form, the reality of his situation suffocating him. This couldn’t be happening—this had to be a nightmare. What the hell was going on? Why was he connected to this machine? Why was there a grotesque wound carved into his chest? And why, oh God, why was his jaw wired shut?

His mind spiraled, grasping desperately for memories, for anything that could explain this horror. But everything was a blur, a foggy haze that clouded his thoughts. He couldn’t think straight, his head pounding with the effort of trying to piece together the fragments of his shattered memory.

But through the chaos, one thought pierced the fog: he needed help. He needed to find his family, his friends. He clung to the memory of them like a lifeline, the only clear images in his fractured mind. Sam and Tucker—they would know what to do. They had always been there for him, through every strange and terrifying moment of his life. If anyone could help him make sense of this nightmare, it was them. He had to find them. He had to get out of here.

[quilly72]

Anita turned her hot tub on as she prepared for her girls night over. She poured the cleaning solutions in real quick blindly opening up packet after packet to insure that the water was crystal clear. Unknowingly pouring in an unnamed estrogen growth hormone her mother had been storing in the shed.

Anita stared at the jacuzzi as it bubbled, foamed and the cleared up the water becoming nearly transparent as she heard the first knock on the door. "Coming!" She yelled as she rushed over.

After several drinks and some chit chat they all rushed on over to the jacuzzi. Anita and her friends eager to have some fun in the hot tub and maybe spice things up. Anita was the first one in as she went to sit in the tub her friends following her in. They giggled and played. Splashing water on each other and engaging in minor horseplay. Anita had her back turned when Britt snuck up behind her and ducked her head into the water. Anita catching a mouthful of water as she inhaled.

Anita shot up gasping for air as she braced herself against the walls. She regained her composure as they all giggled. "Oops" Britt giggled as she leaned back. Anita sat capturing her breath as she coughed up some water as her lungs seemed to light up the water reacting inside her. She clutched her chest as she felt it rise but not quite settle back down. She smirked as she saw her boobs raise up growing into supple double D's as she felt her hips shake and widen. The water rippling out.

"did anyone see that" she asked. Her friends stared at her as Anita brushed her hair smiling. "Anita did you get a boob job" they asked now that they had taken a good look."

"no I think...actually I think I a still...am growing"

Anita spasmed. Her eyes rolling back as she felt her body light up. Her legs inches across the pool hitting the opposing wall. She shot up higher her hips barely in the water as her butt raised her up. Anita's friends stared as she grew. "How did you..."

"I don't know"she cut her off putting a finger to her friends mouth. Anita spasmed again her legs buckled as her knees rose out of the water. Her toes crinkled as her hips caused the tub to groan. Her bra and panties popping off into the water.

Anita giggled. she grabbed Britt as she shoved her under the water dangerously close to her pussy. Britt gasped as she received a mouthful of water. Her other friends popping out of the water as Anita grew again. Her hips and butt taking up half the tub. Her legs draping over the side as she struggled to stay in. Britt popped up gasping for air as she lay on Anita's thighs. Everyone watched as Britt slightly shook and seemed to grow her petite a cups manifesting Into f cups. Her panties struggling to stay on her massive frame.

Everyone rushed to the water as Anita spasmed again. Covering the tub as it collapsed under her. The water soaking into the grass below. She giggled as she saw Britt grow again, evidently having taken in more water as she started rapidly catching up. Britt looked down to see her bra and panties shred off as she sat in Anita's thighs.

They stared at each other as they giggled imagining what they would do once they were taller than the other.

[starleska]

hear me out for a moment...

so the lovely lady the Doctor spent a year at the hotel with is named Anita, right? what a coincidence...the name of Mrs Flood's actress just happens to be Anita Dobson 👀 with every passing second i am more certain that Mrs Flood is a member of the Pantheon, and her fourth-wall-breaking abilities are because she is the embodiment of Story or Narrative. i think that Anita was Mrs Flood in disguise...!! 🔥 (and are we absolutely certain that Sutekh was the only one responsible for Susan Twist appearing everywhere the Doctor and Ruby went...?)