#hungari

[musicalislife]

Why bands like Joker Out important to Eastern Europe:

I’ll be rambling about Eastern Europe and pro LGBT+ music (I can only speak from personal experience aka Hungary. Please feel free to add your experiences/thoughts):

Joker Out: (members in their mid to late 20s.) A band from the Balkans has the lines of “ARE YOU STRAIGHT OR LGBT” in their song (Sunny Side Of London). And I’m afraid how the Slovenian media will report this. I really hope they will get positive reviews in the Slovenian press.

Carson Coma: (members are in their mid 20s.) A Hungarian band was criticised (mainly by the governmental media) because they wrote a pro lgbtq+ song (Pók). They had to defend themself in the media. “Sorry but why can’t we write songs about what we want?” was the basic answer from the main singer.

The fact that in Eastern Europe the pro lgbtq+ songs will get you bad press is more than embarrassing.

This is why bands like Joker Out and Carson Coma or any Eastern European band are so freaking important. Bands who aren’t afraid of being judged because they sing about lgbtq+ in a positive way.

(English obviously not my first language so I’m sorry about the grammar and spelling mistakes.)

[saritamanyalu]

Did this drawing of that Samurai in the left side because i found him cool! Gonna call him Hungari!

[kropotkindersurprise]

January 1, 2025 - A stray dog in Petea receives applause for being the first to cross the newly visa-free border between Hungary and Romania, as Romania joins the Schengen area.

[sidecast]

i looove the miku trend. nomadic horselord hungarian miku be upon you

[myfuckingbudapestmovie]

[gynii]

RAAAAAAH MAGYAR MIKU !!!

[willgrahamscock]

It really makes me laugh when transphobes are like "no one back in the day cross dressed or played with gender, it's just a trend" shut up look at this Lesbian couple from my home (when it used to be Kingdom of Hungary, Budapest) in 1920s who dressed in half traditional femme and masc wedding attire

[allthingseurope]

Budapest, Hungary (by Gabriel Miklos)

[voyage-of-the-porn-spreader]

1845 was practice

1846 was practice

1847 was practice

1848 im lockin in

[zoyazoy]

I love drawing European folk dress so much even though I am Thai ♥

[tititli]

Hetalia? In the year 2025?

[saritamanyalu]

There is my group of my favorite transformers. I had to edit some of them to appears the colors.

Decepticons (c) Hasbro

[where-are-the-pixels]

I never posted my hospital AU here because I’m too lazy to do a translated version

[unteriors]

Kossuth utca, Tiszalök, Szabolcs–Szatmár–Bereg County, Hungary.

[myfuckingbudapestmovie]

Horrors of Budapest

The flickering light in the hospital corridor seemed alive, pulsating with a rhythm neither human nor mechanical. It hung from the cracked ceiling, swaying slightly as if in response to some unseen force. Its pale, sickly glow cast jagged shadows that danced on the peeling green walls, transforming mundane objects into grotesque forms.

This was no ordinary Hungarian hospital. The building’s foundations dated back to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and whispered rumors claimed it had been erected over an older, cursed structure—a madhouse, or perhaps something darker still. The air was thick with the stale scent of antiseptics, mingled with an undercurrent of damp rot, as if the walls themselves were decaying from within.

The noises began shortly after midnight, as the janitor made his rounds. At first, it was merely the distant clatter of a metal tray—perhaps a nurse working late or an unsteady patient fumbling in their room. But then came the voices. Low, guttural murmurs that seemed to emerge from the very walls. They were unintelligible yet unmistakably deliberate, as though some ancient tongue was being spoken just beyond the threshold of comprehension.

The janitor stopped, gripping his mop like a talisman. The flickering bulb above him buzzed louder, its light stuttering faster, throwing the corridor into a strobe of disorienting brightness and shadow. A sound, like wet footsteps on cold tile, echoed behind him. He spun around, but the hallway was empty. Yet he could feel it—a presence, heavy and oppressive, lurking just at the edge of sight.

The voices grew louder, joined by other noises now: the creak of rusted hinges, the faint sobbing of a child, the unmistakable scrape of fingernails on glass. The janitor backed away, but his retreat brought him no safety. A sudden burst of light filled the hallway as the bulb flared unnaturally bright, searing his vision. When it dimmed again, the shadows seemed deeper, darker, as if they had swallowed more than light.

And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement—a slithering mass, writhing and pulsating, crawling across the ceiling with impossible fluidity. He couldn’t make out its form; it was both too fast and too alien, shifting between shapes that defied reason. It was there and not there, a specter of something primal, older than the hospital, older than Budapest itself.

He ran, his shoes skidding on the slick floor. The voices rose into a deafening cacophony, screaming, pleading, laughing, and something else—a sound so deep it seemed to vibrate in his very bones. He didn’t look back. He didn’t dare.

The janitor’s body was found the next morning, collapsed in the corridor. His face was twisted into a mask of terror, his eyes wide open and staring at the now-dead lightbulb above. The doctors wrote it off as a heart attack, but the nurses whispered otherwise. Some said they still heard the voices late at night, murmuring in that same alien tongue. Others spoke of fleeting shadows that moved against the light, and of patients who vanished without a trace.

No one dared to replace the flickering light.