#stark attila

[zeke-fanfucs]

DO I SEE ART OF AN ACTOR AU? Well well @orbit805 I have to say, the art is absolutely stunning and very delicious! I do hope in corporate your art somewhat okay. Yes I made Albus and faith together cause I love them and they need to be happy. Maybe I’ll put Hipswitch and Kamor together for my happiness.

@orbit805 keep up the amazing art! Huge fan! Love love (platonically) you and your animations!

Spotlight and Shadows

⸻

The studio lights blazed down, casting their artificial glow over the set as Kamor, in his late 20s, adjusted his tie for the umpteenth time. He ran a hand through his black hair, his almond eyes narrowing as he focused on the scene. His latest role as a charismatic, charming but troubled lead in a big Hollywood drama had made him a rising star. The press loved him. His fans adored him. But the pressure of living up to the hype was starting to take a toll.

He exhaled deeply, hearing the buzz of the crew around him as they set up for the next shot. In this industry, it wasn’t just about acting. It was about appearances. And Kamor? He wasn’t sure if he was ready to handle all of it yet.

“Alright, Kamor, we’re ready for you,” the director called out from behind the camera. Kamor stood straighter, his nerves steadying as he prepared to perform. But before he could step forward, a familiar voice boomed from the other side of the room.

“Partner! Get over here!”

Kamor’s gaze shifted to Hipswitch, who stood leaning against the set, looking far too comfortable in his worn cowboy boots and his faded, sun-weathered shirt. Mid 30s, with dark skin that told the story of long hours spent under the sun, Hipswitch always looked like he’d just stepped off a ranch, despite working as a stunt coordinator and occasional actor. His Southern charm and easy grin were enough to make even the most jaded of actors look up to him.

“You’ve been out here long enough, we gotta get this shot done,” Hipswitch called with a lazy wave. Kamor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Hold on, Hipswitch, I’m just getting my head in the game,” Kamor responded, his tone playful but still tired.

“Always needin’ time to think. Come on now, let’s see the star power.”

Kamor rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but grin at the older man. Hipswitch had been a constant presence in his career, and the bond between them had been forged over years of shooting action-packed scenes together. The cowboy was one of the few who made him feel like he belonged in this crazy world of Hollywood fame.

Just then, Mahatma walked by in a costume that was a stark contrast to the sweet, nervous persona he portrayed in interviews. Today, he was in full Attila garb—a psychotic villain whose intensity in front of the camera made fans both love and fear him. Mahatma’s sweet smile didn’t quite match the cold, calculating look he gave as he passed Kamor.

“Ready for the fight scene, Kamor?” Mahatma asked, his voice syrupy sweet as always, though there was something predatory behind his eyes.

“Always,” Kamor responded with a smirk, knowing Mahatma was one of the few actors who could pull off both sides of his persona so seamlessly. The man was a master at playing the innocent and the insane, and Kamor admired that talent even if it gave him the creeps sometimes.

⸻

The scene was set. The cameras rolled.

“Action!”

Kamor stepped forward, his character poised and magnetic. His eyes locked onto the camera as if it were the entire world watching. He delivered his lines flawlessly, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a storm ready to burst. The intensity of his performance made the crew nod in approval. Yet, in the corner of his mind, Kamor couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was slipping into the role too easily, and losing himself in it.

From the sidelines, Albus, the family man-turned-playboy of Hollywood, leaned casually against the wall, watching the scene unfold. He wasn’t just a star; he was a legend. A charming, confident guy with a lot of scandals under his belt but somehow managed to keep his private life wrapped up in a neat bow. Today, he had the added task of being a father. His daughter, Kerano, was on set, her first time acting alongside him in a big production.

“You sure she’s ready?” Devlin asked, his British accent cutting through the conversation as he stepped up next to Albus. The actor’s usual dark, messy hair and intense green eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviators, his focus more on the people around him than the set itself. Devlin was a skilled actor, known mostly for his roles in horror films, and though he had earned a reputation for playing the dark and twisted characters, the bond between him and Albus was undeniable. Brothers in more ways than one.

“She’ll be fine. Faith’s got her back, and I’ve got mine,” Albus replied, though a slight edge of anxiety flickered in his voice.

“I’m more concerned about you two,” Devlin teased, glancing at the direction Albus was watching. “If you keep playing the family man, you might just make a better husband than an action star.”

Albus chuckled, pushing off the wall and adjusting his leather jacket. “If that were true, then I’d have to let Faith be the one to deal with me at home.”

⸻

Faith was across the room, observing the set with a gentle, loving gaze, always a mother even in the most chaotic of environments. She had been in front of the camera herself, as a model, but now her passion was directing her charitable efforts towards the environment, focusing on giving back to the planet.

Her charity work was almost as famous as her modeling career, but what really kept her grounded were her family and the love they shared. She had always kept Albus grounded, even when he didn’t think he needed it. And now, with Kerano entering the world of acting, her heart swelled with pride. She wasn’t just a model or an actress anymore. She was a mother—and she wasn’t about to let anyone take that away from her.

As she watched Albus with Kerano, the two of them rehearsing their lines, she couldn’t help but smile. But her thoughts were briefly interrupted when Hipswitch walked by, his signature cowboy hat tilted low over his face.

“Hey there, Faith. How’s my favorite model doing today?” he asked with a grin, his Southern drawl smooth as ever.

Faith chuckled softly. “Busy as usual, Hipswitch. Trying to keep up with all the crazy energy around here.” She shot a glance over at Kamor, who was still in the middle of a scene. “How’s Kamor doing?”

Hipswitch’s eyes softened slightly. “He’s doing fine. Still thinkin’ a lot, though. That boy’s got a lot on his shoulders. But he’ll get through it. He’s a natural.”

Faith gave him a knowing look. “Just don’t let him get too lost in the role.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Hipswitch said, tipping his hat before walking off to talk to the director.

⸻

The day ended with a flurry of activity. Albus spent time with Kerano, reassuring her with every word. Mahatma finished up his last psychotic scene as Attila, his eyes wild with excitement. Kamor, for all his brilliance on camera, disappeared into his trailer as soon as the day’s work was over, retreating into the quiet solitude he was starting to crave.

The world of Hollywood was a strange, glittering thing. And for Kamor, it was beginning to feel like he was trapped between the spotlight and the shadows.

But one thing was certain—family, whether it was the one you were born into or the one you made along the way, was everything. And even in a world full of fame and chaos, it was the one thing that would always hold them together.

[brgzmpff]

Tudjatok mit nem latok? Egy Stark Attila wikipedia oldalt. Ez csak nekem furi?

[sunny-honeytears]

So I've been working on a longer post again but tbh even as someone in elective literature course and just in general as someone who is crazy about hungarian literature, it's really hard to make progress with this so I'll just post what I already have

TANZ DER VAMPIRE CHARACTERS AS HUNGARIAN POEMS (and the poems itselfs)

Krolock:

Kölcsey Ferenc- Vanitatum Vanitas

To be completely transparent, I used an ai translator for this, for the simple reason of there not being any translations avaible online. BUT BARE WITH ME, ITS FOR THIS POST AND THE AI DID A GOOD JOB

If you look at the og, it's pretty dang similar so for the reason of sharing the poem I used ai, but if there *is* a translation online, I'll be using that don't worry.

Now heres the poem!

VANITATUM VANITAS

"Here’s the writing, contemplate it

With a mind serene and clear,

In its lines you’ll find the merit

Of what wise King Solomon here

Teaches us: this world we stand on

Builds itself on weak foundations,

Summer dew, the winter’s snow,

All is vanity below!

Our Earth is but an ant-hill’s nest,

Born from a fleeting spark of flame;

Thunder’s roar and lightning’s jest,

Like a bee’s buzz, without aim;

History’s swift flight of fable,

Like a sigh, is just as stable;

All pomp and grandeur we adore:

A thousand years, a bubble more.

Alexander’s glittering chase

Is like hunting deer or hare;

Attila’s hordes, a rodent race,

Waspish swarms brought to despair;

Great King Matthias’ battle honor,

Napoleon’s feats of conquer,

And the Waterloo renown:

Only cockerel duels found.

Virtue’s grand illusions beam,

But mere steam, fever’s snare;

In the breast, love’s glowing dream

Blood surging in its lair.

Socrates met his end’s doorway,

Cato’s blood dripped in his foray,

Zrinyi Miklós’ sacred dust,

Just a chain of folly’s trust.

And you wise men, what have you brought

That could earn esteem and grace?

Drunken madness filled your thoughts—

Plato, Aristotle’s face.

Reason’s folly intertwined,

Knowledge nothing but combined

Deck of cards and airy breeze—

All the sciences but tease.

Demosthenes with thundered cries,

But a hawker’s wrangling blare;

Xenophon with honeyed lies

At the wheel awaits his share;

Pindar’s heavenly flights elating,

Cold and hot stuttering, abating;

Phidias’ statues, all we laud,

Just chiseled lines upon a rock.

What is life’s fiery flow?

Just the warmth of falling sparks.

The passions’ roaring blow?

Like butterflies in swirling arcs.

Beginning and the end embrace,

And life’s true leaders in the race

Are faith and hope along the span,

Fleeting mist and rainbow’s fan.

Moonlight is our happiness,

Smoke the ill-luck that will fade;

Candlelight our universe,

Death a breeze’s fleeting shade.

Are you waiting for renown

Or immortality’s bright crown?

Like a scent, the bloom shall leave,

Though a moment shall it grieve.

So care not for this fleeting world,

Wise is he who scoffs at all—

Fate and virtue, greatness furled,

Science, fame, and life’s enthrall.

Be like a rock that never sways,

Still, unmoved in all its ways.

Let joy raise or sorrow weigh,

Blind to beauty and decay.

For whether the earth will move or stay,

This tiny world with you in play,

Whether moon and sun shall gleam

O’er your head or dull their beam,

Whatever color fortune brings,

Neither bad nor good it sings,

For in the end it’s just the same:

All of it is but a game."

Professor Abronsius: Vörösmarty Mihály- Gondolatok a könyvtárban (Thoughts in the library)

now buckle up, this is a LONG one

Thoughts in the library

"Consider, scholar, when you enter here,

on cast-off rags, man's stigma freshly marked,

with words as stark as the dark winter night,

there looms, written blood-black, the awesome lesson:

"while into misery millions are born

a few thousand might find in life salvation

could they but make use of the days of their lives,

had they the mind divine, the Seraph's temper."

Why all this rubbish? So, like sheep on grass

we may graze on it? Sated with fodder

and idle hours synthesized by science amoral

to waste God's day, a nation's energy?

Why this rubbish? From its stench I recall

all the sins of the animal man - they reek!

Virtue is written on this page, which once

as rag has garbed an outlaw. This other page?

perhaps - oh happy days of innocence -

the frail dress ripped from a ravished virgin,

perhaps a lust-enraged whore's negligee.

And here on these leaves, the law whitewashed from

remnants of bloody rebels and false judges,

from masks of sanguine tyrants washed white;

the secrets of machines and of numbers laid bare,

but those who tore garments, stripped man naked,

flayed dignity that bindings might be vellum,

these, unaccounted for, must render account -

they spin on Ixion's tempest-driven wheel

within the vortex, misery without end

and, gnashing their teeth, wail in the dark outside.

On the madman's sheets ponders a sage's head;

the astronomer, on eyeless beggar's rags

measures bursting universes piled on end -

light and blindness, all on a flimsy page!

The coward and the captive, both hapless roles

are bound forever in one book that sings

of freedom and heroes hewing history...

Stainless sheets, pulped from traitor's rags, now

reward the friend and thus honor the faithful;

yet over all, all-polluting, the Big Lie!

The Word, cursed by the pallid winding sheet

its black image adorns, suffers damnation,

rag-lure of countries, your name is library!

Where, then, is the volume that answers all?

The greater part of Man - where is his joy?

Is the world no better for any book?

Yes! The more gloriously man's societies arise

the greater the human refuse at the bottom.

The bursting breast of rags stuffed with man

must breathe contagion into the empire's heart.

Should we, after all, topple what countless brains

have wrought in the linked sunbursts of their minds?

Void the golden knowledge rare brains have

chopped and torn away from the mines of time?

How many bright souls immolated themselves

in vigil at the burning ruins of the heart

to give purpose, strength and comfort

to erring humans humbled by destiny?

Those heroes of unrecognized merit

whom the contemptible public mocked

were praised after death, when praise cost but words:

their thoughts beatified by the martyring mob!

Should the great burn to ashes at the same stake

with rag peddlers, numbskulls, and mildewed hearts?

Glow in embers with dark passion-panders

indiscriminate? Good on account of bad, with them?

Never! That which I said was pain.

The travail of many a bold spirit,

even those luminous minds could not save

the sons of dust from sinking in the mud.

There is barely a corner of the world,

one little oasis on the barren sand

where the most sought-after name is not that of Man,

where the ancient rites of generation

yield as heritage the name of Man!

Except for those who have been born to blackness,

labelled cattle by the glorious elite

who caress the dark image of God with whips.

Despite all, despite all, one must travail -

a new spirit is fighting its way up,

through the soul of man bursts a new approach -

to nurture fruitful ideals in races

primitive, to culture finer sentiments

that they may embrace, at last, each other,

and within their hearts reign love and justice.

So the lowest peasant may, in his hut,

say with assurance "I am not alone,

my brothers and sisters number millions,

I protect them, and me they defend;

fate, I fear thee not, despite thy dread will!"

That is why one must not succumb to despair.

Let us, steadfast as ants, set down that which

our brains, in the rare inspired hours, create,

and when we have assembled every stone,

we'll erect the Babel of a newer age,

build it until it towers among the stars,

and when we have looked through the gates of Heaven,

having heard from without the Angels' song,

with every drop of our earthly blood

aglow from elevated flames of delights,

let us then scatter like the ancient peoples

and begin anew, to endure and to learn.

Is this then our fate, and nothing our goal?

It is not - nor will be while the earth yields life,

and its mortal sons are not turned to stone;

what, in this world, is our task? To struggle,

and to nourish the needs of the spirit;

we are Man, son to both the earth and sky,

our soul is the wing beating toward heaven,

but we, instead of striving up to soar,

would rather, dully, like some bird beneath contempt,

eke out existence sucking mud from swamps.

What, in this world, is our task? To struggle,

according to our strength, for noble goals.

Before us stands the fate of a nation -

when we, from the irrevocable fall

have preserved it and restored it to its heights,

fighting under the clear beam of the spirit,

we can say, returning to our ancestors

in the dust: "Thank you, life, for thy blessings -

this has been great joy, yea, the Work of Men!"

Hart, H.H."

I told you its long, its called "The biggest hungarian philosophical poem" and personally one of my favourite poems ever, I have a quote of it on a shirt lol.

Alfred: Csokonai Vitéz Mihály - A Reményhez

To Hope 

To mortal eyes, you, Hope, do seem

a form divinely sweet;

but eyes of gods can pierce the dream

and see your blind deceit.

Unhappy men in times of ill

create you for their easing;

and as their Guardian Angel still

they worship without ceasing.

Why do you flatter me with praise?

Why do you then deride me?

Why in my bosom do you raise

a dubious heart to chide me?

Stay far and fair beyond my reach,

as first my soul you greeted!

I had depended on your speech,

but you have ever cheated.

With jonquil and with daffodil

you planted all my garden,

and introduced a chattering rill

to be my orchard's warden;

you did bestrew my laughing spring

with many a thousand flowers,

the scents of Heaven did you fling

to perfume all its hours;

my thoughts, like bees, found morning sweet

'mid garden plots and closes,

and hovered 'round in fragrant heat

above my heavy roses.

One hope possessed my soul apart,

one radiant prospect joyed me,

my garden lay in Lilla's heart

its wonders never cloyed me.

But, ah, the roses of my ease

Have withered quite away;

my sparkling brook and shady trees

are dead and dry today.

The springtime of my happiness

is winter now instead;

my dreams are gone beyond redress,

my fairy world has fled.

Ah, would you leave me but my lass,

the Lilla of my passion,

I'd let all sad complaining pass

nor mourn in any fashion.

Within her arms I could forget

misfortune, grief, and pain;

no wreath of pearl could match my girl

were she with me again!

Depart from me, O cruel Hope!

Depart and come no more;

for blinded by your power I grope

along a bitter shore.

My strength has failed, for I am riven

by all my doubt and dearth;

my tired spirit longs for Heaven

my body yearns for earth.

I see the meadows overcome

with dark consuming blight;

the vocal grove today is dumb;

the sun gives place to night.

I cannot tune this trill of mine!

My thoughts are all askew!

Ah, heart! Ah, hope! Ah, Lilla mine!

May God remember you!

Kirkconnell, Watson

To be honest this doesn't give back the feeling of the hungarian one so I'll link in an audio recording, do go and listen to it it's amazing, especially if you know the backstory of the poem

Herbert (x Alfred lol): Ady Endre- Héja nász az avaron

Hawk-love on the fallen leaves

"Setting out now. For Autumn are we heading,

with wild shrieks of joy and pain are chasing

one another: our wings are hurt and we’re a hawk-couple.

Fierce lovers, we’re fleeting the Summer.

New hawk-wings are in fight and flutter

and we eagerly kiss each other to death.

Up and down. Soaring from the Summer

and then falling back, just a shivered flutter

and the lovers’ combat ceases, with our wings in pieces.

Our very last and violent love-scene as it’s been.

We tear each other’s flesh, defeated, and into the jade-green,

crimson-coloured cushion of the Fall, there do we collapse, consummated."

György Eszter

Sarah: Csokonai Vitéz Mihály- Tartózkodó kérelem

Shy request

Mighty love's consuming fire

Has most deeply scorched my soul,

Cooling balm for hot desire,

Gracious tulip, make me whole.

Lively morning fires glitter

In the sparkle of your eyes,

many thousand worries flitter

From your dewy lips' sunrise.

Save me, Angel, speak, be willing,

Mend my heart so sorely rent -

And with ardent Grecian kissing

Will I pay for your consent.

Makkai, Adam; Roberts, Ena

This is all i have for now! I'm still thinking abt a different poems so I might make a follow up soon! Stay tuned and share what you think!

I fucking love hungarian literature guys-

[byneddiedingo]

Die Nibelungen (Fritz Lang, 1924)

Die Nibelungen: Siegfried

Cast: Gertrud Arnold, Margarete Schön, Hanna Ralph, Paul Richter, Theodor Loos, Hans Adalbert Schlettow, Georg John.

Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge

Cast: Margarete Schön, Gertrud Arnold, Theodor Loos, Hans Adalbert Schlettow, Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Georg John.

Screenplay: Fritz Lang, Thea von Harbou. Cinematography: Carl Hoffmann, Günter Rittau, Walter Ruttmann. Art direction: Otto Hunte, Karl Vollbrecht. Costume design: Paul Gerd Guderian, Aenne Willkomm. Music: Gottfried Huppertz

Fritz Lang's two-part epic, based on the Middle High German Nibelungenlied, will confuse anyone who knows the story only via Richard Wagner's Ring cycle: There are no Rhinemaidens or gods or Valkyries, nothing of Siegfried's parentage, and, since it lacks gods, consequently no Götterdämmerung. It consists of two films, Siegfried and Kriemhild's Revenge, that tell the story -- parts of which will be familiar from the final two operas in Wagner's cycle -- of how Siegfried (Paul Richter) slew the dragon and bathed in its blood, becoming invincible except for one spot on his back that the blood failed to touch, then killed the dwarf Alberich (George John) and took possession of a magic net that renders him invisible. He travels to Burgundy, where he wins the hand of the beautiful Kriemhild (Margarete Schön) by helping her brother, King Gunther (Theodor Loos), subdue the warrior maiden Brunnhild (Hanna Ralph). But Siegfried is killed after Gunther's advisor, Hagen (Hans Adalbert Schlettow), tricks Kriemhild into revealing his vulnerable spot. Brunnhild kills herself and Kriemhild vows revenge on the whole lot, which in the second film she accomplishes by marrying King Etzel (Rudolf Klein-Rogge), aka Attila, and provoking war between his Huns and the Burgundians. Lang tells the story with an eye-filling blend of tableaus, set-pieces, and scenes swarming with bloody action, concluding with a spectacular fire in which the Burgundians are trapped in Etzel's castle. The performances are pretty spectacular, too. Richter plays Siegfried as a muscular young goof ensnared by fate, Ralph is a formidable Brunnhild, and Schön modulates from naïve to terrifying as Kriemhild. But it's the production design by Otto Hunte and the costuming by Paul Gerd Guderian that lingers most in the memory. The production evokes late 19th- and early 20th-century book illustrators like Arthur Rackham and Walter Crane, but also the stark hieratic figures of Byzantine mosaics, especially Kriemhild, who becomes more powerfully static as the film progresses. Much has been written about the way the film fed into the heroic German myth that was co-opted by the Nazis, especially since the screenwriter, Thea von Harbou, Lang's wife at the time, later joined the party. (Lang, whose mother was Jewish, left Germany in 1934.) In fact, the Nazis sanctioned only the first half, Siegfried, after they came to power. Kriemhild's Revenge, with its depiction of the corruption of power and its nihilistic ending, didn't suit their purposes.

Margarete Schön as Kriemhild of Burgund

DIE NIBELUNGEN: KRIEMHILD'S REVENGE (1924) | dir. Fritz Lang

[annachum]

Basically ( I think you know already ) in ASOIAF

. Sansa Stark ~ Elizabeth of York

. Jon Snow ~ Henry VII

. Tyrion Lannister ~ Richard the Third

. Cersei Lannister ~ Margot of Anjou

. Joffrey Baratheon ~ Caligula

. Alicent Hightower ~ A mix of Lady Macbeth and Adeliza de Louvain

. Helaena Targaryen ~ Ophelia from Hamlet

. Aegon II Targaryen ~ Stephen of Blois

. Aemond Targaryen ~ Laertes

. Arya Stark ~ Joan of Arc

. Margaery Tyrell ~ Anne Boleyn

. Loras Tyrell ~ George Boleyn

. Myrcella Baratheon ~ A mix of Lucrezia Borgia and Mihrimah Sultan

. Ned and Catelyn ~ Richard and Cecily, Duke and Duchess of York

. Rhaenyra Targaryen ~ Empress Matilda

. Viserys I Targaryen ~ Henry I Plantagenet

. Aegon I Targaryen ~ William the Conqueror

. Aegon III Targaryen ~ Henry II

. Daenaera Velaryon ~ Eleanor of Aquitaine

. Robert Baratheon ~ Henry VIII

. Aemma Arryn ~ Matilda of Scotland

. Khal Drogo ~ A mix of Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan

. Tywin Lannister ~ Edward I

. Mace Tyrell and Alerie Hightower ~ Thomas and Elizabeth Boleyn, Earl and Countess of Wiltshire

[emilyaxford]

okay i actually have too many thoughts about the last two severance eps so i'm just gonna bullet point them under the cut

wow i missed real helly so much. "did you guys all sever your balls in the elevator"

the calling each other hun/attila thing is actually very cute

it threw me off because i've never seen a chinese restaurant in such a white building. and i know that it's probably just because the set design of the show is big on stark whites but it got me thinking about how in chinese culture white can be associated with death. hmmm.

this dinner rapidly turning into whose afraid of virginia woolf. i'm obsessed

the last few episodes i was iffy on but this is winning me back. finally every scene is accomplishing multiple narrative purposes at once

did devon just say she had a crush on a lady at camp. a WIN

mark's amateur brain surgery is stressing me OUT i need this man to do what reghabi says aaaaand he's stroking out. of course.

wow i know we talking about old men fucking a lot on this website but it's beautiful to see some truly old men flirt.

okay onto the latest ep. i always thought they gave mark that haircut because it looks like when your short haircut is growing out (aka me when i was growing out my pixie). and i figured it was his depression making him not get a haircut. and now i'm vindicated!!

wow they're really just dead-wife-montaging this to the absolute gills

kind of funny that from what we've seen of gemma so far, helly is way more like mark's sister than his dead wife

WHY are they giving gemma these insane outfits to wear. why does she need a different hairstyle. it's like the show is being weird for the sake of it which i think is stupid

i really miss miss cobel. i think the show is definitely missing something without her

ugh man okay i don't like this episode and i don't think it was very good. one of the things i enjoyed about severance was that it didn't make me worry about its female characters experiencing gendered violence but i guess that was too good to be true :( anyways stream slow horses for a show where that IS the case

[peterfybori]

Amikor bezárt a világ, mi csináltunk egy lemezt. A címe az, hogy Szikra. Ha szeretnéd támogatni a zenekart, rendelj cd-t: https://bolt.peterfybori.hu/termek/szikra-cd/ Spotify és társai: https://bit.ly/egyszikracsak Lemezbemutató koncert november 28-án az Akvárium Klub NagyHalljában.

Dalok:

1. Egy 2. Az utolsó farkas 3. Nem ma 4. Kéket vagy a pirosat feat. Saiid - albumverzió 5. Szikra feat. Pándi Balázs 6. Lula Luna 7. Keringő 8. Gonosz dobos 9. A nap felé 10. Száz fényév 11. Ki tartja az égboltot föléd? 12. Meteor

Zene:

Tövisházi Ambrus (1-11) Havasi Balázs (12)

Szöveg:

Péterfy Bori (1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 11) Saiid (4) Sarkadi Balázs (4) Hajós-Dévényi Kristóf (2, 7, 12) Szabó Benedek (10, 11)

Album legénység:

Drapos Gergely Gáspár Gergely Nagy István Péterfy Bori Pándi Balázs Pápai István Saiid Tövisházi Ambrus

Videó:

Hegyi Nóra Merényi Dávid Merényi Zsazsa Péterfy Bori

Dalszöveg animációk:

Császár Róbert (Tri-Angle Prod) https://www.facebook.com/triangleprod/

Betű:

Stark Attila http://instagram.com/kulo.city

[starkattila-blog]

[sobakaisti]

Prva svirka u Subotici. Prvi i poslednji put u Studio 11 (zatvara se) Prvi put Astro.

First time in Subotica. First and last time in Studio 11 (they are closing the place) First time Astro.

Designed by: Stark Attila

[loving-barnes]

Vendetta - Masterlist

Pairing: Mob Boss! Bucky Barnes x Mob! Boss Y/N Fox (Bucky Barnes x female reader)

Chapters: 20/20

Warning: NSFW, dark elements, language, alcohol, drugs, violence, blood, noncon (?), murder, smut, angst, fluff and more... This story is for readers 18+

Summary: Years ago, Mad Man Attila broke the piece between the Foxes, Wolves and Starks. After his wife died, Attila became a vulnerable man. Hydra used him to break the New York alliance and start a war. Before the inevitable could happen, Attila was poisoned. He ended up on his death bed. That was when the family and the business inherited one of his children – the one he quietly prepared for this role. With the new head of the Fox family come revelations neither of the Wolves and Starks expected.  

Autor’s note: I would like to say something about Y/N (the reader) - it is a female reader, and she has a family name (for story purposes). Also, Y/N went through a transformation - from an ugly duckling to a beautiful swan. However, I don't describe too much of her physique (or I really, really tried). I tried to be as inclusive as possible. If not, please, let me know.

CHAPTERS:

One - Kitty 

Two - Manhattan 

Three - Spring Cleaning 

Four - Lotus

Five - Numb

Six - Alliance

Seven - Where it all began 

Eight - High 

Nine - Hydra’s assassin 

Ten - Vulnerable

Eleven - Crossed 

Twelve - Suffocating 

Thirteen - Unity 

Fourteen - The truth 

Fifteen - The Loophole 

Sixteen - Face-to-face 

Seventeen - Betrayal

Eighteen - The Last Supper

Nineteen - Vendetta 

Twenty -  Time is ticking

VENDETTA 2 MASTERLIST

[zeke-fanfucs]

Welp, this is part two of

Echoes Unchained

Yall know the drill. Angst, I want to dwell on Kamor’s mental state since who wouldn’t be in his place. Give a big thanks to @featherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, I had trouble how to lead this part, but thanks to them, I chose Pure “STOP MY TEARS” to a nice soft “Awee family” vibes

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·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Echoes Unchained

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That night, the moon crept into the room, its soft glow slipping through the worn curtains like silver silk. The pale light bathed Kamor’s still form, illuminating him with an almost ethereal glow, as if the universe itself refused to let him fade into the void of his coma. His dark hair, messy even in sleep, shimmered faintly under the moonlight, and for a moment, he almost looked… peaceful.

Hipswitch stood by his bedside, silent, his glowing eyes flickering like old neon signs as he watched Kamor’s chest rise and fall. The soft whir of his internal mechanisms hummed quietly in the stillness of the room.

He had never seen Kamor this still before. Kamor was always moving, always smiling, rolling his eyes over Albus’s dumb stunts,—always alive. But now, he lay unmoving, as if caught between this world and another. Hipswitch hated it.

The moonlight traced the ivy-like scars along Kamor’s arms, a stark contrast against his skin. Scars that told a story Hipswitch didn’t fully understand, a past that Kamor couldn’t speak of.

But now, there was nothing to hide behind.

Hipswitch shifted, the weight in his chest pressing heavier than before. He didn’t know what he felt—what he could feel—but something about this moment sent a static hum through his system. He reached out, hesitating only for a second before brushing his fingers against Kamor’s knuckles, the closest thing to a touch he could allow himself. His metal fingertips were cool against Kamor’s skin, yet he swore he could feel the faint warmth beneath them.

“…You better wake up, Partner,” Hipswitch muttered, his voice soft. Like if he was pleading.

“Don’t make me start readin’ those weird-ass books you like just to get you to open your damn eyes.”

The only response was the quiet rhythm of Kamor’s breathing.

Hipswitch sighed, withdrawing his hand. The moonlight remained, casting Kamor in a glow that made him look like something out of a dream. A dream Hipswitch wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.

And so, he stayed, standing vigil in the quiet glow of the night, waiting—hoping—for Kamor to return to him.

♱✮♱ ♱✮♱ ♱✮♱ ♱✮♱

At some bar, Albus took another sip, but it barely burned anymore. The bartender didn’t say a word, just refilled his glass with something stronger. He didn’t need to ask—everyone in the bar knew Albus well enough to know when he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

He stared at the amber liquid, his grip tightening around the glass. He should be back at the base, watching over Kamor, but what good would that do? He wasn’t a doctor, wasn’t a scientist—hell, he wasn’t even a decent enough person to offer words of comfort. Kamor was stuck in some coma state, and all Albus could do was sit on his ass and drink.

His mind replayed the way Kamor had collapsed, the black ink spilling from his mouth like some cruel joke. It reminded Albus of something dark—something he had seen before, in places he wished he hadn’t. He slammed the glass down, startling a few patrons nearby.

He needed to hit something.

Or maybe he just needed to run.

————

Back home, Mahatma ignored Attila’s voice in his head, his fingers continuing to flick through endless data screens. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. There had to be something—some clue, some precedent, anything that explained why Kamor was like this.

Attila sighed, his voice a low grumble in the back of Mahatma’s mind. “You’re making an idiot of yourself. You’re not helping him by working yourself to death.”

Mahatma clenched his jaw, barely resisting the urge to snap at the intrusive voice. Instead, he muttered, “If I don’t find something, Kamor might—” He cut himself off, unable to finish the sentence.

Attila huffed. “Might what? Die? Fall deeper into whatever abyss he’s in? We don’t even know what’s wrong with him.”

Mahatma flinched, the bluntness slicing through him. He rubbed his temples, exhaling shakily. He knew Attila wasn’t trying to be cruel—this was just how he was. But that didn’t make it easier to hear.

His fingers hovered over the screen, exhaustion making his vision blur. He wasn’t a miracle worker. He wasn’t a god. But damn it all, he had to do something.

_________________

Kamor exhaled, though there was no air here. No sound. No warmth. Just the abyss stretching endlessly in every direction. The ink-like void rippled around him, shifting like a restless tide, yet it never pulled him anywhere—just let him drift.

He looked down at his hands, his arms—those cracks of plasma blue glowing faintly against the darkness. They looked almost… beautiful, like fractured gemstone veins running through him. But beauty didn’t mean wholeness. He still felt broken.

Alone.

The weight of it settled in his chest, thick and heavy like the ink surrounding him. No voices. No Hipswitch’s steady drawl calling him partner. No Albus’ rough, teasing remarks. No Mahatma’s nervous ramblings. Just him.

He wanted to scream, but he had no voice here. Maybe he never did. Maybe this was where he truly belonged—a speck of lost light swallowed by something greater, something crueler.

A flicker in the void.

Kamor’s head snapped up.

A shape. A shadow. Watching.

The burning in his throat spread like wildfire, searing through his very being. Kamor clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists as the ink around him rippled violently. It hurt—gods, it hurt—but he refused to crumble. Not here. Not in front of him.

A slow, chilling laugh echoed through the abyss, the sound slithering through the air like a serpent. From the shifting ink, the Mad Crow emerged—tall, draped in that unsettling, ever-moving darkness, his countless eyes gleaming like fractured stars. His beak curved into something almost amused.

“Ahh, there it is,” the Mad Crow purred, his voice a mix of distorted whispers and piercing shrieks. “The little wretch finds his tongue once more.”

Kamor wiped at his mouth, feeling the thick ink dripping from his lips. He tilted his head, smirking despite the pain. He was in pain, but if there was one thing Kamor had learned, it was to never let the bastard in front of him know it.

“Well, well,” Kamor rasped, voice rough, but his words sharp. “If it isn’t the oh so great Mad Crow. What, finally bored of watching from the shadows?”

The Mad Crow let out another laugh, a sound that made the void itself tremble. He stepped forward, each movement leaving ripples in the abyss.

“Oh, Kamor,” he cooed, mockingly affectionate. “You wound me. I’ve always been watching. And now, here you are—crawling back to me like the lost little thing you are.”

Kamor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down.

“I didn’t crawl anywhere, asshole.” His voice was stronger now, despite the lingering burn. “But if you’re so desperate for my attention, go ahead. Say whatever cryptic bullshit you’ve got planned. I’ve got time.”

The Mad Crow’s many eyes glowed, his amusement deepening.

“Oh, you have no idea just how much time you truly have, my dear little anomaly.”

Kamor took a slow, deliberate step forward. The ink sea beneath him trembled, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t a frightened child anymore. He wasn’t a lost cause, some plaything for a self-important god to toy with.

Straightening his posture, Kamor swept into a low, dramatic bow, one hand crossing over his chest while the other gestured outward with all the mockery he could muster. His smirk was sharp, wicked, and full of defiance.

“I do hope I’ve been entertaining enough for you, oh great and mighty Mad Crow,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “After all, what would existence be without your divine amusement?”

The abyss quaked. The Mad Crow’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, amusement flickering, but beneath it—something else. Something dark and dangerous.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the Mad Crow grinned.

“You never fail to amuse me, Kamor,” he mused, voice silky but laced with something sharp. “But let’s not pretend you understand the weight of the stage you stand upon.”

Kamor straightened, his smirk unwavering. “Oh, I understand plenty.” He spread his arms. “You’re just pissed because I finally get to talk back.”

The Mad Crow chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a whisper of something deeply displeased.

“You mistake defiance for control,” he murmured, stepping closer. The ink curled around Kamor’s ankles, but he stood his ground. “But you—little anomaly—are still just a piece in the game.”

Kamor’s plasma-blue scars pulsed. His power hummed beneath his skin, like static before a storm. He met the Mad Crow’s eyes without fear.

“Then I guess it’s time I stopped playing by your rules.”

𓁹𓁹

Kamor’s breath hitched as the voices surrounded him, curling into his ears like poison.

“Did you really think you were one of us?” Albus sneered, arms crossed, eyes burning with contempt. “You’re just some freak playing hero. You don’t belong.”

Kamor clenched his fists. He knew this wasn’t real. He knew Albus would never say that. But the words still stung.

“You think you can just keep surviving by dumb luck?” Mahatma’s voice was softer, but the disappointment cut even deeper. “You’re reckless. You put all of us in danger. You should’ve just—”

Attila scoffed, cutting him off. “You’re a liability. It would’ve been easier if you were dead.”

Kamor swallowed, his body stiff, every word digging into old wounds, tearing open scars he thought had long since healed.

But it was Hipswitch’s voice that almost broke him.

With his arms crossed, those glowing eyes burning through Kamor like a scorching sun.

“You ain’t got no place here, partner.” The words were slow, deliberate. “You ain’t nothin’ but a ghost. And I don’t got time to waste on a man who’s already gone.”

Kamor flinched. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He knew—he knew—it was fake, but damn it, it felt real.

The Mad Crow chuckled, the illusions circling like vultures. “Do you feel it now, Kamor? That crushing weight? That gnawing truth?”

Kamor’s pulse roared. His mind screamed at him to believe it—to sink into the abyss and accept that they were right. That he was a ghost, a freak, a liability.

But then—

The plasma-blue cracks in his skin flared, the glow pulsing like a heartbeat.

His friends’ voices weren’t real.

His bond with them—his family—was.

Kamor took a breath. Then another. He rolled his shoulders, forced a smirk despite the ache in his chest, and met the Mad Crow’s countless eyes with steel.

“Damn,” he said, voice hoarse but unwavering. “You almost had me there.”

The illusions faltered.

Kamor exhaled slowly. “I’m not falling for your cheap tricks, Crow. I know my friends. And they—” his scars burned brighter, filling the void with light, “—would never say that shit.”

The illusions shattered, dissolving into black mist.

The Mad Crow’s grin twitched. “Clever boy.”

Kamor cracked his neck, rolling his wrists. “Damn right.”

Kamor spun in the abyss, lazily flipping midair like he was lounging on an invisible couch. He snapped his fingers again, sending up more plasma-blue sparks, watching them flicker like fireworks.

“Gotta say, Crow,” he drawled, arms behind his head, “for a so-called deity of insanity, you’re kinda… predictable. I mean, really? The whole ‘your friends secretly hate you’ routine?” He clicked his tongue. “Classic, but so overdone.”

The Mad Crow’s grin twitched. “You think this is a joke, Kamor?”

Kamor snorted. “Buddy, everything is a joke. You, me, this whole ‘torture the broken protagonist’ thing you’ve got going on? Comedy gold.” He shot finger guns at the void. “I’d rate it a solid six outta ten. Needs more creativity.”

The abyss rumbled. The Mad Crow loomed closer, his form shifting, warping into a monstrous swirl of shadows and feathers. “You should choose your words carefully, brat.”

Kamor yawned dramatically, stretching his arms. “Or what? You gonna kill me?” He gestured around at the endless black void. “Oh noooo, whatever will I do? It’s not like I haven’t died, like, four times already or more, kinda lost count already.”

The Mad Crow scowled. “You insufferable little—”

“Oh, wait, wait—lemme guess!” Kamor sat up, gasping theatrically. “You’re gonna monologue! Oh man, please tell me you have a tragic backstory! Maybe a betrayed by your best friend arc? Ooooh, or—” he pointed at the deity, eyes gleaming— “a lover who abandoned you?! That’s a classic!”

The Mad Crow screeched, the abyss rippling with his rage.

Kamor just smirked. Bingo.

“Aw, did I hit a nerve?” He tilted his head, tapping his chin. “Listen, Crow, buddy, pal—I get it. Being a creepy interdimensional bird-man is hard. But you gotta let go, y’know? Maybe pick up a hobby! Knit some little sweaters? Start a podcast? ‘Mad Crow’s Mad Rants’—has a nice ring to it.”

The Mad Crow’s form exploded into a mass of twisting, ink-black tendrils, lunging straight for Kamor.

Kamor only grinned wider.

“Now that’s more like it.”

(Epic fight scene, i try my best to word it)

Kamor twisted midair, flipping effortlessly over the tendrils as they lashed out like angry vipers. His feet barely grazed the surface of one before he launched himself forward, sprinting across the writhing mass of ink and shadow.

“C’mon, Crow! You’re the god here! Try harder!” he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement.

His fingers sparked, crackling with electric-blue energy as the light shifted and morphed, forming into a sleek dagger in his grip. It hummed with raw power, a glowing contrast against the dark void.

The Mad Crow shrieked, sending more tendrils after him, but Kamor was already moving—twisting, dodging, and vaulting between the writhing mass like a damn acrobat.

“Ohhh, this is fun,” Kamor laughed, dragging the plasma dagger along one of the tendrils. It sizzled on contact, slicing through the black mass like butter. “What, you mad that I’m not crying yet? Sorry to disappoint, Feathers, but I’ve had worse nightmares after drinking expired Space version of Red Bull.”

The Mad Crow’s voice boomed, shaking the entire abyss. “YOU ARE NOTHING, KAMOR.”

Kamor grinned. “And yet, you’re the one trying so hard to kill me. Kinda sad when you think about it.”

He slid under another tendril, flipping the dagger in his hand before hurling it straight at the Mad Crow’s center.

“Lights out, birdbrain.”

…

The Mad Crow’s screech echoed through the abyss, promising vengeance, but Kamor just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, real original. ‘I’ll be back!’” Kamor mocked, waving his fingers in a spooky gesture. “Get some new material, dude.”

With one last cocky grin, he stuck his tongue out at the swirling void of ink and feathers before turning to the door of light. It hummed with energy, a stark contrast to the endless black around him.

He exhaled, gripping the handle. “Time to go home.”

And by home, he meant back to the absolute chaos that was his found family. Hipswitch was probably still watching over his body like an overprotective mother hen, Albus had either drunk himself into a stupor or picked a fight to cope, and Mahatma was likely stress-researching himself into an early grave.

Oh, and there was the minor detail of explaining his entire backstory. Kamor groaned, rubbing his face.

“Yeah, that’s gonna be fun.”

With a sigh, he pulled open the door, stepping through the light—back to where he belonged.

….

Kamor groan as he stretched on the bed, his body sore and stiff as though he had been asleep for days. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the fog in his head, but the moment he focused on Mahatma, the worst smell hit him.

It was like a mix of rotten eggs, burning rubber, and… something else that Kamor couldn’t quite place. His stomach churned as he took in the sight of what Mahatma was holding near his face.

‘What the hell is that?’ Kamor thought as he gagged, almost falling out of the bed as he scrambled away from it. The thing in Mahatma’s hands sounded like it was whispering “kill meeee” in the most unsettling voice imaginable.

“What the hell are you doing, Mahatma?!” Kamor practically shouted, clutching his chest, feeling his heart race. His reflexes took over, his panic a mix of pure instinct and shock.

The instant Kamor shot upright and screamed, Mahatma yelped, dropping the strange, gloppy thing that was now, by the looks of it, wriggling on the floor.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside the room, and within moments, Albus and Hipswitch burst through the door. They stopped in their tracks, eyes wide as they took in the chaotic scene.

Kamor was still gasping for breath, panic still evident in his voice. Mahatma was frozen, hands raised in defense, and the weird thing on the floor had begun to twitch ominously.

Albus blinked, looking from Kamor to Mahatma, and back again. “Well, looks like everything is just fine then.”

Kamor shot him a glare, throwing his hands up. “Really? ‘Just fine’? I’ve been knocked out for God knows how long, and now I’m awake to this?” He gestured wildly at the wriggling thing, still not quite able to process it.

Hipswitch tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing as he took a step forward, his voice smooth and comforting. “Take it easy, partner. You’ve been through quite a lot. Just… try not to freak out too much.”

Kamor glared at him, then back at Mahatma. “Try not to freak out?! What in the universe is that thing, Mahatma?!”

Mahatma swallowed, clearly flustered. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—It’s an experiment, Kamor! I was trying to help you, but then—”

“You tried to kill me with it, didn’t you?!” Kamor snapped, his voice almost on the edge of an angry scream.

“I did not!” Mahatma protested, looking near ready to tear his hair out.

Hipswitch stepped forward, putting a hand gently on Kamor’s shoulder, his voice low but firm. “Hey, let’s not get too crazy. Mahatma’s… well, he’s a little extra when it comes to research. Let’s just… take a breath and handle this calmly.”

Albus, still looking at the weird creature with a mix of confusion and caution, nodded. “Yeah. We’ll figure this out.” He shot Kamor a teasing look. “But maybe next time, you could wake up a little less… explosive?”

Kamor gave him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “You’re lucky I’m exhausted. Otherwise, I’d show you what ‘explosive’ really looks like.”

The tension in the room was thick, but slowly, it began to ease. Kamor sat back down on the bed, rubbing his temples as his thoughts swirled. One thing was for sure—things never went smoothly with his found family.

————-

Albus was the first to break the silence, his eyebrows shooting up as his gaze shifted to Kamor. “Wait a minute… you spoke.”

The room went dead silent. Everyone’s eyes locked onto Kamor as if they were expecting some grand announcement, some miraculous change, or a completely different person to emerge from the coma. But Kamor simply stared back at them, unfazed.

He shrugged, then gave them a look that screamed, “Yeah. And?” His voice was hoarse, strained from not being used in so long, but the words came out just fine. Despite the shock, he seemed entirely nonchalant about it.

Albus, always quick with a comment, blinked, then smirked. “Well, you sure don’t sound like I expected. More like a squeaky toy than… y’know, anything intimidating.”

Kamor scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Squeaky toy? Really? After everything that’s happened, that’s your takeaway?” He leaned back against the bed, arms folded across his chest, clearly annoyed but amused at the same time. “If that’s the worst thing about me, then I’m doing alright.”

Mahatma, who had been watching this exchange in a mix of surprise and relief, smiled softly. “It’s… it’s good to hear your voice, Kamor.” Kamor’s expression softened for a second, his eyes flicking between the group. But then he quickly shook his head, as if to rid himself of the tenderness that had briefly crept in. “Yeah, well… don’t expect me to sing ‘Shake Señora’ or anything. I still have a lot of questions… like why the hell I woke up to that abomination of a science experiment.” He shot Mahatma a glance. “Next time, just let me die in peace, yeah?”

Hipswitch, still standing close by, chuckled softly. “You sure you don’t want a second go at that experiment? Might help you with the squeaky toy problem.”

Kamor gave him a deadpan look. “Keep talking like that, and you might find yourself with a broken toy instead.”

Albus grinned. “I think that’s the Kamor we know.” He clapped Kamor on the back with a little too much force, making him wince. “Welcome back, you annoying little brat.”

Kamor muttered under his breath, rubbing his sore back. “I swear, I feel like I’ve been through more pain waking up than I did when I got knocked out.”

“Hey,” Hipswitch interjected, still the calming presence. “You’re back with us. That’s what matters.”

Kamor didn’t look at him, but the faintest flicker of appreciation crossed his face. It was quickly hidden behind a scowl, though. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to get all sentimental about it.”

Albus, clearly amused, winked at Hipswitch. “Good luck with that, partner.”

The rest of the room relaxed as the tension shifted, the lighthearted banter taking over, and Kamor’s return seemed to settle the uneasy air that had been hanging for so long. They were back to being a family, for better or worse.

———————

Kamor groaned dramatically, clutching the edge of his bed as Albus yanked on his arm with the persistence of someone who’d clearly been through this routine too many times. Kamor’s face was buried in his pillow, the soft, comfortable sheets of his new bed (no more sleeping on the floor of Mahatma’s cluttered office) wrapping around him like a cocoon. He was never an early riser, and now that he had a proper bed, it was impossible to leave it.

“Come on, Kamor, we have to get the supplies!” Albus’s voice was practically a command, but there was an underlying tone of annoyance, mixed with the exhaustion of dealing with Kamor’s morning grumpiness. He tugged harder on Kamor’s arm. “You’re not getting out of this one. We agreed on it.”

Kamor’s head barely poked out of the pillow, his eyes still half-closed in a haze. “Just five more minutes, Albus,” he whined, his voice still scratchy from disuse, but it had that familiar snarky edge to it. “I’m pretty sure the market won’t disappear if we’re not there exactly at sunrise.”

“You said that yesterday, and the day before that,” Albus shot back, yanking Kamor’s arm again. “You’ve gotta stop pretending you’re some kind of creature of the night. We need these supplies. We’ve got jobs now. You’re a bounty hunter, Kamor. Time to act like one.”

Kamor’s grip tightened around the blankets, his face scrunching up in a mix of annoyance and reluctance. “Yeah, yeah… Bounty Hunter Kamor. Real intimidating.” His voice was muffled by the pillow, but the sarcasm was evident. “I’m just a bounty hunter in training here… Can’t we send Mahatma or someone else? I bet the guy could use the exercise. Doc’s gotta work off all that extra chocolate eating or something.”

Albus let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to let you lay in bed all day just because you’re avoiding reality, Kamor.”

“Hey, I am not avoiding anything,” Kamor shot back, finally pulling the pillow away from his face, his eyes narrowed. “But I’m definitely avoiding that damn market. It’s like a crowded nightmare in there, full of people who think I’m their personal therapist. Do you know how many old ladies try to grab my attention just to talk about their cats? Or whatever creature that TIRED TO LICK ME! Albus it tried to lick me.”

Albus snorted in disbelief. “You act like that’s the worst part of this job. Come on, we’ve got actual things to do today. Get up.”

Kamor just flopped back onto the bed, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over his head. “I’m going back to sleep,” he muttered stubbornly.

Albus shook his head, amused and defeated all at once. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Kamor replied from under the covers. “And don’t you forget it.”

It was a small moment, but Albus couldn’t help but smile. Kamor might complain and resist, but there was something endearing about him. As much as the younger man tried to hide it, Albus knew Kamor did care about the family they’d built. He just… didn’t want to show it too much.

“Alright, alright,” Albus said after a pause, dropping the topic for now. “But if you’re not up in the next fifteen minutes, I’m sending Hipswitch in here.”

Kamor’s head shot up at the mention of Hipswitch. His eyes widened for a moment, panic setting in. “No, no, no! You wouldn’t!”

Albus smirked. “Try me.”

Kamor immediately rolled out of bed, now wide awake. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll get up. No need to get the big, stupidly handsome robot involved.”

“Good,” Albus said with a satisfied grin. “Now, get dressed. We’ve got a market to conquer.”

Kamor groaned again but slowly shuffled toward the wardrobe, muttering under his breath. “This is going to be the worst day ever. Someone better appreciate my suffering.”

Albus chuckled, watching him. “You say that every time. Let’s go, Kamor.”

With a final groan of annoyance, Kamor grabbed his coat and slung it on, his usual grumpy demeanor resurfacing. But inside, a small, quiet part of him was grateful. Even if he hated getting up in the mornings… these moments with his new family, his new life, were starting to mean more than he was willing to admit.

———

[Soooooo Whatcha think? Yeah I made Kamor Deadpool coded, why? Cause I love them both. I hope you like the fighting scene. BIG THANKS TO MY BESTIE, she helped me.]

[byneddiedingo]

Die Nibelungen (Fritz Lang, 1924)

Die Nibelungen: Siegfried

Hanna Ralph in Die Nibelungen: Siegfried

Cast: Gertrud Arnold, Margarete Schön,Hanna Ralph, Paul Richter, Theodor Loos, Hans Adalbert Schlettow  Georg John.

Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge

Margarete Schön in Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild's Revenge

Cast: Margarete Schön, Gertrud Arnold, Theodor Loos, Hans Adalbert Schlettow, Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Georg John.

Screenplay: Fritz Lang, Thea von Harbou. Cinematography: Carl Hoffmann, Günter Rittau, Walter Ruttmann. Art direction: Otto Hunte, Karl Vollbrecht. Costume design: Paul Gerd Guderian, Aenne Willkomm. Music: Gottfried Huppertz.

Fritz Lang's two-part epic, based on the Middle High German Nibelungenlied, will confuse anyone who knows the story only via Richard Wagner's Ring cycle: There are no Rhinemaidens or gods or Valkyries, nothing of Siegfried's parentage, and, since it lacks gods, consequently no Götterdämmerung. It consists of two films, Siegfried and Kriemhild's Revenge, that tell the story -- parts of which will be familiar from the final two operas in Wagner's cycle -- of how Siegfried slew the dragon and bathed in its blood, becoming invincible except for one spot on his back that the blood failed to touch, then killed the dwarf Alberich and took possession of a magic net that renders him invisible. He travels to Burgundy, where he wins the hand of the beautiful Kriemhild by helping her brother, King Gunther, subdue the warrior maiden Brunnhild. But Siegfried is killed after Gunther's advisor, Hagen, tricks Kriemhild into revealing his vulnerable spot. Brunnhild kills herself and Kriemhild vows revenge on the whole lot, which in the second film she accomplishes by marrying King Etzel, aka Attila, and provoking war between his Huns and the Burgundians. Lang tells the story with an eye-filling blend of tableaus, set-pieces, and scenes swarming with bloody action, concluding with a spectacular fire in which the Burgundians are trapped in Etzel's castle. The performances are pretty spectacular, too. Paul Richter plays Siegfried as a muscular young goof ensnared by fate, Hanna Ralph is a formidable Brunnhild, and Margarete Schön modulates from naïve to terrifying as Kriemhild. But it's the production design by Otto Hunte and the costuming by Paul Gerd Guderian that lingers most in the memory. The production evokes late 19th- and early 20th-century book illustrators like Arthur Rackham and Walter Crane, but also the stark hieratic figures of Byzantine mosaics, especially Kriemhild, who becomes more powerfully static as the film progresses. Much has been written about the way the film fed into the heroic German myth that was co-opted by the Nazis, especially since the screenwriter, Thea von Harbou, Lang's wife at the time, later joined the party. (Lang, whose mother was Jewish, left Germany in 1934.) In fact, the Nazis sanctioned only the first half, Siegfried, after they came to power. Kriemhild's Revenge, with its depiction of the corruption of power and its nihilistic ending, didn't suit their purposes.

[brgzmpff]

kicsit aggódom, hogy nem tudja a laptop megnyitni a galéria dolgozós mappáját, remélem egy újraindítás majd segít, de addigis:

SZOMBAT 19:00 FUGA, Petőfi Sándor utca

ÁRVERÉS az Utcáról a lakásba egyesület számára, hogy még küzdő csöviknek tudjanak otthonokat csinálni!!! Egy árverésen a becsérték 60%-a szokott lenni a kezdő licit, így egy csomó fasza képet tudtok kis szerencsével ára alatt megvenni és közben minden fillér jó helyre kerül!!!

A felajánló művészek névsora: analóg.angelika, Anyádrajzol, Árki Tibor, Boruzs Boglárka, Bukta Imre, Csoszó Gabriella, Csörsz Rumen István, Cerdic Af Geijersstam, Darvasi László, Debreczeny Zoltán, Marton Des, Erdős Virág, Fedor Ilka, Haász Katalin, Kemény Zsófi, Adél Koleszár, Kövesdi Judit, Lődör Dániel, Nádasdy Ádám, Nádler István, Pálfi Balázs, Révész Ákos, Rutkai Bori, Stark Attila, Szabó T. Anna, Szofi Oláh, Timea Telkes, Ágnes Tóth, Tóth Krisztina, Várady Szabolcs, Város és Vadon

itt vannak a képekről a mindenek: https://aukcio.utcarollakasba.hu/konyvhajlek-2/

Lájk ha jössz, reblog, ha drukkolsz!!! :D csak viccelek, de klassz lenne, ha futna egy kört, mert nagyon fontos dolognak tartom az ULE munkáját, és jó lenne, ha minden kép elmenne :)

[aliasimagines]

budapest//pietro maximoff

a/n: I was so afraid to write a hungarian reader for some reason but right now I just don’t care. I just had this idea last night and quickly wrote it. Nooow, I don’t wanna say I am gettin out off my writer’s blog but I might be.. (but only thanks to this quick bastard and József Attila xd)

hungarian!reader x pietro (i think i kept the reader gendernetural)

word count: 915

"As fucked up as it sounds.. I am so glad Bértesy got out of jail and decided to pull off an illegal weapon deal." you say not even bothering to hide the smile playing on your lips. The excitement you got since you learned that the team has a mission in your birth-town just got stronger since you got on the Quinjet, and now that you actually landed and set your foot on the cobble-stoned streets of Budapest you felt more than excited. 

"Let's get that motherfucker!" 

Natasha smiled at your eagerness and led you and the rest of the team to the garage building where the deal was to take place. It was a simple mission that didn't require all of the Avengers to be here. Natasha was here because she knew her way around here almost as well as you. Clint didn't come, he just doesn't like Budapest, and neither did Baner, Vision, Sam, Rhody. 

So it was just Tony, Steve, Nat, the twins and you. 

The mission itself was quite easy. You busted in, took out the dealers and their goons, Stark and Cap got the weapons on the plane and soon everyone was ready to fly back home to the Avengers facility, everyone except for you. You stopped right before the stairs of the Quinjet. 

"Hey guys… I think I'll stay for a bit? Make sure the police really locks up  those douchebags." you say. Of course the team knows why you actually want to stay back. Since joining the Avengers you rarely got to visit your home. Wanda sent an understanding smile, she gets your homesickness. Steve leaned against the metal wall of the plane. 

" And how are you planning to get home?" 

You bite your lip, you could book a flight, it would take much longer than using the jet but you could do that. Or.. 

"It's, ok. I'll stay and get us home." you almost jump hearing Pietro's voice from next to you. "I'll help y/n oversee the police." 

"Are you sure you wanna run that much after a mission, son?" 

"Oh, come on Cap, I barely got to do anything this mission. Let me run a bit, eh?" 

You smile at the speedster and Steve nods, giving you guys his approval. 

"Alright, see you later kids." 

The jet takes off leaving you and the silver haired boy alone. Staying true tk your words the two of you go and check the police but once making sure everything's alright you wander around the mostly quiet streets. The dim light of the street lamps, the fresh night air and the sound of passing cars makes you feel warm inside. 

"I love Budapest at night." you say to your companion. "Sure it is beautiful in the daylight but at night? It's.. Truly breathtaking. For me, at least." 

Pietro hums in agreement. His eyes scan the floodlit bridges and buildings. 

"So this is where you grew up?" he asks. 

"Not right here but yeah, I grew up in Budapest." you inhale a big amount of the night air and exhale with a smile. It smells like your childhood. You feel a gently breeze caress your cheeks. "So, why did you stay here with me?" 

He shrugs his shoulders taking a bite of the lángos in his hand, which you have no idea when he got but you are almost sure it wasn't there a minute ago. 

"Always wanted to visit. Plus I love spending time with ya, draga mea." 

You chuckle. 

"Sure you do, Maximoff. You wanna sit by the banks of the Danube? I used to love doing that."

He offers you his arm with a wink. 

"Lead the way, miere." 

You walk together till you find a nice bench to sit on. You talk some, he asks about the city, your childhood here and he gets some more food, this time bringing some for you too. After a while the two of you just sit there, enjoying the pleasant weather and the picturesque scenery. The lights of the bridges and buildings reflect on the water of the river. The whole atmosphere is so peaceful and calm. Something Pietro rarely experiences. He is always on the go, always rushing to get from one place to another and never thinks about stopping to enjoy the little things. Yet here he is, looking at the sleeping city, with you leaning your head on his shoulder and he feels calm. 

"You were right. This is beautiful." 

You look up at him with a soft smile. His accent sounds heavier as he speaks with a lower voice. 

"I'm glad you think so." you gaze into his deep blue eyes and he does the same. 

"We could come here more often." 

"Definitely." you mumbled "And maybe next time I'll get to show you around a bit more." 

He flashes you his signature smirk. 

"We still have a few hours to ourselves, miere." 

You cannot say no to him,but it's not like you want to. So you get up and pull him with you. 

"Let's get going then, drágám." 

You see him raising an eyebrow. 

"What? If you get to call me pet names in your language, so do I." 

Pietro laughs and kisses your temple. 

"I guess you are right. So, we go?" you can't help but smile again and grab his hand. And you go, discover not only the resting city but the thing you have been feeling when with one another. 

[poptod]

hello! can i request something romantic with either ahk or snafu or really any rami character where y/n has round dark brown doe eyes? like so dark brown they look black if you’re not looking at them in sunlight? and he’s just flirting with them and he says something nice about their eyes? i have round dark brown eyes and i’m kinda insecure about them cuz they’re so common, and it’s been one shit-show if a week for me and i really just need to feel good about myself

notes: damn, i can totally do that for you. hope your weekend is much better than your week :) thank u for requesting and i hope you enjoy it !

WC: 2k

+

Life never worked naturally to your advantage. You were born average looking – nothing special on either side of the spectrum, with average hands and common dark brown eyes. You grew up poor and worked your ass off to get into a good college on a scholarship, eventually getting kicked out for something you didn't even do. You auditioned to be part of an orchestra, but there were too many violinists already, and you just 'didn't fit the profile'. You tried to be an artist, but no one liked your creations. You tried to pick up another instrument, but you couldn't afford a good one, and the last time you tried to buy a cheap guitar, the neck broke on the third use.

Because of these many happenstances (and the many more, less mentionable ones), you considered yourself unlucky. It was a fact of life for you as much as the sun's existence in other peoples lives, or that the superbowl was too long. Or guacamole wasn't good. Fortunately, the years of nothing ever coming naturally had made you into a fantastic worker, and by some rare stroke of luck, you found you were rather good at physical labor jobs. You weren't strong by any standards – in fact rather weak – but your attention to detail made you the janitor of a prestigious museum you visited twice as a child.

It wasn't a fantastic job, and the poor pay led to having five roommates, but you enjoyed yourself. You tried to do that in every aspect of life; finding the joy in menial tasks, or solace in duty. After all, you got to see wonderful recreations of history in the still wax figures, and learn heaps of knowledge from the many information panels you came across when making your way through the museum. The only truly unfortunate part of your job was the time – right after closing, but you had to finish quickly, as you weren't allowed inside at night. A stupid rule, but the night guard and Dr. McPhee were insistent on it.

They thought you didn't know about the exhibits.

They were, obviously, wrong. You knew, and you adored the magic behind it all. While you hadn't actually ever seen any of the exhibits come to life, you watched the news on an evening where the exhibits broke out, and with your knowledge of the Tablet curse, you pieced the mystery together.

You hadn't meant to take this long. McPhee was already pissed at you for 'accidentally' skipping over the men's restroom yesterday, and taking too long at your job would land you on thin ice, something you couldn't afford. With a hurried pace you finished sweeping the floors in the last room, storing the broom away and moving on to mopping. Checking your watch once more, you noted the time, mentally checking if you would be able to finish before closing hours.

Mopping the Egyptian room usually takes five to ten minutes, and closing is in two, you thought, despair settling in your stomach. What would you do if you 'found out' about the tablet? What would McPhee do if he found out you knew? He wouldn't fire you, would he?

You truly didn't know. He was a bit of a loose cannon when it came to those things.

As fast as you tried to move, the hours of night came faster than you could mop, and the tablet began to glow behind you. Bewildered you turned, watching with your mouth slightly parted as the glow grew to the radiance of the sun. You knew the tablet brought the magic, but you didn't know about the glow – now that you were witnessing it yourself, the only thing you could feel in your pounding heart was fear. A fear that only grew worse when the Pharaoh's sarcophagus began to rattle.

You'd thought about the wax figures coming to life. You thought about the dinosaur. You, however, did not think about the 4,000 year old mummy.

Needless to say, you bolted. Leaving behind your supplies, you ran as fast as you could, wind pounding past your ears as the sound of a lion's roar came from the neighboring hall. You grit your teeth and made for the main entrance, but by the time you got there many of the exhibits had adjoined in the main room. Pressing yourself against the locked door, you watched with wide eyes as the Teddy Roosevelt statue began to talk to Attila, and in that moment you realized that perhaps magic was not always good. Not when you were spiralling into a panic at least.

It took a couple hours of you staring into space before anyone actually noticed you. To your surprise, it wasn't the night guard, or even McPhee – it was a Pharaoh, skin and everything intact. His crown remained polished upon his head, a stark difference from the crowns on exhibit, whose colors and carvings had faded long ago.

"Hello," he said with a pleasant, polite smile as he knelt, matching the height of your seated position on the floor. "Are you a new exhibit?"

You looked down at your clothes. Janitor clothes.

"No," you said, and instantly his demeanor changed.

"Oh dear," he said, and though you agreed with that statement, you certainly did not agree with him grabbing your wrist and dragging you into the crowd.

"I don't really want to be doing this," you said in a shaky voice, but he did not answer.

As he dragged you through the crowd you kept your eyes closed, wary of overstimulation of both ears and eyes. He eventually stopped at the top of the stairs, where you opened your eyes to find the night guard, Larry.

"What are you still doing here?" Larry asked almost frantically, looking between the dancers below and you.

"In my defense I didn't want to be here, I knew about the magic and I don't – I didn't ever want to actually see it," you half-lied.

"How the hell did you know?!"

"You don't do a very good job of covering it up, Larry," you said flatly, your voice still cracking from nerves.

You didn't have very many friends. Your roommates didn't talk to you much, and the life you had outside of work consisted mostly of quiet, indoor hobbies you could do just about anywhere. So, once the whole of the situation was sorted out (with input from McPhee), you took your drawing pads and notebooks to the museum with you, working for the first few hours and drawing into the hours of night while watching history come to life.

Despite your original discomfort of being in the presence of a 100% authentic, come-to-life mummy, you became rather good friends with him. Not fantastic, and he didn't know very much about you, but he was kind and handsome. You hated to admit it, but he held your avid interest. Another one of those unlucky things in your life – of course you had to fall in love with an immortal, reanimated mummy who only came to life at night.

"Why don't you ever come dance with us?" Ahkmenrah (his name, apparently) said as he sat down beside you on the loft, the only barrier between you and a fifteen-foot fall being a stone rail.

"I'm afraid I'm not all that good of a dancer," you said, not bothering to look up from your sketchbook. You couldn't ever bear to look at him that long anyway.

"Neither am I," he laughed. "That's the point."

Instinctively you looked up at him, holding eye contact with his grey eyes for only a second before you looked away, a blush already making its way to your cheeks. He had the opposite of your life – lucky beyond belief. The favorite of his parents, completely immortal, completely beautiful, almost too wealthy, and many, many friends, including yourself.

What got you the most however was his eyes. Cold eyes were already praised in modern society – people loved grey, they loved blue and green. But in Ahkmenrah's society, the one that existed thousands of years ago, blue eyes hardly existed. The mutation for the new color was one in a billion back then, making him one of the (probably) three people on the planet with blue eyes. And now that lucky mutation stood before you in its purest, oldest form, and you couldn't bear to look at them for any longer than a solitary moment.

For some reason, it hurt you. Maybe because you were boring. Dull. Brown in a brown society. Sure, they looked beautiful in sunlight – you knew that. They turned into swirling gold and the taste of chocolate, but Ahk couldn't see them in the sunlight. That made you dull.

Now, Ahkmenrah was not a man to point things out about people. If they were being a dickhead, yes, but most of the time he noted things and dismissed them. But you'd been doing this for so long that he grew weary of the dance.

"Why don't you ever look at me?" He asked, a question that had your eyes widening and your back straightening, alarm bells ringing all over your brain.

"I look at you plenty," you said while avoiding his gaze like a 15th century doctor avoids respecting women.

"No, you don't," he said softly. "Not even now. I wish you would – you've got such beautiful eyes."

Your sketching stopped at his words. At your silence he placed his hand on your jaw, tilting so you looked at him. Instead of meeting his gaze you looked to the floor.

"They're very common," you got out weakly, still unable to make eye contact, but he kept you where you were, in the easy sight of him. "They only look good in the sun."

He shifted closer, keeping his hand on your jaw in hopes of you changing your mind and meeting his eye.

"Even in darkness they're beautiful, voids as empty and long as night," he hummed, drawing closer yet till you could feel the heat off his body on your still fingers. "I've noted them quite a lot. Eyes are a beautiful thing, aren't they?"

"Yours are," you mumbled, barely catching the meaning and insinuation of your words before they came out.

"As are yours. Remember when we snuck into McPhee's office? The lamplight bounced off of them and they practically glittered like the embers and smoke of a fire," he said with a small smile. "And the bright lights in the hallways –"

Florescent, you thought.

"– and the candle lights that Nick brought, those flicker with that same spark within you. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

You couldn't move, stuck in place and stuck in your own head.

"The golden fireplace, Christmas lights – and the light of the moon, a dim, faraway light that can only be admired from a distance... like you," he murmured.

Sometimes you forgot his people were poets and admirers of nature.

"You have blue eyes," you whispered through the knot in your throat. He listened carefully. "And... I can see reflections in them. They're soft, like velvet. Despite everything, they.. you seem... happy. You always seem happy, and your eyes give it away."

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" He asked quietly, and in that moment you realized his nose was almost touching yours.

"No," you answered honestly. Another unlucky aspect of you.

"Neither have I," he said before he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a tender embrace you weren't at all expecting.

From both the view of the first kiss and of a Pharaoh's kiss, you weren't prepared, but the plush of his pink lips against yours sent sparks of delight into your heart. He moved slow, taking his time to map out your aspects just as you began to trail your hands over his open palm, memorizing the creases. You were reluctant to part, but he ran his hand through your hair and your brain short-circuited into placitude.

"You have the softest lips," he murmured, hand coming to cup your cheek once more.

You never applied aquaphor or did anything to make your lips soft.

Maybe it was luck.

Didn't really matter to you, because he kissed you again, and your eyes fluttered shut as everything in the world but him faded away.

[tovishaziambrus]

2009-ben, amikor a zenei blogok még léteztek, kiraktunk egy ingyenes pakkot a sajátunkra három számmal és egy káoszosan szép borítófüzettel pdf-ben. Fogadjátok szeretettel ezt a Harcsa Veronikával és Stark Attilával közös régi kislemezünket új gúnyában, 2020-as dalverziókkal és egy új, gombás karácsonyi számmal, amelyben Lee Scratch Veronika is közreműködik. Bónuszként a Bandcamp vásárlók számára Attila pdf- borítófüzetével együtt érkezik!

//

Back in 2009, when music blogs were a thing, we posted a free 3 track single and a chaotic and beautiful digital booklet. Now we present a new version of this mini album, created in collaboration with Veronika Harcsa and Attila Stark. With a mushroom infused Christmas song featuring Lee Scratch Veronika and brand new 2020 versions of all three songs. Bandcamp customers also get the pdf!