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Wednesday 15 July 2026 20:18:58 GMT

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Zhinar Q Muhamad :

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2026-07-15 21:50:32

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Kizomba beginner level classes enrollment on for the start of 2nd August . With or without experience, no partner, shy, introvert this is your chance to try out our Kizomba course My dm is open for bookings #kizomba #rhumba #rhumbamusic #rhumbalove #kizombalove

Kizomba beginner level classes enrollment on for the start of 2nd August . With or without experience, no partner, shy, introvert this is your chance to try out our Kizomba course My dm is open for bookings #kizomba #rhumba #rhumbamusic #rhumbalove #kizombalove

تعال..💔#علي-الوائلي . . . . . . . . #شور_حتى_الظهور #ياحسين

تعال..💔#علي-الوائلي . . . . . . . . #شور_حتى_الظهور #ياحسين

#samanddean || it goes like this: the bullet pierced you the moment you saw him inside his cushy stanford apartment, smooth hardwood flooring with no trace of motel carpet or the permanent, stale smell that clings to it. his hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it, long enough that dad would hate it but not enough to impair him as he sends your back thudding against the hardwood floors like he isn't a day out of practice. you fall back into brotherhood in the same way, as if you haven’t awoken every morning in his absence instinctually glancing at the empty bed beside yours. as if you haven’t spent the past two years hollow and aimless, not much of a person at all. as if there isn’t a hole inside you, one partially filled by dad’s presence when you follow him on hunts, but never by the booze or the hookups or the rush of blood in your ears after a fresh kill. but in that stanford apartment, the bullet breaches your skin and you could swear the hole inside you was never there at all. there’s no longer an empty space beside you in the front seat nor the motel bed adjacent to your own, and you love it as much as you understand that it's no good. the bullet is still ricocheting within you, piercing and tearing things too vital to ignore, and you know it will destroy you both. having him by your side makes you weak, makes you hurt him and makes him hurt you, too: split lips and punches thrown and words neither of you mean but can never take back. and the bullet hurts like a bitch, feels as if it’s turning your insides to mush. in your worst moments you wish it would just leave, convince yourself that you preferred the emptiness preceding it. but now that it’s there you know it will never be the same as before; you know it will leave behind a larger emptiness than it found. it does. he’s kneeling on the ground in front of you and all you hear is static. there could be gravel digging into your knees, but you wouldn’t know; your entire body numb apart from where you’re wrapped around him. you're shouting his name but nothing comes out. it’s like you’re in some horrific dream, running but never getting anywhere at all. your hand comes away from his back soaked in blood, and all you can think is that you’ve lived this moment in every nightmare but never pictured it quite like this. you’re still talking with no idea what you’re saying, but whatever it is, you know he believes you, and his cold face is in your palms as the weight of him slumps against you and you know, then, that he’s gone. the bullet leaves, piercing right through your heart as it goes, and you’re still holding him but he’s dead because you dragged him out here, put a knife in his spine and a bullet in your own chest. and now all the organs and tissue and bone it pulverized are flowing from you, gushing endlessly through the gaping exit wound and onto the loose gravel at your knees, and you know you deserve it because he’s dead and you’re alive, even if it doesn’t feel that way as the last of it spills out, leaving you hollow. completely hollow. || #deanwinchesteredit #samwinchesteredit #spn #winchesterbrothers

#samanddean || it goes like this: the bullet pierced you the moment you saw him inside his cushy stanford apartment, smooth hardwood flooring with no trace of motel carpet or the permanent, stale smell that clings to it. his hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it, long enough that dad would hate it but not enough to impair him as he sends your back thudding against the hardwood floors like he isn't a day out of practice. you fall back into brotherhood in the same way, as if you haven’t awoken every morning in his absence instinctually glancing at the empty bed beside yours. as if you haven’t spent the past two years hollow and aimless, not much of a person at all. as if there isn’t a hole inside you, one partially filled by dad’s presence when you follow him on hunts, but never by the booze or the hookups or the rush of blood in your ears after a fresh kill. but in that stanford apartment, the bullet breaches your skin and you could swear the hole inside you was never there at all. there’s no longer an empty space beside you in the front seat nor the motel bed adjacent to your own, and you love it as much as you understand that it's no good. the bullet is still ricocheting within you, piercing and tearing things too vital to ignore, and you know it will destroy you both. having him by your side makes you weak, makes you hurt him and makes him hurt you, too: split lips and punches thrown and words neither of you mean but can never take back. and the bullet hurts like a bitch, feels as if it’s turning your insides to mush. in your worst moments you wish it would just leave, convince yourself that you preferred the emptiness preceding it. but now that it’s there you know it will never be the same as before; you know it will leave behind a larger emptiness than it found. it does. he’s kneeling on the ground in front of you and all you hear is static. there could be gravel digging into your knees, but you wouldn’t know; your entire body numb apart from where you’re wrapped around him. you're shouting his name but nothing comes out. it’s like you’re in some horrific dream, running but never getting anywhere at all. your hand comes away from his back soaked in blood, and all you can think is that you’ve lived this moment in every nightmare but never pictured it quite like this. you’re still talking with no idea what you’re saying, but whatever it is, you know he believes you, and his cold face is in your palms as the weight of him slumps against you and you know, then, that he’s gone. the bullet leaves, piercing right through your heart as it goes, and you’re still holding him but he’s dead because you dragged him out here, put a knife in his spine and a bullet in your own chest. and now all the organs and tissue and bone it pulverized are flowing from you, gushing endlessly through the gaping exit wound and onto the loose gravel at your knees, and you know you deserve it because he’s dead and you’re alive, even if it doesn’t feel that way as the last of it spills out, leaving you hollow. completely hollow. || #deanwinchesteredit #samwinchesteredit #spn #winchesterbrothers

Replying to @championrolie Is there any Solution? I Suffered for Nothing 😩

Replying to @championrolie Is there any Solution? I Suffered for Nothing 😩

Ashana rasha

who is victoria? 🤫 - 13 days - #foryou #adrianalima #adrianalimaedit #vsfs #victoriassecretfashionshow - @Victoria’s Secret

who is victoria? 🤫 - 13 days - #foryou #adrianalima #adrianalimaedit #vsfs #victoriassecretfashionshow - @Victoria’s Secret

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