@1893_fcp25: 😂🔵⚪ QUANDO O AVB FALA, OS RIVAIS FICAM SEM RESPOSTA! 😂🔥 🔵 AVB: «O FC PORTO É O CLUBE PORTUGUÊS MAIS TITULADO!» 🏆🐉 🔴 Rui Costa: «Nos últimos 4 anos só ganhámos um campeonato… mas a culpa é dos árbitros!» 🤡😂 🟢 Frederico Varandas: «AVB tem muito medo… muito medo!» 😭😂 Um fala de títulos, os outros falam de desculpas! 🤣💙 💬 Portistas, digam lá: quem ficou mais aziado? 😂👇 #FCPorto #AVB #RuiCosta #FredericoVarandas #Dragões

Pedro Pereira 😭👶💙
Pedro Pereira 😭👶💙
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Region: BE
Friday 09 October 2026 00:40:59 GMT
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crasycat280204
crasycat :
subtraindo os roubados ganho com fruta e calor da noite, nem metade tinham
2026-10-09 12:08:33
0
dias24741
dias :
O mais bandido é corupto tb nisso nimguem dúvida
2026-10-09 10:28:27
0
user501074208
Oliveira Valdemar :
mais corrupto do mundo é muito grande e com a.vilas boas ainda vai ser maior já estam um clube na lua estão a fazer um centro de alto rendimento na lua com o dinheiro dos contribuintes
2026-10-09 03:02:59
0
carlos.magalhes414
Carlos Magalhães :
kkkkkkk
2026-10-09 21:00:59
0
matildecosta5418
Matilde Costa5418 :
2026-10-09 09:52:09
0
georgelionofficial2
ʀɛɨ🤴🏻👑 ʟʊֆɨȶǟռօ🏰🦁⚔️ :
corrupto sim
2026-10-09 07:44:17
0
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Did you ever climb a hill just to breathe? Just to let the silence punch you in the gut and remind you you’re still alive? Up in the Apuseni, somewhere past the last bark of a sheepfold dog and before the edge of reason, there’s a barn that has given up on impressing anyone. The wood peels like sunburnt skin, its beams bend like tired men. It’s not picturesque. It’s not curated. It just is. But then there’s that swing—still tied to the tree like a secret never told. It hangs there, stubborn, creaking when the wind remembers to push it. A monument to a childhood that maybe wasn’t yours, but you can feel in your teeth. These hills don’t whisper; they accuse. Of forgetting. Of leaving. Of paving over stories with concrete and hashtags. Țara Moților isn’t a fairy tale, it’s a poem. A beautiful, wild, necessary poem. The land breathes like a sleeping beast, and deep beneath it, bones and ice and handprints older than history remind us we weren’t the first to cry here. The Apuseni caves don’t echo—they swallow. Villages cling to ridges like dried blood, and old women still make bread without looking at recipes. Time here doesn’t pass—it ferments. Why do we always seek the polished, the filtered, the easy? When did we start calling ruins ugly and forget they’re just survivors without makeup? That swing, that barn, that hill—they’re not waiting for you. They’re not here to make you feel better. But maybe, just maybe, if you sit on that swing and close your eyes, something buried might stir. Do you still remember what made you laugh as a child? When was the last time you truly missed something you never had? Video by @giani_frentz  [Apuseni Mountains, Țara Moților, Rustic Solitude, Abandoned Barns, Forgotten Childhoods, Carpathian Silence, Romanian Wilderness, Mountain Memories, Traditional Heritage, Ancient Caves, Nature’s Wrath, Weathered Wood, Lonely Swings, Village Remnants, Ice Caves, Spiritual Geography, Stark Beauty, Fermented Time, Rural Emotions, Ancestral Echoes] #romania #travel #apuseni #rawplaces
Did you ever climb a hill just to breathe? Just to let the silence punch you in the gut and remind you you’re still alive? Up in the Apuseni, somewhere past the last bark of a sheepfold dog and before the edge of reason, there’s a barn that has given up on impressing anyone. The wood peels like sunburnt skin, its beams bend like tired men. It’s not picturesque. It’s not curated. It just is. But then there’s that swing—still tied to the tree like a secret never told. It hangs there, stubborn, creaking when the wind remembers to push it. A monument to a childhood that maybe wasn’t yours, but you can feel in your teeth. These hills don’t whisper; they accuse. Of forgetting. Of leaving. Of paving over stories with concrete and hashtags. Țara Moților isn’t a fairy tale, it’s a poem. A beautiful, wild, necessary poem. The land breathes like a sleeping beast, and deep beneath it, bones and ice and handprints older than history remind us we weren’t the first to cry here. The Apuseni caves don’t echo—they swallow. Villages cling to ridges like dried blood, and old women still make bread without looking at recipes. Time here doesn’t pass—it ferments. Why do we always seek the polished, the filtered, the easy? When did we start calling ruins ugly and forget they’re just survivors without makeup? That swing, that barn, that hill—they’re not waiting for you. They’re not here to make you feel better. But maybe, just maybe, if you sit on that swing and close your eyes, something buried might stir. Do you still remember what made you laugh as a child? When was the last time you truly missed something you never had? Video by @giani_frentz [Apuseni Mountains, Țara Moților, Rustic Solitude, Abandoned Barns, Forgotten Childhoods, Carpathian Silence, Romanian Wilderness, Mountain Memories, Traditional Heritage, Ancient Caves, Nature’s Wrath, Weathered Wood, Lonely Swings, Village Remnants, Ice Caves, Spiritual Geography, Stark Beauty, Fermented Time, Rural Emotions, Ancestral Echoes] #romania #travel #apuseni #rawplaces

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