𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑶𝑽𝑨

☀️بـرای ادد کـردن فولـدر 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖠𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗌 کلیـک کنین.

کامیونیتی 𝖠𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌 جایی برای چنل‌ها و آدم‌هاییه که قرار نیست با هر موجی حرکت کنن؛ چنل‌هایی که تخصص، مطالعه، هویت مستقل و محتوای واقعی براشون مهمه، وارد حاشیه نمی‌شن و صرفا برای دیده‌شدن درباره هر موضوع ترندی نظر نمی‌دن.

I'd rather carry the weight of being judged than the sin of being two-faced.

ممنون از کسایی که فور زدن لطفا تا ساعت دوازده ظهر نگهشون دارین تا پاکسازی رو انجام بدم🎀🍓

You only love me

Loved it a lot thanks 💘✨

https://t.me/WinchesterBunker ثور«رگنراک» چکمه های اهنی

That was so beautiful I loved the outfit the vibe the story and the song everything was perfect thank you love 💕🍓✨

You were, essentially, the female version of Sherlock Holmes. And Sherlock really didn’t like that. Because seriously, what the hell did the world need another version of him for?! At least he was the one who say this. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be one of a kind. Tragic, really. For him. You were another famous detective, almost constantly competing with Sherlock. You solved cases with your own strange, fascinating way of thinking, and it didn’t take long before your name became almost as well-known as his. Every time Sherlock closed his eyes at a crime scene to think, he’d inevitably hear the familiar click, click, click of your heels approaching. His eyes would snap open. He’d look deeply, profoundly annoyed. “She’s here too…” Apparently, he’d memorized the sound of your heels. You usually worked alone. You’d sit in your room, writing something in your notebook, reading a book, or sometimes just staring blankly at the wall for an alarming amount of time. That was pretty much your life. You and Sherlock had a... complicated relationship. Sometimes Sherlock would ask for your help without actually asking for it. He’d simply appear, dump some cryptic piece of information in front of you, and somehow expect you to understand what he meant. Sometimes John would come looking for you because they needed your help with something. Unlike Sherlock, John would actually ask. Directly. And politely. And then there were the times when, for absolutely no apparent reason, you’d find yourself standing outside 221B Baker Street, knocking on the door. Mrs. Hudson would open it with a warm smile, as if she’d been expecting you all along. “Come in, dear.” And you would. No explanation. No particular reason. You’d just... be there. And somewhere upstairs, Sherlock would inevitably hear your footsteps. He’d pause & Listen. Then sigh. “She’s here.” Again. And maybe that was where your story ended. Or maybe it was where it actually began. Who knows? Huh It was Sherlock Holmes, after all. Nothing ever really ended that neatly. ‌‌

‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌‌ ‌࿙‌࿚࿙ 𓈒 ꣑୧ 𓈒 ࿚࿙‌࿚

Pookie @WinchesterBunker

ممنونم

من پستم تموم شه حتما ریپلای میکنم🤌🏻

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