minerwa:

virtual friends > real friends

I wish all my virtual friends were here by my side. </3

Thumbelina (1994) ♥
JACQUIMO: Why… What is ze matter, Thumbelina?
THUMBELINA: I’m cold. I’m lost. And I’m hungry. And the beetle says I’m ugly.
JACQUIMO: Ze beetle? You love ze beetle?
THUMBELINA: No…
JACQUIMO: Then never mind ze beetle. Good riddance to ze beetle. And good riddance to ze toad! Does Prince Cornelius think you’re ugly?
THUMBELINA: No. He thinks I’m beautiful.
JACQUIMO: And so you are, mon amie. Look.
ileftmyheartintokyo: flowers / japan / geisha / red / tea ceremony / pink / portrait by momoyama on Flickr.

ileftmyheartintokyo:

flowers / japan / geisha / red / tea ceremony / pink / portrait by momoyama on Flickr.

ileftmyheartintokyo: Yokohama by 小狼 on Flickr.

ileftmyheartintokyo:

Yokohama by 小狼 on Flickr.

I’m finally on Twitter!

Follow me? <3 (´･ω･｀)ﾉ

@yuusuzuki_chung

https://twitter.com/#!/yuusuzuki_chung

(Source: novemberschopin)

Meu fake tem a vida (amorosa) mais movimentada que a minha.

(Source: lii-mao)

wantstobelieve: It is half-light. It is when strange transitions happen; stone into sentience, angles into bends, spite into longing. Brothers into not-brothers into foes into lovers. Weight into warmth. Words into promises. It is half-light, and Loki turns pensive. Meditative, serene; bordering on lazy. Slender finger drawing slow, invisible circles. Still and pliant. Almost tame.  “You seem content,” Thor rumbles gently, battling sleep he cannot afford. Loki’s lips scarcely move. “Do I.”  Thor smiles as he watches the finger on his chest traces another circle, then another, then another; each one overlapping the last, a succession of never-ending spirals homing in on his heart.  It aches as dawn creeps near, unwelcomed and abhorred and certain.

wantstobelieve:

It is half-light.

It is when strange transitions happen; stone into sentience, angles into bends, spite into longing.

Brothers into not-brothers into foes into lovers.

Weight into warmth. Words into promises.

It is half-light, and Loki turns pensive.

Meditative, serene; bordering on lazy. Slender finger drawing slow, invisible circles. Still and pliant. Almost tame. 

“You seem content,” Thor rumbles gently, battling sleep he cannot afford.

Loki’s lips scarcely move. “Do I.” 

Thor smiles as he watches the finger on his chest traces another circle, then another, then another; each one overlapping the last, a succession of never-ending spirals homing in on his heart. 

It aches as dawn creeps near, unwelcomed and abhorred and certain.