i love this photoshoot i'm doing another thing with it right now too

musterycaje123-deactivated20170  asked:

Is max like a service or therapy dog? Or is he just your dog that is trained (if this in anyways offends you I am so sorry)

Why on earth would that offend me, dear? There’s nothing wrong with needing a service or therapy animal, and you know you can ask me anything.

Also, I’m in a babbly mood, so get ready for a novel about my favorite being on this earth.

Max isn’t a service or therapy animal. He’s also not particularly trained, honestly. The old geezer has a mind of his own. If you want him to do something, he will eventually comply, but he will grumble at you. (At first, I thought he was groaning in pain because of his arthritis. But nope, that’s a different noise. He grumbles because he’s a grump who doesn’t like being bossed around.)

He’s a senior dog, overweight, has diabetes. He’s afraid of EVERYTHING- cats, wind, bones that are too big, everything. He has allergies, so he sneezes all the time and I have to fight him to wipe his nose like he’s a toddler.

And he is the absolute love of my life. 

Seriously, you have never met a sweeter dog. He may be full of grump, but he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He will follow you, love you, bring you things when you’re sad, do his best to cheer you up, snuggle when you want it, keep distance (but still watch) when you don’t, I don’t get to see him all the time since I’m away at college, but I’ve been told that he only sleeps in his bed when I’m there. When I’m gone, he sleeps downstairs near the door, waiting for me to come home. 

Also, it seems he knows I’m talking about him. “Why talk about when you can do the love and the pats instead?”

We got him from a shelter for 30 dollars on the day that he was going to be… “transferred”, if you catch my drift, years ago. He wasn’t exactly young back then- in fact, his age was fudged a bit on the papers to make him seem younger. He was stuck in a cage, the very last one, with this small yippy dog who was obviously making him anxious, and he was so. sad. He was the only dog in the entire place who wouldn’t even make eye contact. I fell in love. My mother did too, even though she kept saying “No NO. We are not getting a dog, NO.” (We were only there because one of our cats was lost and I wanted to see if they found him, but something in me said that I needed to look at the dogs.)

“Would you like to take him out?” The lady asked. 

“NO” My mom said. “ABSOLUTELY NOT. NO.” But as she was saying it, she was already grabbing the leash that the woman was handing to her.

We just knew the second we laid eyes on him that God (or fate, or the universe, or whatever you personally believe in) had put him there just for us.

I had always wanted a sweet dog that I could spoil and who would love me unconditionally. My dad always had a not-so-secret mental picture of having a yellow lab curled up by the fireplace. My mom always wanted a dog named Max, after the one in the Grinch. He was everything.

Also, it was the week before my birthday. What a good excuse, right? 

The second we took him out of that little cage, he burst into a little happy series of jumps, and right into our hearts. He became the sunshine of our lives immediately. 

He had been abused severely, and was nothing but bones. We changed that really fast, let me tell you. The vet said that the diabetes was genetic and would have happened no matter what, and I’m thankful to hear that, because I would have been afraid that we had done it with all of the cans of Alpo.

He was really afraid of touch. Once he accidentally stepped on my foot, and when I stepped back in surprise, my hand flew up to steady myself. Immediately, he flinched, dropped to the floor, and whimpered. It broke my heart. I spent a year teaching him that I was gentle and would never hurt him, and the day he finally let me rub his belly, I cried.

Now he’ll poke me with his cold nose until I give him belly scratches. If we’re both doing well physically, we’ll play-fight. It’s one of his favorite things.

I could, and occasionally do, ramble about him for hours, but I’ll spare you for now. The important part is, he is the best pupper I’ve ever known, and he has changed and saved my life. 

I don’t know how much longer I have with him, but I intend on savoring every moment.



ADDENDUM: this story wouldn’t be complete without another happy ending- and that’s about the shelter.

The shelter in question is the Humane Society of Utah. They were always well-meaning and took care of their animals, but they were severely lacking in resources. They did the best with what they had, but despite that, it was a place of sadness, to be frank. 

Soon after we got Max, however, they received a multi-million dollar donation and grant. The entire place was renovated, and it is now one of the nicest shelters in the entire country. It’s truly a powerhouse and an example for shelters everywhere. They now have some really influential backers that allow them to keep up their high standards, and they relentlessly lobby to remove gas chambers from shelters in the state. I volunteer for them as often as I can. It’s very far from where I’m going to school, but I manage to make it there despite my lack of a car, and since I’m moving home for the summer, I’ll soon be able to go a few times a week to help their dogs get exercise. I owe them everything for giving me the sunshine of my life, and I am so thrilled to see them become such a beautiful place. 

They are on iPet Companion, which is a website that allows you to watch cats from a camera and use remote-controlled toys to play with them. 

Here’s where you can learn more about them and donate.

Here’s their Facebook page, which I HIGHLY recommend you follow no matter where you live. That may sound weird, but they do photoshoots with all of the pets up for adoption, and they are absolutely heartwarming. It’s like a little taste of r/mademesmile every time you open Facebook.

If you made it to the bottom, thank you for reading this far. Dogs are good, and so are you. I hope you have a lovely day.

iii. i need you darling

come on set the tone

ft. Himuro Tatsuya

I’m sad about the fact that Ed Sheeran’s two new singles dropped after I announced Cantabile—could’ve used one of those songs.

Semi-NSFW; sexy, basically.


Originally posted by electric-hearts-war

“Photoshoots tomorrow. 10 a.m. for Metropolis and 3 p.m. for Junon.”

“Cool,” Himuro replies, sipping from his cup of latte.

“Need me to drive you around tomorrow?” You ask.

He seems to contemplate your offer for a few seconds before nodding a yes and saying a quiet “thanks”. You nod back, acknowledging his words as you walk down the hallway with him. Some of the recording studio staff are walking around hastily despite the time saying it’s a little bit past 8 in the evening—such is the life of an employee of the entertainment industry. 

“I really hope I’m not bothering you or anything,” he replies, “I think Alex is still using my car.”

“Oh,” the fact that his old basketball mentor is in town seems to slip out your mind in the midst of your hectic day, “right. You want me to clear up some space in your schedule so you can spend time with her?”

Himuro shrugs offhandedly. “Nah,” he answers. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Alex has her own thing to do anyway.” He looks at you from behind aviator sunglasses. “Thanks for offering, anyway.”

“Don’t mention it, it’s my job.” The two of you walk down some set of stairs.

“Oh, _________.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna grab a bite or something?” Himuro says, his gaze unreadable through the black lenses of his eyewear, “you haven’t eaten dinner, have you?”

“Sure.”

“Burger?”

You smile. “I’m on.”

Being Himuro Tatsuya’s personal assistant and manager requires great patience and precision. He’s no ordinary man, despite how humble he carries himself around people—he’s a national star and has his face plastered all around big cityscapes on screens and papers. You’re willing to bet at least a thousand teenage girls in Japan has a poster of him in their bedrooms. The man is the face of a band, the engineer behind hit songs, and he’s notably the most humble among his fellow celebrities.

Thankfully, Himuro is not difficult, unlike the people you’ve worked for before being his manager. He’s aware of basic courtesy, like saying ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ (yes, your previous employers were probably unacquainted with the concept of greeting other people). He also treats you like you’re his equal, and somehow, after being stuck with each other for work purposes, the two of you became friends.

That’s how you end up eating McDonald’s with him as you walk down to your car. He’s munching on a McChicken, and you get to tease him about how he’s going to ruin his diet. He chuckles in return, and even though his steel gray eyes are blocked by a pair of Raybans, you know that he’s not upset about that comment. 

“It’ll be worth the weight,” he jokes back, and you can’t help but laugh quietly, covering your mouth. 

He makes it very easy for you to fall in love with him, and if there’s a reason to condemn Himuro Tatsuya, it’s how his charm makes you (and many other people) unintentionally fall for him.


Himuro sighs as he closes the door to his apartment, locking it before venturing further in. Today’s recording session wasn’t as tiring—he’s had worse—so what is this unease and why is his heart heavy?

That’s right, it’s your fault, he ponders as he walks to the kitchen, inspecting the refrigerator for a cold drink. Himuro realizes that he actually misses you, even though you literally dropped him off less than five minutes ago with your car. The can of lemon tea opens with a distinct sound, but it’s not enough to wake him up from his train of thoughts.

Really, though… when did he start feeling this way?


“You want me to clear up some space in your schedule so you can spend time with her?”


Your voice echoes in his head. Since day one, you’ve been the kindest manager he’s ever had. Sure, you made sure that he’s actively participating in all sorts of work, be it photoshoots or promotional events, but there’s not one single time where you neglect asking his consent. “Are you okay with this”, “is this time alright with you”… 

You’re never unkind to him. Or anybody else in particular. Sure, you sometimes have those bad days where you seem like you don’t want to be involved in anything, but instead of being rude, you’re just tired. Himuro makes sure that it’s not some kind of farce you’re putting up because you want to impress him (he’s met people like that, which isn’t a pleasant experience), and he appreciates that. Then, he began to feel refreshed around you, as if he weren’t some worshiped idol. He was just him, completely comfortable and carefree. After that, he starts to pay more attention to how attractive you are—he tried not to dwell on that thought when he first met you—and how you smell so nice whenever you lean in closer to whisper some pointers into his ear.

Himuro grabs his phone, fingers hovering with uncertainty over the touch screen before typing his text nimbly.


Sent 20:57 [Thanks again for sending me home. Good night, see you tomorrow.]


A minute later his phone buzzes, startling him out of his stupor. The can of lemon tea, now half-empty, is loosely held in his hand, and Himuro’s lucky his surprised jolt didn’t spill the drink all over the countertop.


Received 20:58 [No prob. I’ll pick you up at 9 tomorrow, sleep tight! xo]


He smiles. He’s usually not a fan of internet slang, which is why he doesn’t really use much of them, but seeing the two letters at the end of your message and thinking about their meanings of affection… It’s harder because anyone can interpret the “xo” differently, and his lovesick mind just likes to play with him—he’s secretly hoping that you mean those two letters are more than just a friendly gesture.


A VIP room in a high-end nightclub and a tall glass of champagne isn’t part of Himuro’s schedule, you’re quite sure of that. If it were, you’d notice your own words scribbled in your trusty notebook or your mobile. It happened so suddenly—several models invited him to join their nightly activities after the photoshoot, and you noticed their lust-glazed eyes and sultry smiles, men and women alike. Himuro wanted to decline, as he isn’t one to be usually found in clubs or bars at night, but they were so insistent to the point where he agreed just to shut them up.

“I gotta bring _________ along,” he said as a requirement to the models, standing tall in front of him like a flock of cranes. You only agreed because you’re responsible for bringing him back home safely—the designated driver, or so you said, but the fire at the pit of your stomach tell you your real intentions: you’re jealous of how those people are looking at him.

So here you are, in a purple-lit room on the second floor of the club, standing against a wall with a non-alcoholic drink in your hand. Himuro’s surrounded by a few of the models on the sofa across the room, while the rest of them are busying themselves by making out at another secluded corner or dancing downstairs.

Unbeknownst to you, Himuro has been trying to get closer to you the whole night, but these people whose company he doesn’t really enjoy keeps getting in his way. They think you’re just a manager. They don’t know that Himuro sees you as a friend (and secretly more than that). They keep sending him flirtatious lines, asking risque questions, and acting to seduce him—alcohol is probably going to be their excuse, but he knows their true intentions.


[If you love me, come on get involved]


The only one that is allowed to do all that to him, even without the influence of alcohol, would be you.

You, sipping your drink while you endlessly scroll down your mobile phone as you lean against the wall. You, skin highlighted by the sultry mauve, the light creating a silhouette of your body. You, the object of his affection, obsession, desire, worship. He wants to do things to and with you. He wants to go on cute dates, buy you gifts, love you, maybe in bed too if you’ll allow him.

Call it intuition, but when he sees you glancing his way with a look on your face that is bitterness and pining, a zing runs down his spine, lighting a spark of hope inside him. You widen your eyes in surprise as your eyes meet his and, to cover up your true feelings, look back at the screen of your mobile. If you don’t let him see what’s in your gaze for too long, he’ll probably forget about it, right?


[Feel it rushing through you from your head to toe]   


The pulsing song from the rowdier setting downstairs and the chatter of people surrounding him are nothing but background noise in his ears. Himuro downs his fourth glass of alcohol, and although his tolerance for intoxication is considerably stronger than that, the drink gives him liquid courage to stand up from his seat and approach you.

His steps are slow and almost sensual, but also calculative. Some eyebrows are raised at how he looks like he’s predator stalking prey, and his… companions are not less than appalled when he stands extremely close in front of you, successfully switching your attention from the mobile phone to himself. 

You’re as surprised as those models with crane-like legs when he cups a jaw with his hand, leaning his face to yours, your lips dangerously close to each other. 


[Can you feel it?]


The sudden increase of your heartbeat. The way your lungs stop yourself from breathing.

“Can you tell me something, _________?” He asks, breath caressing the skin of your face and you shiver.

He has to be drunk, and this event shall not be remembered in the following morning. You will try your best to act like nothing has happened between the two of you in this particular nightclub, in this particular room, in this particular situation where you’re practically sandwiched by his body and the wall. And your efforts will fail, because you can never forget such a thing. He, however, will continue on with his life as per usual, with you as his manager.

Your eyes search his steel gray ones, only to surprise yourself once again by discovering uncoated want in his eyes, along with insecurity—one thing that he’ll only allow his loved ones to witness. 

“What?” You whisper.

Himuro swallows the urge to kiss you senseless down his throat. He needs to hear you say it.

“Tell me how you feel about me.”


[Found you hiding here so won’t you take my hand, darling]


“Tatsuya,” you respond, voice more hoarse-sounding that it usually is, “are you drunk…?”

“I’ve never been more sober,” he answers, “now tell me.”

What are you supposed to say to that? You’re not ready to tell him that you’ve actually liked him for a long time, that you’ve admired him from afar, and you’ve dreamed of having his affections for your own. He’ll retract himself and say that it’s creepy, that you’re supposed to maintain a professional relationship with him instead of fantasizing about him. He’ll say it’s disgusting.

—but when his lips touches yours, ghosting over your slightly chapped lips ever-so-slightly and moving slowly to cover everything he can get, you think that the chances of that scenario happening is very low, especially when his hand dips under your shirt like that…


[Before the beat kicks in again]  


“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” 

Instead of answering the question, his lips press against yours fervently, capturing your bottom lip in between his as he nibbles and sucks. You moan at the contact into his mouth, which somehow spurs Himuro to be more intense in the kiss. The hand that was touching the skin below your shirt now pulls you closer by the waist, while the other that was cupping your jaw snakes to the back of your head, deepening the kiss. 

You can hear the sound of glass breaking, angry footsteps, and the bang of the door: one of the models is pissed, threw the glass of drink on the floor and exited dramatically. Neither you nor Himuro cares—this is something you’ve undeniably thought of before you went to bed, and drunk or not, this is still Himuro. Is he going to remember this in the morning? That’s the least important thing that is on your mind. Right now it’s the way his tongue begs for entrance to your mouth, the way he tilts his head, the way he tugs at your hair, the way his body is pressed against yours.

The remaining models, women and men alike, realizes that Himuro is not going to be available any time soon—especially not when he has his hand on your chest like that. So they leave in silence, the only sounds they make are produced by heels, articles of clothing, and the occasional clearing of throats. You’re now alone with the celebrity you’re managing, pressed against the wall of a VIP room in a nightclub, and you’re making out with him.

“Fuck,” he says in between kisses and grunts of your name, “there’s no way in hell I’m going to forget this tomorrow.” 

He’s abandoned your mouth in favor of your ear, sucking at your earlobe and breathing against your ear before leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and your exposed neck. 

“You’re coming to my place tonight,” he purrs, and a surge of arousal immediately shoots to your core. He’s never sounded so dominant before. 

“We have a lot of talking to do.”

anonymous asked:

I'm really really anticipating your reading of Taehyung. He's so hard to figure out compared to other members. V curious about your recent ask tho. Can you please elaborate why you think he's spoiled? I think it's possible - he argued with Namjoon over pc games and not being mindful of other members' need for rest but I'd love to read your opinion!

Hey, anon! I’m glad to hear you’re excited for that, I am too but- You know. Birth time. Will I ever stop complaining about this? Probably not. lol And that’s such a good point, anon! I hadn’t thought of that, about the way he disregarded Namjoon’s sleep. That kind proves that I’m not reaching here.

I wrote a lot, so I’ll put a read more as so to not annoy you guys.

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