if anybody else was in this photoshoot

If something is your passion, listen to your heart. If it’s what you love more than anything else, don’t stop doing it for anybody. 

2

“People often don’t want to get to know the real you; they only want to get to know the person they think you are. For me, that means people are constantly trying to change me, every second of the day, especially on social media. I’m not fed up with social media, but people like to comment on how my image is too edgy, that *I’m* too edgy, and on how they wish I looked. It’s a lot of ‘do this, don’t do that.’ To them I say, fuck off. There’s this effort to try to shame a woman’s sexiness by pulling a cover over it, but I’m a woman who loves skin. I love skin on me, I love skin on girls, I love skin on guys. If you’re confident enough to show off your body, you should. Be confident. It can be difficult to get yourself to focus on you all the time, especially when you’re trying to transition into who you really are, but I’m not going to change for anybody else. I love staying true to me.”

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.”

3

The truth is that no one else could live your life. Nobody else - man or woman - could wake up and put on your shoes in the morning. Nobody else could pull it off. So own that. Cool is a lie. Cool doesn’t matter and it never did. Merely perception. In conclusion, you are your own torch carrier. Don’t let anybody steal your light. Wear what you want. Think how you want. Challenge normal. And yes, even challenge what’s “cool”.

2

Here’s the thing about being a woman of color and an actor of color: You get it. You understand that it’s going to be challenging so you find a way to navigate your way in this business and become an actor and the artist you are with what you’ve been given. But the challenge is that we’re not included in the narrative that lets us shine. That’s the only problem. If you’re the third girl from the left or the bus driver, and you’ve been in the business for 30 years, you know you can blow it out of the box. You’re just as good as anybody else, but you can’t show your talent being the bus driver in two scenes. That’s what we’ve been relegated as. We very rarely drive the narrative; that’s the challenge.

3

I have a discipline that has served me very well in my career and in my personal life… and that’s gotten stronger as I’ve gotten older. I’ve always felt if I don’t just have a natural knack for it, I will just out-discipline the competition if I have to - work harder than anybody else.

2

To me, feminism is about believing in the power of a woman as much as you believe in the power of anyone else, and believing in our strengths and the things we can do, and knowing we’re just as powerful, competent and strong as anybody else. Sometimes, people misconstrue it as anti-something, or making it exclude some things or kind of reverse it on women going against each other, but that’s not what this is about; it’s about our equality, it’s about knowing our value.