i like my men tall dark and handsome

Filipina-British-American Immigrant

Hey everyone! I’ve been following this tumblr for a while and I love it. Not only has it addressed problematic representations of Asian people in the past, I have also learned a lot on portraying other non-Asian people of colour. I’m currently working on an alternate universe-dystopian novel where the Cold War turned “hot” but with people of colour as the main characters. I have come across novels that portray this, but it’s often from a white person’s perspective.

While I am fully Filipina by blood, I identify as a Fil-Brit-Am: born in the Philippines, lived in England for 12 years and currently live in America. Below is what I have experienced and/or observed.

Beauty Standards

Just like what some people have said on here, whiter = more attractive. In the Philippines, walk into any beauty store and you’ll instantly see tons of skin-whitening products. With women, pale skin was a beauty staple; with men, being handsome meant being “tall and dark”, but not “too dark”. In England, it was such a double standard. I went to a mainly white secondary/high school where for white girls, it was attractive to have tanned skin (the more tan = more attractive) while girls of colour were seen as the opposite. In America, you were “exotic” (my situation) or shamed.

Daily Struggles/Culture

Oh man. Balancing conservative Filipino values with those of the less conservative English was a struggle, especially going through puberty. While it was normal for my friends to hang out in the park after school everyday, date who they wanted and just get home before it was dark, my parents gave me a strict curfew (always way earlier than when my friends would go home) and pressured me to not date until finishing college. Back then, I resented my parents for what I saw as my lack of freedom. Looking back now, I understand why. We lived in a neighbourhood where crime was relatively high and during the time, it was also where a surge of immigrants from East Asia flowed into the UK. As you can imagine, our presence wasn’t welcomed. My parents were simply trying to protect me.

Dating and Relationships

For a lot of immigrants, education was THE way to progress to a more secure future. During my teenage years, my parents emphasized this with the whole “no dating until you finish college and have at least some form of a stable job”. They mellowed out after some time. In some talks with my mother, she said that my dad and her would prefer me to marry a Filipino because they would have a better understanding of our culture. However, if he is a good man, loving etc, the race wouldn’t matter. 


In England, I discovered staples such as the “English breakfast”, cake with custard, scones, fish and chips, Indian curry while keeping to Filipino dishes at home (adobo, pancit anyone?). Even though I had the option to bring lunch to school, I decided to have meals from the cafeteria. Whether that was from a moment of other children thinking my lunch food was weird or I feared of being seen as different, I can’t remember. In America (with more diverse communities anyway), they’re more open to food of other cultures.

History Repeating in the Workplace

Philippines - you’ve guessed it: colonialism. From beauty standards to power, whiteness is seen as the best. Just like another poster has said, it makes me sad that Filipino culture has been eradicated through the ages and that I never got to experience it.

England and America - Having benefited from colonialism, there is a lot of colonial mentality (though subtle). From stories I’ve been told from my parents and their generation, this is common in workplaces. White people are fine working with people of colour until they hear that a person of colour is applying to be their manager. Then they suddenly have a problem (with the whole mentality of “people of colour can’t be leaders” crap). 

Identity Issues

With three cultures part of my identity, I never really knew what my identity was or even how to identify myself. I always had the feeling of “belonging everywhere and nowhere” at the same time. it was only until last year that I discovered a term for it: third culture kid (or fourth for me I guess). Third culture kids are people who have developed multiple cultures from having lived in multiple places: one from their parents’ culture, one they grew up in and the third being a combination of the two. It has helped me with my depression, as it stemmed from the fact that I had no label to call myself while everybody else seemed to. If you are like me, I would suggest the book Third Culture Kids: Growing Up Among Worlds by Ruth E. Van Reken and David C. Pollock. It helped me a lot.


In England, discrimination was more towards the Asian community (in particular, the Muslim community despite living there for a long time). In secondary school (high school), I had the typical comments of “chink” and talking to me in a mocking Chinese accent. I remember one time when a guy asked me where I was from - I answered “Philippines” and he immediately said, “so basically Japan?” *rolls eyes* 

As I was raised Catholic, the family went to church every Sunday. After some time, due to some pressure from my mother, I became an altar server. We became pretty close to the church community. What I didn’t remember is when we first attended mass, (as my parents told me later) they had openly looked at us with disgust. This shocked me as I couldn’t imagine the church goers being so mean. Talk about “loving your neighbour”. Makes me wonder what would have happened if I didn’t become an altar server…

Things I’d like to see less of

- Asian women being portrayed as submissive, shy, petite or as the Dragon Lady

- Asian women only being seen as scientists (with the whole smart, nerdy Asian trope). What about writers? Mechanics? Musicians? Leaders even?! One of my characters is an Asian woman who is an investigative journalist.

Thing’s I’d like to see more of 

- Asian people being friends with or at least, being respectful towards non-Asian people of colour (in particular, black people). It’s my hope that my generation and the ones after ours will bridge that gap.

- That writers of colour get more representation. 

I look forward to learning more from y'all!!

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

No Regrets (Part 7)

So I’ve been away for a few days, spending some time with my family. Didn’t manage to update this earlier but here it is now! Hope you like it!

Need to catch up? Here’s No Regrets Masterlist

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing. Some angst. SASSY TONY.

A/N: Ooh, the tension, guys! Also, this gif is so perfect for this part!

Originally posted by starkexpo

You needed coffee today. Normally you’re pretty cheery when you arrive at work but this morning you were snappy and your colleagues noticed. The girls have asked you to nip around the corner to the café and grab you all some liquid caffeine. You were more than happy to do it – anything to get out of the office today! You were getting tired of all the drama. In a way you knew that this will pass in time, you’d just have to stick through it. But logic was not the dominant force today. Today angst and bitterness were having a day out in the life of Y/N…

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Request: Hey! Can you do a oneshot where you work as a waitress in a bar in the city Dunkirk is being shot and all the boys go there to chill after a long day of work and every night Tom Hardy eye fucks you and the boys, realizing you are really into each other, start to tease the two of you?

A/N: my life has been forever changed by this


He was staring again.

You could feel his eyes lingering on you from across the room as you took orders from other tables.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you turned to catch his eyes. He was talking with one of his friends, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“Y/N, table 5’s food is ready.” A coworker of yours told you, breaking your eye contact with the handsome man. You headed over to grab the food, walking over to the loud table full of men.

The table in the corner was filled by the usual 8 guys. Every night for the past 3 weeks they would show up around 7 o’ clock and request to be seated in that same booth. They always requested for you to be their waitress as well, for reasons completely unknown to you.

It wasn’t until their third visit that you began recognizing them.

Your brother was a massive comics fan, especially the DC comics. Growing up with him, you kind of became a comics nerd too. So of course you recognized the faces of Cillian Murphy and Tom Hardy from the Dark Knight trilogy.

You recognized some of the others as well from films and tv that you’ve watched over the years. There were only 3 that you didn’t know, but you picked up their names from conversation: Fionn, Jack and Tom.

You realized fairly quickly that these guys were the cast for the new movie Dunkirk, after all they were staying in your town for filming.

You had never really let on that you knew who these guys were. They seemed to like being treated by you as regular people, so that’s what you did.

Only one from the group had really captured your attention.

You’d had a slight celebrity crush on Tom Hardy for a few years, thinking he was insanely good looking. The man was exactly your type; dark hair, dark eyes, deep voice, facial hair, dog lover. The muscles and tattoos were just an added bonus.

It seemed that you had captured his attention too. His eyes never drifted from you when you’d take the tables order, and sometimes you’d feel a gaze on your back as you went to other tables. Every time you searched for the source, your eyes would meet his.

It was like he was trying to undress you with his eyes, and you definitely weren’t complaining.

The two of you flirted harmlessly a few times, earning grins from the rest of the men at the table. They were slowly catching on to the attraction between the two of you, throwing in some hints here and there. You could hear them teasing Tom from time to time, always bringing a smile to your face.

You walked up to the table then, placing each meal on the table with the help of another waitress. Once you were done, you glanced at the men.

“Does everything look alright?” You asked, eyes catching with Tom’s again.

“Trust me sweetheart, from where I’m sitting everything looks perfect.” He spoke, eyes trailing down your body. You merely winked at him, turning around and walking away before he could see your blush.

“He sure knows how to make you hot and bothered.” The other waitress said, a knowing glance on her face.

“Oh shut up.”

An hour later you were back at the table, smiling at the laughing men.

“Is there anything else I can get you guys?” You asked them all, clearing the table of the many glasses.

“Yeah, I’d like to get yer number lassie.” The blonde man spoke up, you think his name was Jack. There was a kicking sound, and moments later Jack was glaring at Tom as he rubbed his leg.

“Sorry hun, you’re a wee too young for me.” You told him, giving him a sweet smile. Some of the guys snorted at this, attempting to hold in laughs.

“Well, ye see, I’m actually askin’ for a friend.” He continued, glancing briefly at Tom before looking back at you.

“Well, you can tell your friend that if he really wanted my number, he should ask me himself.” You slyly answered, a grin on your face.

“So, I’m curious. Wha would ye say yer type is?” Cillian Murphy spoke up, surprising you slightly. When you looked at him, he was smirking at Tom. Tom looked annoyed, but you were very amused. It was obvious his friends were all messing with him.

“Hm, let’s see…” You played along, a hand on your hip as you pretended to think. “A tall, dark and handsome type for sure. British definitely, with a lot of tattoos. 39 years old would be preferable, I like my men older. Oh, and he has to be a dog person.” You winked at Tom when you finished your description, leaving the man gobsmacked for a moment.

The whole table was in hysterics as they saw the stunned look on Tom’s face, making you smirk proudly. Setting the check on the table, you turned away from the men, heading to check on another table.

You cleaned up a few more tables, humming slightly as you did. When you were done, you headed towards the kitchen to check for orders.

“Here you go love.” A voice spoke a little while later, and you turned around to find one of the guys from the group standing there. “Keep the change.” He spoke, seeing you were about to head to the register.

“Thank you Harry.” You told the singer, sending him a smile as he began to leave.

“I knew you recognized us.” He laughed, a cheeky smile on his face. “By the way, what time do you usually get off?”

“11, why?” You asked him, head tilting in confusion.

“No reason.” He smirked, turning around and heading towards the door. “Good night Y/N!” He shouted over his shoulder, making you roll your eyes as you chuckled slightly.

Later that night you were finally off work, and you left the little restaurant in exhaustion. Your days at the restaurant were long, but you absolutely loved working there.

A voice clearing from behind you caught your attention, and you turned around to look. Tom Hardy was standing in front of you, hands shoved into his pockets.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Hardy?” You asked, voice taking on a tone of innocence. His intimidating form was suddenly in front of you, staring down at you intensely.

“I think you know exactly what I want Y/N.” He purred, voice coming out roughly.A wave of pleasure raced down your spine at the sound of your name leaving his lips, making you bite your lip to hold in a moan.

“No, I don’t think I do.” Your voice dropped into a seductive drawl, backing away from him and turning to continue down the street.

He caught up to you a few moments later, turning you around and pressing you against the side of a building. His arms came up on either side of you, effectively boxing you in.

“Why don’t you and I head back to my place, I’ll show you exactly what I mean.” He growled, his eyes positively predatory. You swallowed harshly at his words, hands beginning to shake.

“I don’t know, I’m awfully tired.” You teased, stretching to press a kiss under his bearded jaw. He grabbed your hips tightly, a groan leaving his lips. “I’m guess I can agree though, if you make it worth my while.” He pulled away from you, eyes full of lust.

“Oh sweetheart, you’ll be screaming my name after just 5 minutes with me.”

“Prove it.”

...but no man could truly tame a wolf.

Serena saw their hungry eyes. Her father was not dead a week and already they stalked Winterfell like it was their prey. Even now, at the feast for their father’s wake, they eyed her and Sansa both. She did not trust them– she would never trust them. Her half-uncles were vultures, bloody beaks already tearing into father’s corpse.

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Is This Your Card? (Josh Faraday x Reader)

Originally posted by spacesong


Warning: A sexy cowboy flirts via magic card tricks. 

It was amazing how a place with all these so-called “rough and tough men” could be easily startled. Every damn time someone entered the saloon, the whole place went quiet, save for the soft rustling of hands resting themselves on gun hilts. Usually the person who came in was looking more for a drink than they were trouble, and after a minute or two of tension, the bar would go back to normal. It was almost impressive how this group of strangers had learned to unanimously stop time at will, and as annoying as the constant pauses were, you were still somewhat proud that you were part of the movement.

Today was a slower day. Only two people had interrupted your piano playing, and one was the owner of the local drug store, who was beginning to double as the town drunk. He showed up an hour after the saloon opened. The second person, however, caused a bit more of a stir.

You’d never seen him before, which was a pity. He was a good looking man. Tall, dark, and handsome with a good looking body. You kept him in the corner of your eye as you played. There were no bar stools open, which meant either he would be going upstairs with the prostitutes or sitting down at the empty table to your right. You hoped to god it was the latter. And it was—sort of.

He tossed a few dollars down for a bottle of cheap whiskey and strutted to an empty seat off in the corner. The view wasn’t the best, but at least if you strained, you could overhear what he was saying.

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My First Request!

Well I’m going to say this now this is not my best work but I got called into work and had to rush this, I’m sorry Maria. But other than that… HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARIA!!! I actually have no idea how old you are turning but your lovely friend Anna made this request on your behalf and I hope you like it! I hope you other readers enjoy as well!

Summary: Maria gets kidnapped from a club by Kai and Luhan. They took her for Kris, who is Maria’s childhood love, and friend, because when ever her birthday comes around. Kris had to leave Korea when he was 18 to take over the family business, leading the Asian mafia, and refused to return to Maria because he thought she would be in danger. But once he sees her again, he knows he won’t be able to let her go.

Word Count: 3,786

Kris x Reader(Maria)

Mafia AU

“Kai I told you, leave the girl alone,” One of the men scolds the platinum haired devil, who is smirking at me. He has been inching closer and closer to where I am curled up on the seat most of the ride. With my wrists and ankles bound I have nowhere to run from him and that only seems to excite him.

“Come on Hyung,” The devil whines playfully, “Just a few minutes.”

The one in the drivers seat glares back at the younger through the rearview mirror, “You touch that girl you will be explaining to Kris why she is so upset.”

“Because being kidnapped hasn’t made her distrait at all.”

“I believe there is a line between kidnap and rape.” I’m trembling in my seat, trying and failing at keeping my tears from falling. A small whimper escapes my lips and makes it through the tape covering my mouth. The devil gives me a warning glare, his threating words about keeping my mouth shut earlier echo through my head.

“Who said I was going to rape her? Just a little fun,” He purrs, his eyes scan my form again.

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Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader
Rating: General Audiences
Genre: fluff, slight humour. 
Word count: 6,459

Summary: Your best friend Taehyung comes crashing into your life one day and boy is he cute. 

A/N: Alright so here’s my attempt at a fluffy scenario! Nobody asked for this, and I wrote it at 4 am, but I hope you guys enjoy nonetheless!

- - -

T-minus ten minutes and counting. Your day was soon coming to a close, and you were more than excited to get out of the office and finally kick off your weekend.

You impatiently tapped your pen against your notepad, eyes glued to the clock while you counted down the seconds. Why did the last few minutes always seem to drag by? You let out a soft sigh, forcing yourself to tear your eyes away in hopes that time would speed up without the added pressure.

“Oh my god!” You press your palm to the left side of your chest where your heart was racing from being startled. Your supervisor stood at the side of your desk with a bored expression, and a fat stack of folders in her hands.

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The Prize

Title: The Prize

Chapter/One Shot: Part 1, not sure how long it will be

Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama

Rating: T

Summary: AU Tom, set in early 19th c. London.  Madeleine and Tom have known each other since they were teenagers (her brother is married to his sister). Can they overcome their fears and choose each other?  Part 1 takes place at a ball being held for their niece’s debut.  

Author’s Notes: I starting writing this because I noticed that the SSS poll for this week included “Heaving Bosom” and I thought it might be fun to try my hand at it. :)  This is the first time I’ve written AU Tom.  Comments appreciated!

A meat market. That’swhat this was. There were some differences, of course. Lack of blood and the ridiculous abundance of fresh flowers made it much more tolerable on the senses. Her brother Pierre always had a weak spot for the roses that their mother had loved so much and it was one of the areas in which he hadn’t spared any expense in this debut ball for his daughter. The yelling of prices was also missing, although she could practically see pound signs shining in the eyes of the young men as they scanned the room in their search for the young women who had the most famous family names and fortunes.

Madeleine glanced over to where her niece Cassandra was dancing with one of those young men. Her naturally rosy cheeks were flushed an even darker shade than normal and she appeared to be having a wonderful time. Madeline sighed and wandered over to a vacant settee that was situated in a small alcove off the ballroom. She had never been the type of person who enjoyed these lavish parties, not even when she was Cassie’s age and they had been given in her honor. Tolerated them was more accurate. It wasn’t that she was afraid of people or painfully shy; she simply preferred to be in company with smaller groups of people, people with lively minds and interesting conversation.

She took a quick look around the room in order to ascertain that she wasn’t being watched and then slipped off her shoes, extended her feet from the hem of her light blue silk and gleefully wiggled her toes.

“You realize that I’ve seen your ankles and must now propose marriage, don’t you?”

Oh, bother. How had she not seen him? The voice washed over her like a delightful cascade of warm water in a bath.

Would he always have that effect on her? Surely it would fade at some point.

But it hadn’t.

Not for years.

Not since the first time she met him and he was introduced to her as the brother of Pierre’s fiancée. And that’s how he had always treated her since that first day, how he would no doubt always treat her; as if he were her brother. She had been an awkward girl of thirteen, too tall but not too pretty (at least in her own mind) and he a lithe no longer a boy but not quite a man of eighteen. Now, all these years later, he still possessed that boyish charm that had left her giddy on the first day, she who was far too sensible for anything of that nature. He wasn’t like the other boys his age: boys who were educated but stupid, boys who had material advantage but were intellectual paupers. He was perceptive enough to almost immediately recognize that she wasn’t like the other girls her age, girls who were brought up with the single aspiration of making a good match and were conditioned to appear as simpletons. She was educated; their mother had seen to that issue, bringing in the best tutors and governess that their money could procure. Tom would never forget the first time he heard her arguing with her governess in Latin or the first time she settled a dispute between him and Pierre by correctly quoting the passage from Moore’s Utopia that neither of them could quite get right.

At the sound of his voice, she let a wide smile spread across her face, putting on the usual mask that she had learned to employ the last few years when he was around. She started putting it on when she realized that he was eventually going to be married one day and since it most definitely wouldn’t be to her, she told herself it was time to stop dreaming.

“You would be of all men most fortunate, as I am quite a prize or so my financial advisor informs me. How soon would you like to meet with him?”

His laugh. It was almost as devastating as the voice.

The formal eveningwear made him look even more handsome than usual, the abundant candlelight glowing off his dark blond curls. Lowering his tall lean body down to the soft cushions and sitting beside her, he reached over and plucked the lacy fan from her hand and began to wave it with exaggerated vigor.

“It is infernally warm in here. Did your brother have to invite every person in London?”

“I don’t know,” she half scowled, yanking the fan back and smacking his hand with it, “you’ll have to make inquiries with your sister.”

Those intoxicating blue eyes widened at her actions and a smile flashed across his face before an amused frown replaced it.

“Is this the manner in which you intend to treat your husband? With such violent and disrespectful tendencies? Regardless of the size of your fortune, it would by no means outweigh such treatment.”

He brought up a hand to his heart and his eyes narrowed. “Even I, longsuffering though I am and previously accustomed to your stubbornness, would be forced to take you in hand.”

She’d never heard that particular tone in his voice. The insufferable flirt. Why did he have to tease her like this? It made everything so much worse.

“I spoke in jest, dearest Tommy,” she replied, leaning down to slip on her shoes. “I retract my offer for you to meet with my financial advisor. This prize will remain on the shelf so as not to be marred by your soiled hands.”

It was meant as a joke. Wasn’t it? There was that broken engagement, the circumstances that she never could quite get a satisfactory answer about. There had always been rumors of his involvement with women, although she had never seen him treat a lady with anything less than complete consideration and gentleness. Except with her. With her, the gentleness was still there, but it was colored with that familiar ease, as if he could do and say anything and wasn’t worried about following social custom. She liked that. Didn’t she?

These confusing questions were suddenly swirling in her mind; but they were quieted when she looked up and saw his face.

He looked hurt.


No, not just hurt.


Terribly wounded.

Her mouth fell open in surprise and embarrassment.

“Tom, I-“

He moved with such grace and speed, she almost didn’t even see it. Slender fingers were pressed lightly to her lips and she was silenced before she could finish the sentence.

Her heart began to pound wildly when he leaned forward and his eyes narrowed as they focused on the place where his skin was touching hers. Her lips were slightly parted and he felt the warmth of her breath pass through them and brush his fingers. The dance had ended and for a few seconds, the room was almost quiet as the music stopped.

His index finger traced the plump softness of her top lip as the pad of his thumb was drawn slowly along the line of her jaw, his own lips nearly pursed together and his face filled with something that was akin to fevered concentration. His other hand was caressing one of her elbows, right above where her long white glove ended.

Someone was going to see them. Someone was going to see him touching her like this. At a ball. In public. In her brother’s home.

And she didn’t care.

Neither did he, apparently, because he turned his hand and his knuckles were softly sweeping across her cheek.

He seemed to come to himself when he finally lifted his gaze from her lips. The intensity that was in his eyes made her gasp. She was horrified to hear herself whimper at the loss of contact when his hand fell from her face just as the next dance began. He abruptly rose from the settee. The terrible coldness in his tone brought tears to her eyes, although he was speaking low and his face was neutral.

“Forgive me for putting my unworthy soiled hands on such a prize. It won’t happen again.”

He bowed with characteristic grace and then turned and walked away, leaving her on the settee, alone…and unclaimed.

rexspeculis-archive-blog  asked:

Hans' happy place was on the deck of a ship, commanding it and being free, but today he was swabbing it, by orders of his brother as a punishment for his actions, two years ago in Arendelle, city where they would dock any minute to his sorrow

“Make it sparkle, baby brother.” Mikael mocked in a blood boiling tone. He stood on the main deck, grinning like a Cheshire Cat that just spotted Alice as he saw the steepled spire of the Arendelle castle come into view. “We don’t want Queen Elsa to think the Westergaard family is made of complete screw ups.. Just you. And you have the chance to make that up…”

Mikael Westergaard, the favorite baby of the family, at 28 years old. He was tall and handsome, like all the Westergaard men. His distinct feature was his rich, dark hair he wore tied into a low ponytail. His maroon jacket was tailored perfectly to show off his broad shoulders and slender build. Glancing down, he checked the condition of the deck floor as well as polished black boots, a signature of the Southern Isles. “I want to look my best.”


TITLE: Mothers


AUTHOR tomcuddlesfic


GENRE: romance / fluff 

FIC SUMMARY: Marie is always being forced by her mother to approach men for a possibility of a date. It just so happens…mothers are all alike in someway.


AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: Okay, I was going to write another chapter for tall, dark, and handsome but I got a message from one of my followers who needed some fluff because it seemed like she going through a rough patch. I stared at my computer screen and got this idea so hopefully, it’ll be up to her standards and yours! I would love to hear what you think! 

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The Kings and I

By: sonnet-91 

I wish I could explain how it happened. How it was that I wound up with a Mythological Norse god and a King of Elves from a book which I’d read a thousand times… but quite frankly, I can’t. I remember finding them in my backyard, mysteriously appearing as if from thin air, scaring the bejeezus out of me before I realized that they were just as confused as I was. Loki had, at first, blamed me for their current situation, saying that I was somehow responsible for their landing in my garden… of course, that was ludicrous, and after settling down with a large glass of whiskey, and thinking my way through a bottle, I wound up figuring out that they weren’t going anywhere, as none of us knew how they got there. 

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