uptight bastard

Creepypasta #1081: In My Line Of Work, You'll Learn That Cheaters Never Prosper

Length: Super long

I’ve always found it funny that people like to call prostitution “the world’s oldest profession.” It doesn’t speak all that highly of the human race’s priorities, does it?

Paint on cave walls. Discover fire. Pay someone to fuck you senseless.

Get that in Latin, and we could engrave it at the base of every statue the world over - or better yet, build new statues, all shaped like giant brass cocks at full salute. That’s the human mission statement in a nutshell right there: here, we have two types of animal, the ones with the dicks, and the ones getting fucked by them. And we will always - I repeat, always - be the ones with the dicks.

Yes indeed, the world’s oldest profession. I can think of an older one, but we’ll get to that later.

It’s outside of a motel called Restin’ Easy that we lay our scene. Picture this: a gorgeous woman stands up against a sand-blasted brick wall, dressed to the nines in designer silks and a leather jacket. She’s taking a long, sincere drag off a slender cigarette, and leaving blood-red lipstick rings on the unburnt white paper of the shaft. She’s got the good looks of a 1960s movie star - a regular Audrey Hepburn in the making. Her black hair falls just above her shoulders, and sways gently in the night’s breeze.

That’s me.

The balding middle-aged man in the tan jacket with a face like a slapped ass, that’s Dave. Yeah, Dave with the greasy skin that tosses back the neon rays of the glowing “VACANCY” sign above us. Dave the big spender, flashing the wad of hundreds in his faux-leather wallet.

Dave the asshole. Dave the John.

“Crystal recommended you to me,” He says in an unbearably cocky tone, like I’m a new brand of aftershave he’s been meaning to try out for a while, “She said you do things no other girl will do. That right?”

“More or less.” I say, feigning a provocative grin.

When you’ve been in the business for as long as I have, you get pretty good at sizing up your customers with a glance. Sometimes, it’s necessary to survival - you look the wrong way in this line of work and you’ve got a seven-inch stiletto buried between the links in your spine. Sex does weird shit to people’s heads.

Dave, for all his faults, is easy to read. He wears a look of contempt, like he’s too good for the situation he’s putting himself in. He’s wealthy, and entitled. He doesn’t know why he’s paying for sex - a man of his stature should be beating the ladies off with a stick, surely.

He probably sells used cars for a living, I think, suppressing a smirk.

“What can I do for you that Crystal can’t, sugar?” I ask with an innocent flutter of eyelashes.

He grunts, one side of his mouth curling into a sneer.

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Captain America .VS. The Winter Soldier pt Two

A/N: The long awaited part two. I’m not sure how many more parts are going to follow but I’m also posting this on AO3. Enjoy :)

Thanks to the lovely @ladyharmony17 for looking this over for me xoxo

Part Two

“Damn,” Tony frowned as he hung up.

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked, walking into the kitchen.

“Pepper can’t be my plus one for this charity event tonight and Rhodey’s busy,” Tony answered.

“I could be your plus one,” Steve offered. “No one knows these things better than me.”

“That might send people the wrong message,” Tony replied. “I’ll just ask Natasha.”

“She’s doing a mission for SHIELD with Clint,” Steve told him. “And Bruce doesn’t really like these things and remember the last time Thor went to a charity event?”

“I could ask Bucky or Sam,” Tony replied.

“Bucky’s still kinda wary of large crowds,” Steve said. “And Sam’s got a meeting at the VA hospital. It’s just a charity event. We can go as friends.”

Tony nodded still a bit reluctant. “I’ll let Pepper tell the event planner. You’re going to want to wear your military uniform. It’s a charity event to raise money for the Veterans Hospital.”

Tony dialed Pepper’s number as he walked out of the kitchen and headed downstairs to the lab.

“I already told you I can’t be your plus one and no amount of presents are going to make me change my mind Tony,” Pepper answered.

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to. Steve offered,” he told her.

“Steve? As in, your ex? The man who left you to go chase after his best friend turned assassin?” She asked.

“We’re going as strictly friends,” he promised. “Sides, what better publicity for the charity then Captain America showing up to show his support?”

“I don’t think this is a smart idea Tony,” Pepper replied. “Not with your history and especially not when you’re still in love with him.”

“I can swallow my feelings for one night,” Tony said. “That’s why there’s an open bar.”

“If I read about you getting smashed at this event, I will not do damage control for you,” She told him.

“Love you too Pep. It’d be great if you could let the event planner know,” he said.

He could picture her rolling her eyes at him. “I mean it Tony. Watch the booze.”

“Steve’ll probably count my drinks,” he said.

“Well, that’s one good reason to bring him along,” She replied. “I’ll let the planner know.”

He hung up and drank his coffee. He could totally do this without letting his feelings get in the way of things.

Tony was wrong of course. He couldn’t do it without letting his feelings get in the way. Watching Steve talk with the other socialites. The way he smiled and complimented them. He wasn’t the man who committed treason, he was the man who caught a known assassin with ties to a known terrorist organization and rehabilitated him.

He caught Tony’s eye and gave him a smile. Tony smiled back politely and raised his glass a little before turning back to the bar and ordering something stronger. He should’ve just said no and came alone.

Steve walked over when the band started to play music and offered his hand. “One dance?”

Tony nodded instead of saying no and Steve gave him another smile as he took his hand and led him out amongst the other’s dancing. Steve kept up the gentleman act. One hand on his waist, the other hold his hand gently. A few inches between them.

“We went dancing on our first date you know,” Steve said softly.

“You stepped on my toes the whole time,” Tony reminded him.

“I was nervous,” Steve blushed a bit. “I wanted it to go nice.”

“What is your motive here Steve?” Tony asked.

“I don’t have any motive Tony…you looked miserable being here with me, I just…I wanted to see you smile,” Steve answered.

“God, you’re such a selfless bastard,” Tony laughed softly. “You uptight, self righteous, selfless bastard.”


“No, no, just shut up,” Tony interrupted and took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Please, just, shut up.” He swallowed. “You do not get to play the selfless bastard right now.”

Steve nodded.

Tony stepped away. “I’ve…had too much to drink, take me back to the tower.”

Steve started to put his arm around him and Tony let him for the sake of appearances. Tony slid into the passenger seat of the Mustang when the valet pulled up and Steve got behind the wheel.

Tony kept his eyes closed the entire drive back and muttered a quiet good night before taking the elevator to the penthouse.


“What did you do?” Rhodey asked.

Steve looked up from the painting he was working on confused. “I didn’t do anything…”

“Then why the hell is Tony talking about going back to Malibu?” Rhodey asked. He crossed his arms over his chest. “He was perfectly fine until he got back from that charity event last night. So. What. Did. You. Do?”

“Nothing…we talked, and we danced a little, he asked if I had any motive for volunteering to be his plus one and I told him I just wanted to see him smile,” Steve answered.

“Why is Tony going back to Malibu?” Bucky frowned as he walked into the room.

“Ask the Captain,” Rhodey bit out.

Bucky stepped out of the way as Rhodey left the room and looked at Steve. “I take it date night didn’t go over well?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve turned back to his painting.

“Mr. Stark is requesting your presence in the penthouse Mr. Barnes,” Jarvis announced.

“Did he say why?” Bucky asked, looking at the ceiling.

“He wouldn’t divulge that information,” the AI answered.

Bucky nodded. “Well, best not keep the good man waiting.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Steve wiped his hands off with a towel and got up to go into the kitchen. Sam was at the counter eating a sandwich.

“Why the long face?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve sighed. He grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and leaned against the counter.

“Is it about Tony?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Steve answered.

“You wanna talk about it?” Sam asked.

“What would you do if your best friend was interested in the man you love?” Steve asked.

“Depends, does the guy you love, love you back?” He asked.

“I…I don’t know anymore,” Steve answered.

Sam nodded. “Maybe find that out first before you decide to go and punch Bucky in the jaw.”

Steve chuckled. “I wouldn’t punch Bucky in the jaw.”

“Hey, men in love do crazy things,” Sam shrugged.


Steve went back to his painting and he’s setting down the paintbrush, pleased with his work when Bucky walks back into the room. He opened his mouth to speak then paused.

“What?” Steve frowned.

“Tony asked me to go with him,” Bucky answered. “He wants to keep working on my arm, and since he’s going to Malibu he said I should just come with him.”

Steve nodded. “Are you gonna go?”

“It’s only logical,” Bucky nodded.

It’s only logical, Steve thinks. He’s not sure if he’s trying to reassure himself or not.

“What about missions?” Steve asked.

“I’m still gonna take missions with SHIELD, and Rhodey’s still here…Tony wants a break and he asked me to go with him. What was I supposed to do? Say no?”

“Why didn’t you?” Steve asked.

“Because right now he needs someone in his corner,” Bucky answered. “I’m not going to just fuck him if that’s what you’re so concerned about.”

“I don’t care about that,” Steve said. “You don’t know Tony like I do Buck.”

“Guess I can use this as an opportunity to find out,” Bucky shrugged and turned on his heel, effectively ending the conversation as he walked out.

The Challenge: Part 1

Anon: Could u write a smut scenario with Mark ! Anything that come up to ur mind please and thanks ;)

Author: Admin M

Character(s): Mark (GOT7)/Reader

Word Count: 1,635

Summary: Could Mark Tuan be anymore of an ass. Yes he is charming and yes he is good looking. If only people would see the real Mark like I see him.

A/N: I kind of always wanted to write a popular, school boy scenario for Mark so I hope you like it! :) Also making this a two parter. I wanted this to be a good one :D Hope you like Part 1.

“Hey girl.” A girl almost passed out because of that simple greeting to her from Mark. Mark Tuan. He is the king of our high school. Just a simple smile or wink could send girls to the nurses office. He is a total a sweet heart. He gets good grades, is the President of our class, and volunteers at random places on the weekends. He is every girls dream boyfriend. Well not every girl. There is me. 

I use to be the best in school. Great grades, Class President two years running, and great at sports. I was the best at everything. I couldn’t be beat. Until Mark transferred to our school. Now I will admit, he is handsome and charming but that won’t distract me from my studies and constant need to be number one. And he knew that. That little snob knew what he was doing. He knew once the class elected him instead of me that he was under my skin. Let me just tell you what happened when the voting results were announced. 

We were all in our homerooms and I was tapping my pen against the table. I’ve never been this nervous in my life. I’ve never had anyone come close to beating me at anything. I asked to be excused from homeroom cause I knew if I had lost I would completely lose it. I quickly got into the bathroom and locked myself in making sure no one was in there with me. I stood there looking in the mirror when the results were called out. 

“And let’s say a big congratulations to our new Class President, Mark Tuan!” I fell to the ground. I knew it. this little bastard won! He actually did it. that was the end of my popularity streak. It all starts with this. I composed myself and began to walk out of the bathroom. 

“I knew I could beat you.” I froze. I knew that voice anywhere. Mark Tuan.

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The Zookeeper Personality Guide

A zoo is like a high school cafeteria: people tend to be grouped and classified with others like them.  Oh, and someone’s always throwing food.

Certain types of people prefer to work with certain types of animals, and on the flip side of that, certain types of animals attract certain types of people.  Don’t even act like that’s not true, y'all.  Many keepers (including me) work with a variety of species every day, but even then, almost every keeper has a niche where they fit best.

Curious to see where you land?  Under the cut, if you dare…

[DISCLAIMER: Jokes, people.  These are them.  Don’t get offended.]

[Also, reblog and let me know if you agree or disagree, and add your own!  These are really general categories, but the possibilities are endless…]

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Angry Kisses

Because I made myself sad with that last Tamlen ficlet I posted, here’s one with a happier tone

Tamlen clenched his jaw and had to loosen his hands from fists as Mahariel stalked away from him. The Brecilian forest was quite, as if sensing the anger that was radiating between the two elves. Zevran and Alistair stood to the side, trying and failing not to look awkward as they listened to the lovers.

“You have always been soft towards the shemlen,” Tamlen threw at her retreating back. “You show them a kindness they do not deserve!”

“I have an open mind when it comes to the humans,” Mahariel snarled, spinning on her heel and marching stiffly back to him, her back ramrod straight. “While you remain in your hatred I move past mine.”

It was an old argument from since they children. In normal circumstances, it would have be a light hearted, somewhat teasing fight that would have ended on a hunt. But with the group out looking for the creature that controlled the werewolves, Mahariel’s decision to save the were’s had incensed Tamlen so much he couldn’t hold back his tongue.

“My hatred is completely justified! His kind,” Tamlen gestured violently at Alistair–who brought up his hands in helplessness, “drove our people from our home. I see no reason why we should save these werewolves from their fate. It is justice as far as I’m concerned.”

“Justice,” Mahariel ground out slowly through gritted teeth. Now Tamlen knew she was furious–she only spoke as such when she was really riled up. “Is when the aggressor of the original crime was dealt the punishment. Not their descendents who were not even alive during the injustice.”

Tamlen swore under his breath. “You are a naive, careless, softhearted fool.”

“And you are a close-minded, uptight, arrogant bastard.” Mahariel returned, jabbing a finger at Tamlen’s chest.

“Oh, is that all that I am?”

“No, you are also a–mmph!”

She was cut off as Tamlen roughly grabbed her and kissed her hard enough that their teeth clacked. Mahariel fought him for only a second, but Tamlen smiled when she pulled herself closer and moaned quietly when he ran his tongue over her lips. He felt her fingers thread into his hair, gripping the strands tight when he gently scraped his teeth across her lower lip.

And then he pulled away, both of them slightly out of breath.

“If your sympathetic nature gets us killed,” he stated, trying to catch his breath, “I’m blaming you.”

Mahariel, dazed enough it made Tamlen smile smugly, pointed her finger at him. “Nice try but you haven’t won this argument. As soon as we get back to camp you’re in trouble.” She turned and stalked away, listing to one side slightly before correcting herself.

Tamlen heard a chuckle and turned to look at his other companions–whom he had completely forgotten were there.

“That was quite impressive,” Zevran said with a wicked grin. “I wonder if this “trouble” you are in will take place in your tent.”

Tamlen flushed red. “That is none of your business.”

“Right you are,” Alistair said, a little red himself. “I suggest we move on so I can pretend that I didn’t see or hear anything that just happened.”

Tamlen shook his head in disgust and motioned with his bow for them to go before him. He waited until they were ahead before letting himself smile as he reached up to touch his lips with the tips of his fingers, the taste of Mahariel lingering behind.

im just imagining daryan meeting kristoph for the first time but klavier is nowhere around when it happens so daryan is like “Hahaha! Klavier! What the fuck are you wearing! You look like a fuckin uptight bastard!” and he slaps them on the shoulder and laughs and kristophs smile just twitches as they stare down at him and daryan is like


Apple is fuckjng with me

Every time I wanted to type “fucking” on my iPhone—and you can be assured, I want to type it a lot—one of two things happened. I spelled it right and they puritanically changed it to “ducking,” or my fingers were inaccurate and it came out “fuckjng” with the red squiggle underneath. Then I’d correct the “j” to an “i” and the uptight bastards wanted to make it “ducking” again.

One time, finally, exasperated, I gave up and left it as “fuckjng” and sent my message. 

This action apparently added that as a valid word to my personal dictionary. No more red squiggle. And I believe their text recognition algorithm is set up to give strong preference to words in the personal dictionary if you are typing anything close to them. So now, whenever I want to type anything they think of as similar to it—and that’s apparently any word that starts near the middle of the keyboard where the “f” is—the autocompleter will almost always suggest “fuckjng” as what I mean to type. Three, four, a dozen times a day. My phone can’t get enough fuckjng.

It’s kinda funny, at least until you send an email to everyone at your company from your phone but fail to check it carefully before you hit send. Then, it’s fuckjng hilarious.

all dressed up with nowhere to go - pre-adoribull weirdness

Have another weird little drabble I cranked out because I’m obsessed with the idea of Dorian having loyal undead familiars. 


The streets of Minrathous are, like the rest of the Maker-damned city, old as shit. They’re paved primarily in cobblestones held together by the blood and sweat of slaves and the magic of any number of uptight old bastards determined to live comfortably in the past. Ideally atop a pile of corpses.

Ordinarily Bull might be a bit less bitter about virtually everything, but now he’s tearing through the streets of the Imperium’s capital, his knee screaming in protest as his brace clanks and scrapes along. They shouldn’t have taken the job.

Fuck the ‘vints and their pretty coin. They shouldn’t have taken the job.

Find Dorian, Tilani said. Just find my friend and make sure he’s all right.

No other helpful information like, say, By the way, you’ll be competing with an old-fashioned batch of cultists and perhaps a few hired goons.

What the hell had the altus done to piss everyone off so much?

Bull rounds the corner, breathing hard and narrowly avoiding a nasty looking bolt of green energy, and comes face to face with a corpse.

And not just any old corpse.

This one is smiling. She’s got her skin, still, but it’s obvious that she’s nowhere near alive. Her complexion is pale and sickly, just this side of blue. Her eyes are a murky white, and her lips dark and smiling.

“You’ll want to move.”

The voice is light and affected by a coastal drawl, accompanied by the steady click of fashionable boots.

“No shit.” Bull growls, leaning around the dead woman in her flowing robes, “There a reason you’ve got a dead lady floating around in her nightgown, 'vint?”

“It’s a formal robe, and she looks lovely in it.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ gentleman, huh?”

The man smiles, the movement stretching his weird little villain moustache as he crooks a finger in a come hither motion.

Bull obeys, reluctantly.

“My name is Dorian Pavus.”

The woman lurches forward, attacking Bull’s pursuers viciously with no signs of slowing, despite the hem of her dress being decidedly alight.

“Altus. My focuses lie, as you can see, in necromancy and pyromancy.” He snaps his fingers, and the flames die out. “Still holding up, Cassia?”

The corpse giggles, a grating sound fizzling up from what remains of her vocal chords.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me.”


“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve done you a favor, after all.” The mage watches intently as Cassia continues dismembering their pursuers. The light in his eye is vicious, but chillingly sane. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

He asks as if he truly doesn’t know.