Comedy Imagination Short Stories & Face Slapping Novels

Five years into my quest to conquer the male lead, Patrick Suede forgot my birthday once again. Instead, the villainess texted me, “So what if it’s your birthday? He came crawling to me at the snap of my fingers. For once, I didn’t take the System’s suggestion to break down. I replied, “Thank you. You’re the only one who remembered my birthday today.” The response back was a big question mark. My phone kept going off with notifications. “Seriously. Were you meant to send that to someone else? “Are you for real? That’s kind of sad. “What do you want for your birthday? “Forget it. I’m coming over. Since you can’t eat mangoes, I’ll get you a strawberry cake. “Honestly, you’re a handful.” … When my doorbell rang, I grinned at the System. “The mission is to romance the main character of this world. You never said it had to be a guy.”

My name is Mabel Lloyd, and I make a barely decent living repairing household appliances. Two weeks ago, on a night when the rain came down heavily, I found a soaking-wet stranger huddled outside my apartment building. He was ridiculously handsome, an incredible cook and had only one glaring flaw — he was painfully shy. Whenever anyone asked his name, he would blush so hard his ears turned bright red, then stand there in complete silence, unable to get a single word out. I could not bring myself to leave him out in the rain, so I rented him the spare storage room in my apartment. Everything was fine. Until today. I heard knocking at my door and, when I went over to check who it was, the building manager was standing there with three men in black suits. The one in front flashed a badge, his expression unreadable. "Routine inspection. Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. "We have reason to believe an unregistered fox shifter may be hiding on these premises." Before I could even process what he had said, a loud clang rang out from the kitchen as a frying pan hit the floor. The very next second, my painfully shy tenant cautiously peeked around the kitchen door. A pair of fluffy white fox ears twitched nervously on top of his head and, when he spoke, his voice shook so badly it sounded like a washing machine caught in the spin cycle. "Mabel... don't open the door. They're here to drag me home for an arranged marriage."

Thanks to my addiction to the stories regarding true and fake heiresses, I'm afflicted with strong paranoia that everyone is out there to get me. For some reason, I keep thinking that I'm a fake heiress who will eventually get kicked out of my home. In order to avoid getting set up, I stay on my guard every day. Not only do I hire some people to act as the actual heiresses and visit my home from time to time, but I also have them put on performances with me while clutching paternity test reports and heirloom pendants as props. On the day I'm done rehearsing all of the webnovel tropes, a pure and innocent young woman comes knocking on the door. Interestingly enough, she has live comments surrounding her. As she shows the pendant and a paternity test report, she starts crying sadly. "Mom, Dad, I'm your actual daughter!" The live comments begin spamming relentlessly. "I'm tired of looking at pure and innocent female leads! A manipulative true heiress, on the other hand, is a breath of fresh air! Not only does she intend to regain everything that belongs to her, but she also vows to teach the fake heiress a lesson she will never forget!" "Just look at how amazing her acting and her expression are! Her parents will definitely fall for her excuse, hook, line, and sinker!" Amid the live comments' cheering, my parents just nod thoughtfully. "The actress who's playing this role today is quite talented."

Everyone said Finley Floyd was a total family man. His dad had been dead for twenty years, and he still found him a wife. Then he started calling me—someone two years younger than him—"Mommy." Yeah. My hand slipped. I accidentally assigned the affection points to the wrong role. And somehow, Finley really believed I was his mother. When I told him—again—that I wasn't his mom, he snapped. He yanked me into his arms and buried his face against me. "You are Mommy!"

The last light had just turned off when Hank Liston queued up for his fifth ranked match. He turned on the volume, making sure the game music rocked the entire room. "Jungler!!! What are you doing, sleeping?! We need to jump this guy, you loser!" On the lower bed under me, Ben Singer, who had been holding back for a long while, rasped, "Can't you put your headphones on? I have an interview tomorrow." Hank simply snorted. "Interview? You can sleep the whole day, and you still won't make it in with that rubbish resume of yours. Don't try to blame your failures on me." Ben flushed beet red but didn't argue. Zac Kimmich, our other roommate, had his pillow covering his ears while he gripped the bed post so hard that it was creaking. Hank, however, kept ranting, "We're all in the same room! It's called mutual understanding—get it? I was there with you guys in class, but I can't spend time playing at night? Also, I'm not complaining even though I'm not sleeping, but you guys are sleeping and complaining?!" Suddenly, he turned to me as well. "And you, Carl. Don't try to play dead. You got a lot of money from that scholarship, didn't you? If you're that good, why don't you donate your sleep hours too?" [Roommate disturbance detected. Casting Polymorph. Progress: 1%] Well, since Hank couldn't behave like a proper human being, why not turn him into something else?

Derek Lewis killed me six times for Claire White. Each time, I waited for him to change his mind, but every time, he drove the knife straight into my chest. “Sherry, Claire was born with a serious heart condition. You’re the only compatible donor who can save her. I swear—you’re the only woman I’ll ever marry.” But before the first week after my death had even passed, he married Claire. My former mansion became their new home, and my sports cars were used as their wedding cars. Even the Lewis family’s billion-dollar fortune became jointly owned between them. Standing in line to be reborn again, I finally realized that I didn’t want the scumbag anymore, but the Lewis family’s wealth had always included my share. So, I was reborn, choosing to become their child. On the day of the delivery, Derek publicly announced that Lewis Group would one day belong solely to this child. Inside the delivery room, I was born crying. Claire took one look at me, and her scream tore through the room. “Derek, why does our baby look like Sherry?”