Really cool prompt, OP! Hope you like my take on it!

I was about to suggest we need a subreddit for fake AITA posts like this and then I remembered that is just like full on half (at least) of AITA stories on the real sub.

"That's the magic of editing, honey"

I feel like OP may be an actual vampire seeking advice but they cannot say they're a vampire

"Crazy ass romans" Felix muttered as he wiped down the table, noticing the perfection in the craftsman ship of the work, everything lined up with precision the likes he had never seen before, even the tables that the Cezar had were not this smooth in their joints. Running his hand over the top of the table, smooth, like running your fingers over water, so supple it could almost not be felt.

Sitting and looking at the table for a moment, not wanting to put a plate or cloth over it, just to admire this work. "I have no idea why they killed this man, from all I knew, he did nothing wrong, but, crazy Romans, they crucifix people for the dumbest things, even theft will get you nailed to a cross, but he was such an honest man, I bet it was that Judas fellow he hung with, never trusted that shifty fellow, he eyes always looking at other people's stuff, bet he stole something, and pinned it on Jesus"

Letting out a sigh "Best table anyone will ever own" he mused outloud again, as he wiped it down, getting it ready for dinner.

"Are you talking to the Table again Felix" his wife called from the other room.

"Maybe" Felix called back as he went to get a table cloth.

Walking in "I get it, it's an amazing table, we are blessed to have gotten it before he died, but, it's still just a table"

"So which of our sons should get it" Felix mused as he put the table cloth over the table.

"None! We are being buried with that Table!" his wife said to him with a evil grin.

"But it's just a table" Felix said back.

"Be that as it may, it is OUR table, and if our sons wanted a table this good they should not have killed the carpenter that made it, so they get nothing!"

"Fair Point" Felix said with a simile and wink at his wife

I'd highly recommend one of the best web serials around that deals with super villains: Worm

[removed]

She does; her job, on the other hand, not so much

We've only just started with the arrangements lol, I'll update further when there's something to update!

sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.

“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“ “we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“

“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?”

Have you read any of the Xanth novels? One of the characters has a power like this. I want to say Spell for Chameleon was the first. Lost of puns and jokes. His spell/power works like this.

I was going to take advantage of the typos to say that as being gay doesn’t stop you from being fertile, so the main character might sell the child and then gain a profit…

Feel free to expand on the idea! I’m glad you liked it.

Please update us OP!

Mary has the patience of a fucking saint.

"Look around you."

"I've got an eye for a particular painting, Mr. Marques, a real one." Dale took the last pull from the cigarette before flicking it into a rusted can covered in dried dabs every shade of sorrow. "I couldn't care less about your racket of fake Monets."

"Careful doing that, a lot of shit in here's flammable," the haggard young man said, not looking away from the window he traced a finger over, alternating slow and fast. He was every stitch the image of a starving artist but there was something else behind the glazed eyes.

"Best get me out of your hair, then. Haven't had the pleasure of meeting her myself yet but word around town, there's a woman trying to off load some rare merchandise." Dale started up the next smoke with a cupped hand against the drafty apartment. "Real desperate, might owe someone big. You'd be doing her a favor letting me know."

He lazily flicked through the stack of canvases leaned against the brick wall while he waited for a response.

The young man had pulled a Polaroid from his pocket holding it like a knife pointed at his heart.

"One last treasure yet remained, the glorious, dynastic crown." Mr. Marques offered as he opened the window.

Dale did not feel like chasing someone down a fire escape, his back felt like it even less.

"To never lose was so ingrained, the king saw fit to join it down." The young man licked his lips and bit before bolting.

Dale hurried after just in time to see him not running down the stairs, but sailing along a faster shortcut to the asphalt. His neck met the metal side the dumpster with a resonating thud cutting through the quiet city night.

A distant dog began barking as Dale looked down at the sprawled artist. There was no growing pool of blood but by the angle of his head, he had certainly made his last counterfeit.

"Shit, what have I stumbled onto this time? First the art professor, now this."

The Polaroid was tucked between the window panes. Dale had to grab the grating to avoid joining Mr. Marques in his midnight dive as he looked closer.

Unmistakably, Gina stared back at him from the photo, that mocking haunt she could flick on in her eyes. A smear of blue paint marred her cheek.

The woman he had given 6 years of his life to, the woman that disappeared 6 months pregnant 6 years ago, was the art thief he was after. The engagement ring still sat in his dresser, never given.

He had seen some curious luck in his time but this seemed too much, like a crescendo of coincidences building towards almost feeling supernatural.

He took a draw on the cigarette before carefully picking up the Polaroid and laying it flat in his notebook.

He looked at the last work of art of the now late painter, medium of finger oil on glass.

It was a rather striking portrait of Dale himself. "Poor kid had some real talent," he said to the empty apartment. A white bird squawked from a cage in the corner. Maybe not empty.

Beneath the likeness were the neat lines of a message.

'Look around you. This is the last book in your series, detective. Spoiler: you die at the end.'

"Most suicide notes don't have a threat." But this all did seem very pulp fiction, didn't it? Too bad he couldn't get a follow-up question answered.

Dale looked to see the bird was watching him, big eyed like a watcher from another world.

"You tell me, Tweety. Is this all a detective story? One noir plot contrivance after another? Be a lot more meaningful than a high saddled drunk just trying to pay the bills, eh?"

In way of response, the bird plopped a white token to the newspapers below. Strewn below the cage were various slips of discarded mail. The cupid curve of a lipstick kiss stood out from the pile.

Dale picked it up, not surprised to see a address on it not matching the others. A love letter never sent. The convenient clue, framed and delivered as always.

He would have to be careful, he decided, only half joking. "If this is a story, my avian friend, it plans on killing me before it's done. We're probably already a third of the way along, too. Like any good thriller, the contract's signed, the clock's ticking, and the crucible's waiting somewhere ahead."

He tossed his cigarette into another can. With a woof of air, it caught in greenish flame, quickly spreading to the canvases nearby. He chuckled.

"The kid did warn me," he said as he fiddled with the hook to the cage. "Guess you're coming with me, Tweety."

/r/surinical

Happy accident, actually.

My condolences, I read it too. Haven't fully recovered yet.

i feel like this might get Rule Two’ed so i won’t write fully for it but i will say: Genesis 17:17 > 17 Abraham fell facedown;(AL) he laughed(AM) and said to himself, “Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old?(AN) Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?”

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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Well written. Did you intend the poeticness of Typhoon vs "gods" or was that a happy accident?

Yes it was

Was it the one with the human shaped holes up in the hills?

Thank you. =)

So is there a fireball or not?