Although I have yet to encounter it, I am almost certain this is an anime

I have a type.

Yeah, most women do. And no, it's not necessarily the Hollywood ideal. That's not saying that I don't think heartthrobs aren't aesthetically pleasing; yeah, they're handsome, sure, but when I choose a guy to go after I'm not looking for a magazine cover. Well, maybe Mojo.

I like to kid myself and say I'm trying to be a muse to musicians, but really I just like their hands. Strong, calloused, that sound when a bassist runs those tips down the stockings you wore to his show, the tight grip of a drummer as he wraps you up in his arms. It's their passion made manifest in flesh, and it makes me melt in ways I just can't explain in words.

With Anders the melting came to a boil. I found him busking near the Trinity fountain in the middle of the City, coins and bills falling as passerby stopped to hear him bend that old battered fiddle. He had a crooked smile and skin pale as milk that should have burned to a crisp even in the soft sun of that dreary summer day. He wore his dark hair long, a soft crumpled white shirt over a pair of dingy grey trousers, and a hat that would have repulsed me on any other man sitting half-cocked jauntily on his head.

I was smitten. Me. I asked him to tea, in broad daylight. I loved the way he sat his violin back into its battered case, kissing his fingers as he put the bow back and tucking her in like a lover leaving his beloved behind. He took my hand, bold yet somehow old-fashioned, and we walked the waterfront for hours talking about music and life and past loves and then the sunset then his lips and my hands and our hurried rush to my flat and then...

He was good. A magic man, and I was under his spell.

What started there ascended to an actual relationship. We found that my mother's and his families came from the same small region of Sweden, our ancestors just a few bends away from each other on the calm run of the Dalälven river. He had been born there, coming across the Atlantic when times got tough for his mother and his father long away roaming as a fiddler himself. The faint lilt of his accent made me beg him to speak in Swedish, and he would laugh as I swooned over his description of a fanciful cow or the story of a cat in our shared native tongue.

The days turned to weeks, then months, and finally Maja Sanford had a boyfriend. A real boyfriend, for the first time since my lonely days in college. My friends loved him for me, and while they all stared and fawned? I never felt worried that they would take my magic man away. Life was good, and we spent long lazy days in bed between his busking and my work from home, and life was wonderful.

And then I learned the truth, and my world changed.

So you could start out at like a local bar or tavern. He’s having a drink, it’s his 9th one so far. A female waitress comes up and notices his big swords and and flirtatiously asks if “his third sword is just as big”. Obliviously he makes note that he doesn’t have a third sword and asks for another beard. A little annoyed at his pass the waitress walks away with a huff and brings him his drink and lightly slams it on the table. He gulps down just as he finally catches on to what she meant, chokes on the drinks and ends up spitting it all over her. Apologetically he hurriedly pays the tab and drunkenly rushes off, stumbling out the door and tripping face first into the mud, blacking out. When he opens his eyes he’s surrounded by a thick fog. As he struggles to find his bearing he comes across a pile of bodies, then another, and another and another. They’re everywhere. As he examines one of the faces on the bodies he recognizes it as an enemy soldier he slew in one of many battles. He checks another body, another recognizable face, but this time one of just a boy. He remembered the faces of every enemy he cut down, they haunted him everywhere he goes. “Death is coming for you.” The wind whispered in his ear, as a shadowy figure stood off in the distance. It was much closer this time than it was last time, but still quite a ways away. He knew what this meant, and he accepted it. His entire life all he knew was war and death, that’s why he no longer wields a shield but instead another sword. It is kill or be killed in this life and his wasn’t one he felt worth protecting any more. He started to run towards the shadowy figure, and made no advance no matter how far he ran, the figure just stayed where it was. He fell back into reality and picked himself up off the ground finally wiping the hardened dry mud from his face. He looks around and some of the village kids are poking and prodding him with sticks. A little girl came up him, “you’re finally awake eh? Finally.” She pokes him again then runs away with the other children. He looks around and the day that was once gray and wet was now a bit brighter and the ground was dry. He asks one of the other patrons how long he was out, and was told, “this marks the fourth day. Honestly we even started taking bets if you were even still alive. So many deaths these it wouldn’t be a shock. Even the days seem to die sooner they used to.”

Hm, well given your character I think it would be hard to make him fit in the real world if that's what you want. Maybe it'd work better if instead of a warrior he were a modern explorer? Like, exploring ruins and legends something like Atlantis: The Lost Empire. That could even work for the whole bored with life aspect, like maybe there are no more dangerous ruins to explore. As for home city, I think it'd make sense for him to be from a modern city that he leaves for adventure. I'm not really sure it matters what specific city or country he's from unless there's some cultural element you have in mind. But the most important part is to just start thinking of you characters and start writing just to see what comes, at least that's always what works best with me. I wish you luck with your story!

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As a very silly boy who doesn't know anything about bio, could someone smart explain this?

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I love this story, it’s so sweet :) made me visible go “awwww”

We all gotta start somewhere. And a lot of times? You're gonna find something big you wanna write and then find it's small or vice versa.

Write stories about stuff that has happened in your life. Write little fables. Write just to write, and come back to the big ones. It's like leveling in a video game: you're at level 1, bash a couple of rats and upgrade your equipment, the boss will still be there when you're ready.

Ight thanks i needed to hear this

The first wish was kinda stupid, he should've asked for the power to teleport, so he could've gotten out of the cave and used it afterwards.

Your UN and post make me think you are a younger writer or someone who is just starting to write. So forgive me, but I'm not gonna judge your story. Instead, I'm going to say what I needed to hear when I first started writing, and hope it helps you.

There's no such thing as a bad story. A story is a story, it has a beginning, middle, and end, rising and falling action, and comes from your mind.

Don't worry about the audience or marketability. If you continue writing you will write dozens, hundreds, thousands of stories. Some will be for wide release, and some will be for just one person. Sometimes that one person is you and you don't realize it.

But writing is like a tightrope. It requires discipline, and not fearing the rope. If you're about to walk across that rope and you're worrying about how it will come out? You'll get the yips, get discouraged, and fall. Sometimes the fall is short. Sometimes it hurts. And while the fall and getting back up is part of the process, I'd suggest learning closer to the ground.

Try a couple of the following prompts to start:

• Have a conversation between two people, where one is trying to hide a secret.

• Go outside to a quiet place and describe the world around you in detail.

• Write the day in the life of an animal you love.

I used to use a series of these types of short prompts to limber up. Now I limber up by writing here.

If you ever have questions or need somebody to read something you wrote? Tag me or shoot me a message. I'm a bit crippled and may be slow, but I'll listen.

Beyond that, good luck! Your story's got bones. Now you gotta dig and find them.

Mmm, celestial soup.

No food gives you nutrition…..except each other.

I’m not crying you’re crying

[removed]

Someone who has spent their entire life having other people tell them what to do and who to be is now being told that, according to the prophecy, they are the chosen hero and that they have to give up on their life for the sake of the people. This goes several steps too far and the supposed "hero" now tries everything in their power to get out.

WTF. I like it.

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My ribcage

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🤣🤣🤣🤣

Nice!

"My advice?" Djimmie the Djinn asked with a very puzzled look on his face. In all of his 3000 years of existence no human had ever asked for his advice. They always just assumed they had all the answers and got very foolish when their heart's greatest desires were just a wish away.

"Yeah! You must have seen a few things in your time and if anybody knew a good wish versus a bad wish I bet it would be you," Franklin replied. The young man had found the lamp after it had appeared in a flash of light down an alley. Franklin had initially thought the light was a camera flash but when he went to investigate he had found an ancient and tarnished lamp that he just had to rub because why not?

"Well... gee, nobody has ever bothered to ask me that before," the massive horned man replied, at a loss for what to say.

"I mean, I've seen lots of movies and stuff so... do you have some rules or something that you can't do? Do I only get three wishes? Is there anything super cool I should get? Can I wish for more genies if I can't wish for more wishes? Are leprechauns real and can I rub their beards for more wishes? Can I-" Djimmie stopped the cascade of questions with one massive green finger to his lips that mystically silenced Franklin. Djimmie could only think of how big of a doozy this would be.

"Rule one; keep your head and stay cool! Nobody ever made a smart wish by getting over excited and freaking out," Djimmie said as he lowered his finger and nodded knowingly.

"Right! Sorry! This is just kind of a big deal, ya know? This is probably the coolest thing that has ever or will ever happen to me."

"Look, I get it. If I were a human I'd be pretty psyched too but trust me when I say that I've seen some wild stuff in my time..." Djimmie paused. The kid before him seemed nice enough. Better than most of the dickheads that usually found the lamp after the last jerk used up their three wishes and Djimmie teleported his home to another random spot on the globe for another asshole to find. This kid seemed a lot more genuine though and he was pretty young. The old djinn must have been getting soft.

"How about this? People are hasty so why don't you take 3 days and write down a list of wishes, I take a mini vacation, and at the end of the time I'll take do a onceover of your list and we'll see what's worth wishing for together?" the djinn suggested.

"What if someone tries to steal the lamp or I'm too dumb to come up with any good wishes?"

"Trust me kid, I've met some really dumb, backwards-ass morons in my time and trust me when I say, you're above average in that regard. As for stealing the lamp this isn't some story where I'm an object to be picked up and blindly obey just any shlub. I'm not a slave to the lamp. I'm actually under contract to fulfill the wishes of a 1000 people before I get to marry the love of my life," Djimmie confessed. The boy's brown eyes grew to the size of saucers.

"That's why you have to grant wishes? Why would anyone ask that?"

"Let's just say that Zeus is an asshole who likes to make people suffer," Djimmie replied as he squinted and glared at the sky.

"Wait, like... THE Zeus?"

"Yep. Me and Artemis met at this mixer that Thor and Quetzalcoatl were throwing at there new place they got after their wedding and we really hit it off. And before you say it, no she is not a lesbian, she's just a demisexual. We dated for a bit but Hera and Zeus refused to let us marry until I did this whole gig as a way to punish humans for using electricity to power stuff," Djimmie explained.

"What? Thor is married to the Aztec feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl?!"

"Yep. The realm of the gods is a lot more random and spicy than people realize. So... that said... you good with waiting three days?"

"Sure... I need that time to process what you've told me anyway."