I am a dreamer with the soul of an artist. I write because my world cannot fit in silence. I believe that stories are like tea - or good wine - they need time to develop flavor. I love dreams, art, music that touches the delicate strings of my heart, and men who say little but look long. Here I tell my stories. Sometimes quietly, sometimes with fire, and always with heart.
"I'm starting to write because I can't stop dreaming. Maybe we'll do it together?"
I've imagined this moment many times. It's a beautiful, calm afternoon. I'm sitting alone in a quiet, spacious café - you know, one of those styled so that everyone feels at home here. A small cat darted between my legs under the table, purring with quiet joy. I'm holding a pencil in my fingers, tapping it against a blank page in my journal.
'Who am I?' I thought to myself. I am a dreamer, balancing between the world of dreams and reality. I can't draw, at least not as I would like. I can't dance, I can't sing. I've never learned to play any instrument. But I can dream, and I can pour those dreams onto paper - or at least I hope so. I've always wanted my stories to be like music, like the song of my heart. I would like my stories to evoke a sense of longing, tears, sighs, joy, and perhaps even a hint of desire.
And then - my thoughts are interrupted by your sudden appearance. I look up and see you, even though you're not really here yet. We don't know each other, yet I feel like we are close. Why? Because we are united by a love for stories, for art, for poetry. Here - right here - we meet to contemplate together and perhaps create something beautiful.
So? Shall we meet for tea?"
(English is not my language so I apologize for any mistakes.)
Here is my quick fantasy, a bit shameless but still mine hehe :D
My English is at the level: scraping knees on the floor, for this reason the entire text is translated using AI. Thank you, best regards. And I'm really sorry for all kinds of mistakes.
(A short excerpt plus the whole thing on Ao3. Oh, and a little warning: this story is EROTICA.)
[...]One day, Arthur dared to leave a bouquet of wildflowers hidden on the inner bench of the gazebo in the park, where they had secretly met the day before. To his astonishment, the next day he found exactly in the same place a small silk ribbon, which he shamelessly wore woven into his battered hat. Their subsequent meetings remained secret, fueled by risk and passion, though they became bolder and lasted a little longer - yet for both of them, it was still not enough. Another day brought another meeting, pushing the two lovers into the embrace of longing and ever-increasing risk until the day Eleanor left Arthur a letter with an invitation - beautiful, fragrant, in a white envelope, sealed with wax and a sprig of vanilla.
This was the beginning of their secret.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"The morning had begun in earnest, the first rays of sunlight lazily filtering through the curtains, illuminating the room. All I could hear were the soft chirping of birds outside, the sound of your calm breathing, and the beating of my heart. In all this contemplation, I didn't even realize I was smiling. I felt a shiver, a truly pleasant shiver, as your fingers gently played with a lock of my hair, and in some twisted way, it felt quite intimate, just us."
The dust devils of the wild prairies remembered us together since we were kids with scraped knees and calluses on our hands. You, me, and little John. Raised together by the warm fire of the Van der Linde gang. Dutch personally made sure our bond was as strong as a rope - a rope that strengthened with every heist we pulled together, every escape from the law, every peaceful night spent under the stars. Back then, it seemed to me that I had become an older brother to you and took care of you like a younger sister, even though you could be a real pain.
Over time, however, a bond developed between us that was to carry something much deeper, and platonic love turned into a tension that I didn’t notice back then - or perhaps I didn’t want to see. Years passed, and our relationship, almost like an old good marriage, went through both good and bad times, though we always stuck together - even despite the arguments that often broke out between us. Last night, after a particularly successful heist, Dutch let the guys celebrate our little victory at a nearby saloon in Valentine. We too celebrated together at the bar, surrounded by the noise of drunken cowboys and local residents. Whisky flowed in streams, and laughter and singing echoed in the corners of the quiet streets of Valentine. We had one round, another round, and then another, reminiscing about old times and laughing until we cried. With each glass of whisky, the boundaries between us seemed to blur. Our conversations became more personal, and our glances lingered longer. At one point, in the heat of the fun and alcohol, I grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor where we started to dance. It wasn’t an elegant dance, more like chaotic jumps and laughter, but in that moment, nothing else mattered. The last thing I remembered was leaving the saloon, supporting each other - you on me, I on you - with unsteady steps. The next morning, I woke up with a headache that was splitting my skull. And you? You were lying on a soft mattress, wrapped in a crumpled blanket, right next to me, under the same blanket. In an instant, the whole world around me ceased to exist, and the headache from the hangover disappeared. I lay almost still, covered by soft sheets, staring at my own hand, admiring the beautiful yet simple gold ring on my finger that shone in the morning sun - identical to the one you had on your finger. I smiled at you when you finally started to wake up, and I gently stroked your cheek with my thumb. You were still sleepy and a bit confused, but somehow that didn’t bother me at all. I chuckled with a hoarse voice and leaned closer to you, my fingers gliding over the silk of your skin.
- I have no bloody idea what happened last night, little one. I only remember a lot of whisky and ... well, apparently a good time. Huh, I know we’ve been flirting a bit lately, but I didn’t expect such an ending... or perhaps rather a beginning. What do you think, love?
The day was slowly coming to an end, although the summer, humid air still offered no relief from the heat. The sun lazily glided across the sky, hanging low above the peaks of high hills, illuminating the sky with gold and orange. Arthur was just lighting a fire, next to which stood an iron grill and a small pot with their modest dinner. Eleanor, on the other hand, was carefree, running around the colorful meadows, picking flowers and weaving them into wreaths. A small puppy wagged its little tail energetically and darted between the girl's legs, barking joyfully, and the sound echoed softly. Arthur glanced at her furtively from time to time, smiling and rolling his eyes at her childish behavior.
At one point, the first heavy drops of rain began to fall from the previously clear sky. Arthur muttered under his breath, displeased with the situation, as the rain began to intensify slowly, although the clouds swirling in the sky did not herald any downpour. Nevertheless, the rain could effectively thwart their dinner plans by extinguishing the fire, something Arthur would not be able to remedy in any way. Suddenly, completely unexpectedly, Eleanor grabbed his hands and began to pull him towards the meadow. Arthur hesitated for a moment at the girl's unexpected move, but a smile quickly returned to his lips.
- Ellie, what are you doing? - he asked in a surprised yet amused voice, squeezing her smaller hands in his. - Don't you see that it's raining? Take the dog and go to the tent before you get completely soaked. - The girl just laughed but had no intention of letting go of Arthur, nor of hiding in the tent - on the contrary. Eleanor released the man's hands and instead tightly wrapped her smaller arms around his waist, then simply began to gently sway her hips, rocking side to side.
- Come on, Arthur, dance with me. Just look how beautiful this world is. We should enjoy it. Celebrate every moment. - Ellie rested her chin on Arthur's chest, smiling widely, her cheeks flushed with a delicate shade of pink, and raindrops slowly ran down her face, highlighting the roundness of her chubby cheeks.
- Dance? - Arthur laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. - We don't even have music. Besides, if we get soaked, we'll get sick, and I don't intend to take care of you when you have the flu. - Morgan jokingly pinched Eleanor on the tip of her nose, lightly squeezing it, and once again shook his head in amusement. He loved Ellie with all his heart, but sometimes he just couldn't keep up with the way she thought.
- Oh, Arthur. You worry too much about everything, you know? - she whispered - Come on. Let this rain be our melody, let the birds sing a song for us. Let me believe that the sun created this rainbow just for us. Let's enjoy this moment while it lasts. - Eleanor nestled her head against his chest, and Arthur almost immediately held her tightly, pulling her close, then rested his head on top of hers. Their bodies swayed gently - in rhythm with their breaths, in rhythm with their heartbeats. Ellie sighed softly, closed her eyes, and for a moment just stood there, enjoying the closeness of her beloved man, inhaling the scent of his body with every breath. After a short while, Eleanor lifted her head, searching for Arthur's gaze, and when their eyes met, she smiled widely, with a tender and sincere smile. - Yesterday will never return to us. And tomorrow? We only know that the sun will rise tomorrow, but none of us can know for sure if we will be able to see it. Today is the day that life has given us. So hold me tight and remember that I love you.
Arthur laughed heartily and gently kissed his beloved on the top of her head. He embraced Eleanor even tighter, as if he wanted to keep her forever, as if he were afraid she would disappear when he let her go. However cynical these words sounded, Ellie merely echoed Arthur's thoughts. He himself knew how sometimes one insignificant mistake could determine someone's life and death. Therefore, without further delay, he firmly took the girl's hands and began to dance with her - even though no music was playing for them.
They danced together in the rain for several long moments, as the sun still colored the sky with gold and orange, and a rainbow slowly began to form above their heads. From a distance, it must have looked absurd, like a scene from one of those silly romance novels that Eleanor loved to read. But although Arthur would never admit it out loud, it was precisely such moments that he loved to write about in his journal. Carefree moments when he could simply sit on the grass somewhere in the shade of a tree and not think about what was, nor about what was to come. Because Eleanor - although sometimes acting foolishly, naively like a silly child - looked at Arthur in a way that few could, with gratitude. Not for what he could give her, but for simply being there. She taught him that even as an adult, a responsible person with worries and obligations, one could still look at the world through the eyes of a child and simply enjoy every moment while it lasts.
(English is not my language so I apologize for any mistakes.)
I'm so excited!! I just published my first post on Ao3, my heart is still pounding like a bell but I'm proud of myself (yeey :-D) I don't know if anyone will even like it, I hope at least. My writing means a lot to me. So, I have two versions of this story, one written in Polish and the other in English. Well, since my English is rather … shitty, and I would really like to reach a larger audience, I translated the entire text with the help of AI. So, I invite you if you have time. Thank you, best regards. :-*
(This story contains erotica content)
ENG Ao3 link :
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"Arthur Morgan was never completely mine. But I was completely his."
Arthur and I didn't always agree, though everyone in the gang thought we were a rather - harmonious couple. We weren't married, we weren't even officially in a relationship - we just were. Two friends, two soulmates, two lovers bound by shared dreams and a past neither of us wanted to let go of.
Sometimes we argued, that's a fact. But who doesn't argue? Even the most beautiful marriages have their ups and downs. For some, love is a privilege, for others, a duty, and for me - for me, love was like a rose, supposedly the most beautiful in the whole garden, yet it had thorns that wounded, sometimes until bled.
Today we fought. Although mostly it was me shouting - Arthur was silent.
But how could I have acted otherwise?
Arthur had left the camp for almost two weeks without a word. And yes, he returned, he always returned either with money or information, and this time Dutch was practically drooling when he saw a substantial stack of bills. But Arthur was exhausted - injured. His pants were torn, his arms bruised, and his gaze was so - empty.
At that moment, I didn't say a word - when he returned. He took a bath, and I stitched his clothes, scrubbing them of the already dried blood stains, dust, and mud. I muttered curses under my breath as I sewed a small fabric patch onto the sleeve of his shirt, trying to make it less noticeable up close. And he? He sat next to me with his bare torso, his skin covered in fresh bruises, cleaning his revolver, smoking a cigarette, and looking at me with that damn calm gaze of his. Those damn puppy eyes that could disarm and deceive all my anger. Even little Jack couldn't manipulate me that way - and he was such a charming boy.
Arthur watched me from under the brim of his hat with that wolfish gaze as if I were a little lamb caught in his jaws. He knew I was furious with him, yet he smiled at me - I swear - as if maliciously.
It was like poking a furious dog with a stick. He waited for me to bite. And he was right - I would bite, soon.
That very afternoon, I overheard - seemingly by accident - Arthur telling Dutch about a robbery he had committed in Annesburg with some random kid he had met, who was looking for an easy way to get rich quick, about a shootout and how the kid almost drowned in a trough of water for horses. Arthur had some strange knack for getting into trouble ever since he was a feisty teenager, and that old fox, instead of letting him rest, sent him on "another mission to bring us all closer to the grand plan" - this time to Strauss. That was enough to make me lose all composure. Because more than anything in the world, I hated when that old rat used Arthur to collect debts for bloody money.
I didn't shout, not in front of everyone. I didn't want to make a scene, especially in front of Dutch. But as soon as we were alone, by the makeshift stable where I had earlier occupied myself with grooming a horse to vent my frustration - something inside me broke.
I might have said a few words too many, not caring about my tone of voice at all - because although I loved Dutch like a father, I was no longer so sure of anything. I called Arthur a naive fool, a coward who was afraid to reach for something more. And Arthur? He stood there across from me with a completely stoic expression - not responding. He just took a drag from his cigarette and looked away, avoiding my gaze, as if everything I was saying, he had long since told himself. He knew - but that loyalty, especially the one he had towards Dutch, was all he knew and truly understood. And yet, he didn't apologize. He didn't back down.
In the evening, as the sun began to slowly hide behind the treetops, I nervously walked around the camp, unable to find a place for myself. I knew he would leave again tomorrow. And I would be afraid again - worrying, wondering if I would get to see him again.
I found Arthur under a tree, somewhere on the edge of the camp. He was sitting on the grass with his back against the thick trunk of the tree, his hat shading his eyes, and I was sure he was asleep. I didn't want to wake him or disturb him, but as I approached, he reached out to me - a large, rough hand that had held a gun so many times - now just wanted me.
- Come to me, little one. - he murmured low, glancing at me from under the brim of his hat. And without thinking too much, I gladly took his hand, sitting down next to him on the grass. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. I sighed deeply and allowed myself to close my eyes to relax for a moment in his arms. I could smell his body - smoke, horses, leather, and something that was just his. Arthur gently placed his large hand on my back. Slowly, without haste. He stroked me through the fabric of my shirt so tenderly - the same gesture used to calm a startled horse.
- I know you're scared, I understand, really. - he said quietly, burying his cheek in my hair. - But you know my heart beats for you, darling. Even if hell itself chases me, I will always return to you.
I squeezed my eyelids shut, trying to control my emotions, though tears were already pricking at my eyes. I wanted so much to believe in every word he said. All those sweet promises, whispers, and assurances were so sweet, yet they left a bitter aftertaste. I knew that sometimes it only took one small mistake to ruin everything - years of hard work, dreams hidden deep in the heart.
I knew Arthur. I knew he wasn't lying - not to me. Yet it still hurt. I didn't respond, no words could describe the weight I carried in my heart. Instead, I just hugged him tighter, enjoying what he wanted to give me - no matter how little it sometimes was.
Despite everything, after all those years we spent together by the same campfire, I have learned one thing:
Arthur Morgan was never completely mine. But I was completely his.
(English is not my language so I apologize for any mistakes.)
"It didn't matter what kind of man he was to the world. What mattered was what kind of man he was to me.”
Arthur was an incredibly enigmatic man - at least in my eyes.
His hands were large, rough, scarred from years of work, yet his touch was as gentle as a feather's caress.
He maintained a stern demeanor and a proud expression, coming across as someone not to be trifled with. He claimed he didn't read books and hated poetry, yet the way he looked at me while sketching my portrait in his journal - oh, those eyes could melt my heart, like two blue lakes of infinite depth in which I would love to drown.
I loved it when he kissed me on the forehead, as tenderly as only a father could kiss his beloved child.
I loved it when he whispered promises of love and devotion in my ear, even though he was so ashamed of showing affection in front of others.
Arthur was not a romantic - or so he claimed. But he could and knew how to ignite my heart to a fiery red like a blacksmith heating steel in a forge - until eyes sparkled.
Today was, well, difficult - to put it mildly.
Mrs. Grimshaw was arguing with Miss Karen about literally everything, and a heavy, oppressive atmosphere hung over the camp, only fueled by Mr. Bell's behavior, who seemed to take pleasure in teasing others in the camp. I was irritated and dreamed only of hiding in the tent with a book and a cup of hot coffee - though that was not to be. Mrs. Grimshaw, of course, delighted in finding me more tasks - all for the good of our little family.
Frustration grew within me, and the last straw was a shirt - I don't know whose - with a hole in the sleeve that I found while doing laundry.
And then he appeared.
Arthur approached me from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist.
I chuckled softly as he kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear:
- Come with me, beautiful. I have a surprise for you.
I wasn't sure what was going through his mind again, but from his sly grin, I knew one thing - he was up to something.
How surprised I was when he led me to a clearing full of flowers, away from the noise of the camp.
On the green grass, there was a blanket and a wicker basket filled with snacks.
Arthur Morgan had organized a picnic.
Unbelievable.
We sat together, shoulder to shoulder, simply enjoying the silence, the peace, and each other's company - no pressure, no demands.
And then he kissed me on the top of my head again and whispered:
- I'm not a good man. But for you, princess, I've started to soften.
Soft? - Oh Arthur, that is just one of your many qualities. One of the many traits I love about you. - Despite how little he thought of himself, many of us saw what he did not.
After all, it didn't matter what kind of man he was to the world.
What mattered was what kind of man he was to me.
(English is not my language so I apologize for any mistakes.)
Nie liczyło się, jakim człowiekiem był dla świata. Liczyło się, jakim człowiekiem był dla mnie.
Arthur był niezwykle zagadkowym człowiekiem - a przynajmniej w moich oczach.
Jego dłonie były duże, szorstkie, poranione latami pracy, a jednak jego dotyk był delikatny jak muśnięcie pióra.
Zachowywał surową postawę i dumny wyraz twarzy, uchodząc za kogoś, z kim nie warto zadzierać. Twierdził, że nie czyta książek i nie znosi poezji, a jednak sposób w jaki na mnie patrzył, gdy rysował mój portret w dzienniku - ach, te oczy potrafiły roztopić moje serce, jak dwa błękitne jeziora nieskończonej głębi, w których chciałabym się utopić.
Kochałam, gdy całował mnie w czoło, tak czule jak chyba tylko ojciec może całować ukochane dziecko.
Kochałam, gdy szeptał mi na ucho obietnice miłości i oddania, choć tak bardzo wstydził się okazywania czułości przy innych.
Arthur nie był romantykiem - tak twierdził. Ale potrafił i wiedział, jak rozpalić moje serce do czerwoności niczym kowal rozpalający stal w kuźni - aż iskrzą oczy.
Dzisiejszy dzień był, cóż, trudny - delikatnie mówiąc.
Pani Grimshaw kłóciła się z Panną Karen o dosłownie wszystko, a nad obozem wisiała ciężka, duszna atmosfera podsycana jedynie zachowaniem Pana Bell, który zdawał się czerpać przyjemność z dokuczania innym w obozie. Byłam rozdrażniona i marzyłam już tylko o tym by skryć się w namiocie z książką i kubkiem gorącej kawy - choć nie było mi to dane. Pani Grimshaw oczywiście z rozkoszą znajdowała dla mnie kolejne zajęcia - wszystko dla dobra naszej małej rodzinki.
Frustracja we mnie rosła, a czarę goryczy przelała koszula - nie wiem czyja - z dziurą na rękawie, którą znalazłam podczas prania.
I wtedy pojawił się on.
Arthur podszedł do mnie od tyłu i objął ramionami w talii.
Zaśmiałam się cicho, gdy całował mnie w policzek i szeptał do ucha:
- Chodź ze mną, piękna. Mam dla ciebie niespodziankę.
Nie byłam pewna, co znów chodziło mu po głowie, ale po jego przebiegłym uśmieszku wiedziałam jedno - coś knuje.
Jakie było moje zdziwienie, kiedy zaprowadził mnie na polanę pełną kwiatów, z dala od zgiełku obozu.
Na zielonej trawie czekał koc i wiklinowy kosz z przekąskami.
Arthur Morgan zorganizował piknik.
Nie do wiary.
Usiedliśmy razem, ramieniem w ramię, po prostu ciesząc się ciszą, spokojem i swoim towarzystwem - żadnej presji, żadnych wymagań.
A potem znów pocałował mnie w czubek głowy i szepnął:
- Nie jestem dobrym człowiekiem. Ale dla ciebie, księżniczko zacząłem robić się miękki.
Miękki? - Ah Arthurze, wszakże jest to tylko jedna z wielu twoich zalet. Jedna z wielu cech, które w tobie kocham. - Wbrew temu jak niewiele sam o sobie myślał, wielu z nas dostrzega to czego on nie widział.
W końcu nie liczyło się to, jakim człowiekiem był dla świata.
