Love and Deepspace Dreams

If I ever left you waiting, would you know it was not my will? I’m standing here in the rain, waiting for only you. Can you feel my heart reaching out to yours? 💙The rain clung to his robes, soaking into embroidered silk that once only saw sunlight and ceremony. The crown prince stood unmoving, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, droplets tracing lines down a face carved by too much restraint. The palace gates loomed before him, the lanterns along the stone path flickering in the mist. He had dismissed the guards, the attendants, everyone. Tonight, he needed no witnesses. Tonight, he was not heir to an empire—only a man waiting for the sound of footsteps that had always returned to him before. He tilted his face ever so slightly toward the rain, as though it might wash away the ache lodged deep within his chest. Each beat of his heart whispered her name. Each passing second stretched into eternity, binding him tighter to the hope that she would appear, smiling as she alwa...

💗  I’m not rushing, just… expectant 🤭 don’t be mean while I’m the one in a blindfold! 💙 “I’m only teasing you, darling,” I say as my fingers curl around your neck, guiding you closer. “I’d never be mean to you.” 💗 “Is that so?” I breathe, a soft gasp escaping as your fingers find my neck. Then, lower— “I’m very curious to see just how tender you can be.” 💙 I hum lowly, replacing my fingers with my lips but still barely touching. They graze the soft skin underneath your ear as I speak. “I can show you.” 💗 I can feel my cheeks flush, my breath growing lighter, every nerve tuned to you. “Yes… I would like it if you did,” I whisper—barely holding the words together through the way you surprise me. 💙 I let my hand slide up your arm, fingertips light, and I can see the goosebumps rise on your milky skin. The blindfold only heightens everything you feel, urging me on to be extra fleeting with my touches. 💗 The slightest touch and my body answers for me—skin rising to ...

You’ve asked me what I want, your crimson eyes on mine. I could tease. I often do. But this time, I won’t let your smirk fool me. What I desire… is not something I'll say plainly. I want to be studied slowly… like a secret you intend to keep. I want you to touch what I haven't named, to feel what I withhold, to recognize the way I soften when you’re near. And if you learn me right… I’ll open for you completely. But don’t assume that softness is surrender. I may press my body to yours, kiss your throat, let your hands map my ache… but don’t be mistaken. I will learn you in return. I’ll know what makes your voice drop. What hunger flickers behind your gaze when you think I’m not watching. I’ll memorize the way your grip changes when you want more than closeness, when you want what I have not yet offered. And once I’ve learned enough to call it mine… I won’t ask. I’ll take it. So if I let you mark me thus… you’d best know what it means. Because I won't speak of what I crave. N...

What is roleplay (RP)?   Assuming a character role, like an actor/actress, and communicating with others within the constraints of that character.  Here in the LADS RP community, we see RP of love interests (LI), supporting NPCs (e.g. Tara, Greyson, Yvonne, the twins), and main characters (MCs). Some  RP accs will play to canon only, but others will interpret with creative liberties (‘AU’ or alternate universe).  Those responding as MCs may respond as ‘self-insert’ (retaining their IRL personality within the fandom universe) or create an MC persona and respond using their desired characteristics. Common terms Scene/play/plot = The premise of the RP interaction, either casual or more involved. ‘ Literacy ’ = can mean many things, but in my eyes generally describes the fluency or detail of the RPer’s responses. In simple terms, it can be ‘literate/lit’, ‘semi-lit’ or ‘advanced lit’. Most casual RP with shorter responses is semi-lit (what we do on posts/GC/story tags!)...

You touched me once, salt on your skin. I tasted the waves where you had been. I slept with you, a night you stole. Your soul right into mine it bore. I still sleep curled to where you breathed. Your scent- ash, storm, some myth I grieve. They said you marched. They said you sailed. And in the end, my courage failed. I held your name between my thighs- It’s all I have to warm my nights. My heart won’t break, my soul won’t bruise- But still I cannot cut you loose. There was no sound, no word, no laugh- Eroded in the shore-side path. Sea at my ankles. Don’t let me drown. In your domain, I’ll seek my crown.

The fire had dimmed. Zayne was fast asleep after a few cups of mulled wine, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other still stretched out where Lassy had been. Xavier too had drifted off, curled around Lei’s blanket, his breathing slow and steady. Sylus sat with a restless energy at the edge of a woven mat, legs stretched, one hand tapping the ground, the other idly playing with Lei’s hair as she lay sprawled on his lap, watching the glowing embers. Lassy came to them without a word. Eased in beside him, close and easy, as old friends and lovers. She picked up the shared mug he’d left untouched and ladled some mulled wine into it. Offered it to him, but didn’t let go. Just held it between them, letting the firelight ripple across the surface. Waiting. His fingers brushed hers as he reached, but she didn’t release it. “Can’t sleep?” she asked, her voice low. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She could already feel it... the heat beneath his skin, the restless pull. Lei shifted in hi...

The sun was just starting to set when they finished establishing their camp for the weekend. It was warm out, comfortable enough to take their time while preparing their meal. Lei was busy laying out some fruit, mostly strawberries, sorting them by color and softness. She ran her fingers lightly over each one before handing them to Xavier, who deposited them into a bowl. He kneeled quietly beside her, but close enough that the others wouldn’t forget who she had come with. Lassy crouched by the fire, stirring the lit coals with the end of a stick. Zayne hovered closely behind her. He was silent as usual, just adjusted the grill and stayed near, steady as he always was. She let the heat rise. Near the cooler, Sylus was picking through bottles of flavour-infused mead, humming and turning each one in his hand like he was selecting a vintage wine. “Cherry or strawberry?” he asked, holding up both bottles. His tone was light, but the glance he gave Zayne said he hadn’t forgotten who had got ...