The peace that formerly reigned in Terra Nova has eroded, now little more than a memory. War ravages the continent. Disputes divide kingdoms; ideals divide families. The quest for power consumes absolutely and indiscriminately. None are immune to its allure.
Who will rise and who will fall? Only time—and ambition—will tell.
UPDATES
05.26.2023
2 month character creation hold for all existing members begins 6/5/2023. Ended 8/5/2023.
10.29.2023
Change in how times flows. Was 4 IC seasons, now only 2 IC seasons per 1 OOC year.
5 whole years of Heir Apparent goodness! When I started the site, I knew I was hunkering down for the long haul, but I never could have predicted the numerous twists and turns this roleplay site has seen. Hundreds of plots, characters, and members have come and gone, all leaving marks on the site. I am so very thankful for those who have invested. Because you keep coming back, keep getting on, and keep writing, Heir Apparent has the legacy it does today. Three cheers to us!
Even as her shirt came off, Warren's eyes remained on her face, though they had moved down from her eyes to her lips. He reached for them, grazing them with his thumb first as she began to work on his buttons. He lifted a brow, one that might have challenged her. Any other day he would have reached for her hand and stopped her, but he wouldn't. Whether it was or not, he took her need to remove his shirt as vulnerability. So his shirt came off, slipping away to the floor and exposing the many scars he, too, had, from years of service. None of them were quite as large, as bad, or as fresh as hers, but if they comforted her in any way, he was thankful for them.
With half the barrier gone between them, he took hold of her left hand and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed her palm and from there worked his way up her arm, his eyes steady on her face. Her shoulder came next, and then her neck again, briefly, before he moved down her chest. He wasn't following the line of her scars like he had been before, but he wouldn't avoid them either. His lips touched every inch of her possible, save what her remaining clothes covered, and then followed the same path upward again until finally he met her lips with his.
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 1, 2023 21:28:06 GMT -5
Regan had started to tremble with both the thrill and frustration of it all. ‘Slow’ wasn’t something Regan did well, nor something she had much experience with, but Warren’s raised eyebrow was enough to nudge her back into place. Authority was something Regan understood well, so, with a needy, wolfish rumble she slowed. She traced the scars with the same gentleness he had hers. It wasn’t the same, no, but it was enough to soothe the hot tears. To loosen the tension in her shoulders.
Regan’s eyes followed her hand as Warren lifted it to his lips. They were fully alight now, kindled to glow with flickering copper and veins of bright amber. Her breath quickened with every kiss, everyone building until she wriggled a little with impatience. When Warren’s lips met hers, she pressed into him eagerly. Her hands predictably drifted, tugging at his belt with hasty fervor.
It wasn't even worth attempting to deny that he, too, was eager, but Warren had always been a patient man when it came to things he really wanted. Clearly more patient than Regan, though he wouldn't admit that her desire excited him all the more. When her hands moved to his belt, one of his would move down to catch her by the wrist and pull it away. His lips pulled away, too, the other hand taking her chin between two fingers. "My pace," he reminded her, stern but still quiet. Then he kissed her again, and his hands took their place on the back side of her upper thighs, lifting her from the desk and carrying her over to the couch.
There he sat her down on the edge again, lips tracing the now familiar pathways of her chest while his fingers worked to unbutton her pants. Unless she protested, he would pull them, and whatever may be beneath them, down the length of her legs and slip them off. Then he'd get down on his knees in front of the couch, lift her right leg up toward his mouth, kiss her ankle, and begin working his way up in the same way he'd done with her arm.
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 6:38:11 GMT -5
Regan’s breath caught as Warren snatched her wrist. Her glowing eyes snapped to his, his deep voice rumbling through the space between them. The embers of hellwolf fury burned hot for a moment but then…
Warren held her chin. The huntsman surrendered with a satisfied whimper. She’d gotten what she wanted, after all. A correction. An ever-so-savored slap on the wrist. Regan nodded, big dark eyes gazing up at Warren like he was something to be worshiped.
Regan wrapped her legs around Warren so she could be carried away. Once on the couch, she lifted her hips so her trousers could slide off easily. Despite her inclination to rush, she resisted reaching for him. Panting and expectant, Regan let Warren start his slow ascent as she trembled. The slight whimpers, the soft moans all were mixed with a wolfish rumble that loomed like distant thunder.
He kept his eyes on her as he devoted attention to both legs, more slowly than he knew she would have liked, but that build up of tension was what he wanted. Both legs would end up draped over his shoulders, and his hands would slide up her chest, pushing her to lay back against the couch if she wasn't already. His right hand followed down the length of her arm and tangled his fingers in hers. "Control that strength of yours," he told her as he kissed her thigh. "And the fire. You don't need them right now."
Then his lips finished their descent to between her thighs, and his left hand roamed her body, grazing her skin, taking note of the heat and her reactions, ever ready to clamp itself gently over her mouth should she get too loud.
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 12:36:47 GMT -5
He’d have to silence her. Regan’s claws dug into the poor, already worn couch as she fought the rise of her fire. The rage, the frustration that had sent her storming into Cassian’s dining room had morphed entirely into lust. Regan surrendered to his patient attentions until she was shaking with a moan thrumming beneath his fingers.
Widower he may be, Warren evidently still remembered a thing or two, and Regan was all too willing to benefit from his expertise. Eventually, Regan could take it no longer. She tangled a hand in his hair to draw him up and kiss him desperately.
“Please.” The word was a breathy whisper, accompanied by shining hazy eyes.
The way her body moved, the way her legs tightened around him and her moans muffled themselves in his palm, it was all cathartic in it's own way, to him. He was a man born to serve, so despite his demand that they move at his pace, he could hardly deny her when she pulled him up to kiss her. The request, simple and near-silent, almost lost him his control.
But he would nod, leaning over to kiss the side of her face and then trace his tongue along her neck as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants off, stepping out of them. One arm would feel it's way around her waist, moving her sideways to lay across the couch instead of sitting upright on it. His knee would push her outer leg to the side, making room for him between them, but once more he'd plant his lips along the line of her hips and kiss his way upward. Then he'd press his forehead to hers, lips close, eyes on hers. "Shhh," he'd remind her as he reached down to guide himself into her and, with a breath of pleasure, rested his hand on her neck, fingers reaching up to her jaw as he moved.
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 13:37:57 GMT -5
The tenderness was both warming and infuriating. Two factions of her soul were at war with one another: the deferential, docile girl that wanted nothing more than the gentle affection Warren offered and the wolfish beast that wanted to sink her teeth into his shoulder and be torn apart at the seams. Regan’s eyes lit with fire, the hint of fangs starting to brush her bottom lip. The heat would rise in her skin, breath quickening until her brow pinched together in panic.
Squirming beneath him, Regan put her hand over his as it rested on her neck. She pressed, squeezing her hand around her throat over Warren’s, hoping that he'd take the hint. There was a plea in Regan’s eyes. A don’t-let-me-hurt-you plea, a possibility that should have likely been discussed in greater detail prior.
Warren recognized what she wanted from him, and felt the way her skin grew hotter, nearly beginning to burn. He pulled his hand away from her throat, though, pulling her wrists together into his left hand and pinning them over top her head, against the arm of the couch. Then his right hand returned to her throat, and this time he did grip it more tightly, and he began to move a little more forcefully.
"You burn," he said between careful kisses, avoiding sharp teeth. "Then I burn. Is that what you want?" He asked, watching her golden eyes. "Are you going to let what's inside of you control you, or can you trust me to do that?"
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 14:30:41 GMT -5
Regan inhaled sharply, followed by a rumbling growl. She didn’t fight his grip. The sound of his voice, the strength of his hands—the wolf folded when she was brought under his control. Trust. That was the missing piece, one that Regan hesitated to reach for. It was a rare thing, a frightening thing, but eventually, she gave in.
“You...”
Regan whimpered, eyes still burning, but her fangs retreating as she panted beneath him. Despite her rank, Regan had never stopped being a woman of service and submission. And Warren’s rank was hardly what made him the authority here—now.
Eyes on her lips as her fangs disappeared once more, he nodded, moving down to kiss her, his lips trailing toward her ear again to whisper. "Good, Regan. I trust you, too. Don't break that trust." His left hand retracted from her wrists, freeing her hands, and inched down to take hold of her thigh, fingers gripping her skin and pulling her closer to him while his lips moved back to her shoulder and began to nibble at it. The hand that had been wrapped around her throat slipped to the arm of the couch behind her, grabbing it tightly to use it for leverage. His own breathing had quickened in pace, the occasional grunt and groan pushing it's way out.
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 16:03:43 GMT -5
Don’t break that trust.
It was both wonderful and tortuous to fight the fire that blazed just beneath the surface. She reached for Warren instead of its consuming power—dark eyes gazing up at him as the amber flickered and flared in their depths. She wanted to burn but also wanted to be free of the need to. To be wrapped by something less violent, more controlled. But the fire built, and grew harder and harder to hold back. Regan gasped, her brow pinching together as her heart hammered in her chest.
Regan held onto him, fingers gripping his back as she charged toward the edge. She was suddenly afraid, trying to meet his eyes her breath came in short gasps. No, she couldn’t do it. It was too dangerous, but also too late. The match had been set to the gunpowder for its inevitable ignition.
“Warren—” Regan bucked beneath him. Her claws extended with a growling moan, hooking into Warren’s back so that blood would spring from where they’d dragged into his skin.
Last Edit: Apr 2, 2023 16:05:19 GMT -5 by Regan Lassiter
Warren clenched his jaw against the pain of her claws. The pain itself was not something he enjoyed, but it was not something he minded, either. He'd been in pain before, he knew how to utilize it to push forward. It was part of what made him a good soldier.
He met her eyes, forehead pressed against hers again. "That's okay," he assured her as he pushed a little further. "I'm okay. You're okay. I've got you. Look at me, focus on me. Be here with me, just you." The hand that had been holding her thigh curled it's way into the hair at the back of her head, not pulling at her hair, but gripping it. "You can do that, I know you can. Just a little longer."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 17:35:23 GMT -5
Once Regan descended her claws retracted and her eyes snapped to Warren in fear. She could feel the warmth of the pricking blood on her fingers from where they still pressed against his back. Regan knew she should retreat, but was unwilling to part despite her transgression. She let Warren soothe her, growing docile as the amber faded.
Regan nodded. She melted into him, breathing measured, brow pinched together as the relinquished herself to his care. Him. Just him. She watched him, every passing second the fire fading into something dark but equally as warm.
That was it. Just like that, he felt her fingers instead of the sharpness of her claws. Already the quickness of her breath was subsiding, and he let out a please sigh of his own, reaching for the undershorts from out of his pants that laid beside the couch to play medium to his own result. The subsiding warmth already felt cold, save for the places on his back that still bleed.
Still laid against her, his hands pressed against either side of her face, scanning it as if looking for signs of injury. "Are you okay?"