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!
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 17:58:27 GMT -5
“I hurt you…” Regan blurted breathlessly, brow pinched together over wide eyes. The cuts didn’t seem to be deep, but they were there all the same. What was worse is that she could still feel the itch in her fingertips, as if at any moment the claws might spring forward again.
But goddesses, it felt so good. Good to be safe, to be wanted, to be close and cared for. To let go. Regan’s eyes bounced around Warren’s face, also searching, as if he might order her out at any moment.
"Did you?" He asked, lifting his brows as if he hadn't noticed the stinging pain when he moved, or the awkward yet familiar feeling of blood dripping down his back. "No, I don't think so." He grinned somewhat, wrapping his arm around her waist and adjusting them both on the couch so that he had room to lay beside her. He pulled her against him, kissing the top of her head and wrapping his arms around her. Pressing his wounds against the material of the couch was a little uncomfortable, but the thing needed to be thrown away anyway. He'd get up eventually, have them cleaned or take a potion to heal them. But for now, he'd hold her for as long as she'd let him.
"As long as you're alright, I'm alright. You did well. The room isn't on fire, is it?"
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 18:19:49 GMT -5
Yes, he was acting, but Regan was grateful. Whatever tough front Regan put on day-to-day was just that—a front. She was a stray looking for scratches and table scraps. Likely to growl, but in truth hungry for affection. Warren’s praise delighted her. Regan nestled in alongside him as she provided warmth enough for them both.
“Guess not,” Regan said, lacing her fingers through Warren’s with a contented sigh, “If that’s the metric we’re using for performance.” She smirked, twisting her head so that she could look up at him—as starry-eyed as any schoolgirl with a crush had ever been.
As she laced their fingers, he drew both hands up, kissing the back of hers before letting them fall again. "Well, it's not a perfect system by any means, but we can work on it." He laughed, and looked down at her. That was a look he hadn't seen in a long time. She'd looked at him plenty of ways before, almost always with some varying form of desire - desire to release what was inside of her, desire for answers, desire for sex. But this look felt different, and he soaked it in. Even if it was fleeting, he'd take what he could get.
He still had questions, but they could wait. They'd only ruin the peace between them. "I'm glad you came here tonight. I was worried about you."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 19:30:09 GMT -5
We can work on it.
Regan’s heart skipped a beat. Was it hope? Fear? Both? Hope, that he was going to toss her aside, now done with her. Fear of what that might mean, or who stood to get hurt of either of them made promises they couldn’t keep. But for now, Regan pushed the fear aside. She reveled in the moment of reprieve from her rage that still paced distantly in the shadows.
Silly as it was, Warren’s concern made Regan blush. She squeezed his hand, shaking her head a little. “Cassian might be an enigma in some respects, but he takes care of his own. I’ll be alright I just…” Regan shrugged, “Didn’t want anyone to see me just yet. But I didn’t want to be alone either.”
She’d twist around so she could put her forehead against his, breathing him in with a slight wolfish rumble.
Last Edit: Apr 2, 2023 19:30:40 GMT -5 by Regan Lassiter
"In some respects?" He asked, a chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Well, that makes me all the more grateful to him." He would leave out the bit about not wanting to hand her over. When Cassian had asked to take her, Warren had wanted to pull away, keep her there, in his arms. Run to the healers. The tiniest bit of reason that had hung on throughout the night had interrupted, reminding him of just what Regan had said. Cassian had taken her because he was best able to help her. But for that split second, Warren would have fought the King himself.
And died. Which wouldn't have helped Regan at all.
"I see you," he said as she pressed her forehead to his. "And I've told you before. My time is yours. Whenever you have need of it, I'll be here. So you don't have to be alone."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 2, 2023 21:37:21 GMT -5
Regan breathed deeply, trying not to focus on the scent of blood that tugged at the wolf in the dark. It was a dance of danger and tension, keeping the animal instincts separate from her human sensibilities. She trembled against him as a shuddering breath left her body. Big eyes looked up at Warren as her bloodstained fingers drew lazy lines up his neck and around the contour of his jaw.
Regan was quiet for a long moment before she spoke.
“I don’t know if I can be what you’re looking for. I’m not like you,” Regan grinned brushing along his cheek, “Old fashioned, that is.”
He couldn't help but frown. Not because he was unhappy with her. He'd expected her to feel that way. He'd had his moment, seen that look in her eyes and enjoyed the way she clung to him. But he'd known before she ever walked through the door that what she wanted and what he wanted were not two things that matched. He was okay with that, really. He was more disappointed in himself for not realizing the lack of time he had left. He'd spent so long in denial that now that he knew what he wanted, it was too late.
"I know," he replied quietly, his feelings caught somewhere deep in his chest. "It doesn't matter. As long as I can be of some comfort to you, I'm fine right where I am."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 3, 2023 8:42:15 GMT -5
It did matter. When Warren frowned, Regan wanted to take the words back. She wanted to lie, to tell him that she could be more than the woman curled up against him on a couch in his office. But it would be just that—a lie. Perhaps it was selfish of her to be here, but whatever guilt she might have felt wasn’t strong enough to push her to leave. Warren was shelter from her rage. Cassian couldn’t give that to her, and right now, that was what she craved.
As if it were an apology, a still gooey-eyed, captivated Regan kissed him softly and stroked the stubble on his cheek with her fingertips. There was still blood on them, but Regan had forgotten it.
“Well then, Captain, I think you’ll have to find yourself a new couch,” Regan teased, dark eyes shimmering with lamplight, “Though…perhaps you do make it home on occasion?” There was a second, unspoken question in there, one Regan was reluctant to ask outright.
He closed his eyes for a moment while she kissed him, and lifted his hand up to press against hers, flattening it against his face. Then he turned his head to kiss her palm. He wasn't bothered by the blood, either, and the burning feeling in the cuts of his back had begun to fade. Now it was just her, and her warmth.
"A new couch?" He shook his head. "Ms. Lassiter, I'll be doing no such thing. This one has so much character, now." Jokes aside, yes, he'd have to get a new one. And trying to explain the blood was going to be interesting. He wasn't sure if it was fortunate for him that absolutely no one would ever guess what had actually happened, or if it was just kind of sad. That was kind of funny, too.
Warren's eyes did turn to meet hers, though, and he fought to urge to make another dumb joke about how it was just easier if the soldiers thought he disappeared into thin air whenever he wasn't in the military wing. "On occasion, I do," he confirmed, fingers sliding down the curve of her body absently. "You're welcome there whenever you like, just say the word."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 3, 2023 12:27:29 GMT -5
Regan practically purred as Warren’s fingers slid across her skin. She squeezed his hand, entirely content, the trouble and turmoil of the world without the door almost forgotten. It was a calm and comfort she hadn’t felt for a long, long time.
But all good things must come to an end.
Regan nodded, still stroking the stubble on his cheek with her thumb, warmth transferring from the fever heat of her hand to his face. It would be an impractical thing in the summer, she was sure, but in winter, the every-burning fire in her skin had its advantages.
She smiled before she kissed him again. “I will,” Regan whispered with all the giddiness of a lovesick teenager. After a long, lingering look, Regan sighed. “I should go,” a smirk tugged at her mouth, “Lest I tarnish your reputation forever.”
Although it was the last thing he wanted, he could only nod. He wouldn't hold her there with him longer than she felt comfortable. But he did pull his hand away from hers so he could lift both to either side of her head, turning it slightly to the side so he could lean in to kiss the scars along her face. Down her nose, down her cheeks, until he got to the one across her lips, which he also kissed. "If you must," he sighed. "But I hope you know that I would like you to stay."
He let his hands fall away from her face, then climbed over her and off of the couch. He picked up her pants first, handing them to her, before taking his own and pulling them on. Then turned in search of their shirts. He paused when he saw the documents that he'd swiped off of Jasper's desk and laughed to himself, before picking her shirt up and offering it to her. "You can come to me for anything, Regan. You know that, right? Not just for this."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 3, 2023 18:09:17 GMT -5
Regan felt the hot tears rising again when Warren traced his scars. It was deeply vain to be bothered by them, Regan knew that, particularly considering a boy had lost his life while she still had hers. But it didn’t stop her nagging insecurity from sticking its needle in her and twisting. She imagined that with each of Warren’s kisses the scars faded, faded until they’d disappeared entirely. When he reached her lips, she kissed him back.
Reluctantly, Regan got up and started to dress, buttoning her trousers before turning in search of her shirt. Warren held it out to her, and she took it, approaching as she did to feel along the muscled contours of his chest. Tipping her chin back, she looked up at him with the same starry-eyed look he’d seen before.
“I know.” Regan kissed him once again before slipping her tunic over her head, tying the neck up tight so it covered the scars on her chest.
"Good," he said, kissing her back and watching her slip the shirt over her head. He reached for her hair, running his fingers through it to straighten it out, fix it the way she normally wore it. Then he bent to pick his own shirt up and pull his arms through the sleeves. As soon as the material grazed the cuts on his back he shuddered. The feeling wasn't necessarily painful, just unpleasant.
He looked back at her, and reached out to take her by the wrist, to pull her hand up to kiss it once more before she left. "I meant what I said earlier, too, Regan. You should at least try to talk to someone. It might make you feel better. There are people you can trust." From his pinky finger he pulled the ring that she had handed off to him at the ball and unfolded her fingers, resting it in her palm. "He did well while you were gone."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Apr 4, 2023 9:58:25 GMT -5
Regan, no doubt, had some…issues to work through. More often than not, looking for a romantic partner and father figure was often the same pursuit for the huntsman. Or hunt, if you will. So when Warren smoothed her hair, the little orphan hungry for affection peeked her head out from her hiding place with a doe-eyed smile.
When Warren took her wrist, she stepped closer, relishing the feeling of his hand on hers as he dropped the ring into her palm. She smirked, slipping it on her finger. “He does, on occasion, listen,” Regan joked before rising up on her toes to kiss Warren again.