Sorry for not being online! I had to do some grant writing (I only died inside a little bit).
Beliael
Member
Mostly Void
Partially Stars
STATUS:
Finished a grant propsal and got my research for the next semester green lighted, so I should be much more active now.
7 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
- Joined: 7 yrs ago
- Posts: 37 (0.01 / day)
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Username history
- Beliael 7 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
7 yrs ago
Current
Finished a grant propsal and got my research for the next semester green lighted, so I should be much more active now.
7
likes
7 yrs ago
So many replies to write, so little time!
2
likes
7 yrs ago
It feels so good to reply to all your RPs but then you just sit there wondering... well, now what?
3
likes
7 yrs ago
My immune system sucks so bad that I got the flu -- in July.
4
likes
7 yrs ago
I feel like garbage and I'm on both NyQuil and Benadryl so I can't write for shit right now. Sorry everyone, hoping to be functional soon!
Bio
It's Nikki! Or Beliael. Whatever floats your fantasy boat. Why Beliael? It's an adaptation of Belial/Beliar, a fallen angel whose name means "without worth". It is both edgy and apt. Oh, they are also cited as being the true ruler of the world and an angel of lawlessness. Like I said, edgy.
My avatar was initially a tardigrade, but I noticed I was unsettled by people's avatars when they were that abstract, which gave me no idea of their personality and/or appearance. So... have a very edited, ghostly image of my face. I'd post a normal one, but some of y'all are creepy.
I have a Discord (same username and icon) so if you'd rather chat on there, let me know! ^.^
Some Fast Facts About Moi
☼ 18 years old
☼ Female
☼ I live in the Midwestern United States/Central time zone (think Children of the Corn but way more boring)
☼ Enginerd, but a bioengineer, so slightly less cringy than some other enginerds(?)
☼ "Oh Nikki, you're such a typical Libra" ~ one of my friends who then proceeded to tell me my dog was so interesting because she's a Sagittarius, so... yeah, you decide how much stock to put in that.
☼ INTJ, if you'd rather put your trust in a psychology
☼ Starving bibliophile
☼ Working weird hours during the day, will mostly be on at night
I'm a total newbie to roleplay, long story short. I'm hoping to meet some cool people and learn how to become the best roleplayer I possibly can, though!
Preferably, I'd like to do 1x1s with a partner who is willing to critique me and help me grow as a writer and partner. Think of me as a blank slate that you can mold into your perfect partner!
My avatar was initially a tardigrade, but I noticed I was unsettled by people's avatars when they were that abstract, which gave me no idea of their personality and/or appearance. So... have a very edited, ghostly image of my face. I'd post a normal one, but some of y'all are creepy.
I have a Discord (same username and icon) so if you'd rather chat on there, let me know! ^.^
Some Fast Facts About Moi
☼ 18 years old
☼ Female
☼ I live in the Midwestern United States/Central time zone (think Children of the Corn but way more boring)
☼ Enginerd, but a bioengineer, so slightly less cringy than some other enginerds(?)
☼ "Oh Nikki, you're such a typical Libra" ~ one of my friends who then proceeded to tell me my dog was so interesting because she's a Sagittarius, so... yeah, you decide how much stock to put in that.
☼ INTJ, if you'd rather put your trust in a psychology
☼ Starving bibliophile
☼ Working weird hours during the day, will mostly be on at night
I'm a total newbie to roleplay, long story short. I'm hoping to meet some cool people and learn how to become the best roleplayer I possibly can, though!
Preferably, I'd like to do 1x1s with a partner who is willing to critique me and help me grow as a writer and partner. Think of me as a blank slate that you can mold into your perfect partner!
Most Recent Posts
Finally replied! Poor Briallen has no clue what's going on 
Briallen screamed -- she would tell herself later it was in rage and not fear -- at the honeyed voice in her ear. "Don't mind if I do," it taunted, detached yet terribly close at the same time. She could hear the grin behind the words, imagine the unseen face of her husband-to-be and she found herself wondering what color the Elfking would bleed. Rage and utter shock clouded her mind, but as her ears popped with the changing altitude, the same way they did when visiting the mountains, she regained her senses.
Someone was touching her.
She tried to twist, to grab and claw at whoever had their chest pressed against her back. But he was too strong, arms restraining her masterfully, the way the royal guards would detain someone, pinioning their arms without breaking their ribs. Her legs were free, but she despite how wildly she kicked, she never felt her foot connect with any part of fae behind her. His chin rested on her shoulder, and from the corner of her eye she could see a self-satisfied grin and auburn hair blown in the wind.
"A friendly word of advice: It's terribly unwise to insult your kidnapper, yaknow."
The words of advice made her blood boil, and she didn't notice the sudden lack of force exerted against the back of her legs.
"Kidnapped?" she sputtered, "Why the hell would to kidnap your bride, you traitorous silver-tongued whoreson --" her string of insults was cut short as she -- they -- were suddenly falling, barreling earthwards at an alarming rate. Her hair began to unravel itself, flowers shredded into individual petals as the wind mercilessly pulled them apart.
She struggled harder, trying to elbow and contort herself out of the fae's grasp. "Damn you Alyuin," she snarled, for she had never seen the King of Elfland to know this was not him, and her sense of logic dictated he was the only one who could've possibly done this. "My father will wage war, I will make you regret ever wanting to wed!" She lost a single shoe as she tried, once more, to kick her captor in the shin. "I hope we both die on impact," voice fading to a hoarse whisper.
Someone was touching her.
She tried to twist, to grab and claw at whoever had their chest pressed against her back. But he was too strong, arms restraining her masterfully, the way the royal guards would detain someone, pinioning their arms without breaking their ribs. Her legs were free, but she despite how wildly she kicked, she never felt her foot connect with any part of fae behind her. His chin rested on her shoulder, and from the corner of her eye she could see a self-satisfied grin and auburn hair blown in the wind.
"A friendly word of advice: It's terribly unwise to insult your kidnapper, yaknow."
The words of advice made her blood boil, and she didn't notice the sudden lack of force exerted against the back of her legs.
"Kidnapped?" she sputtered, "Why the hell would to kidnap your bride, you traitorous silver-tongued whoreson --" her string of insults was cut short as she -- they -- were suddenly falling, barreling earthwards at an alarming rate. Her hair began to unravel itself, flowers shredded into individual petals as the wind mercilessly pulled them apart.
She struggled harder, trying to elbow and contort herself out of the fae's grasp. "Damn you Alyuin," she snarled, for she had never seen the King of Elfland to know this was not him, and her sense of logic dictated he was the only one who could've possibly done this. "My father will wage war, I will make you regret ever wanting to wed!" She lost a single shoe as she tried, once more, to kick her captor in the shin. "I hope we both die on impact," voice fading to a hoarse whisper.
Words from the past came flooding back in as quiet murmurs about the creeping storm began, as Briallen remembered her tutor's words when she was young, after she'd dramatically said she wished she could die instead of eat any Brussel sprouts with dinner."Briallen, you must be careful what you wish for. You never know who's listening. Especially this close to the Faewilds, child.
Briallen felt as though she might be sick. She regretted her earlier thoughts, she just wanted this ordeal over with, smoothly, as planned. The winds only seemed to pick up after her father made his quiet comment, as though angered. Was this some Faerie trick because of her hopes for a rain-out? Was Alyuin doing this for her wicked and selfish thought? Or just to scare her? To scare everyone? Her veil was ripped from her hair, and she reached for it with her free hand reflexively. It moved unnatural in the air, floating upwards instead of being blown one direction or another. Before she could process the strangeness, the sky roared
Her ears rang, the world unclear from the force of the thunderclap. Had she screamed? She wasn't sure, but she did once she saw people being lifted into the wind, tossed about like ragdolls, joining silken decorations and wooden furniture being whisked about. She clung to her father, desperately, wanting to close her eyes, but unable to stop watching the carnage. The new future she had almost made peace with seemed as tattered and torn as the banners, ripped from their posts. The massive creaking cry of trees being uprooted joined the cacophony.
Briallen looked towards the sky, sentient and living with beasts for which she had no name. Their cunning eyes all seemed focused on one thing: her.
Please let this stop, she thought, as the wind pulled at her. It felt as though a rope had been tied around her ankles, being pulled skywards while it pushed Draenir away. She wanted to scream at him to not let go, please, please, do not let go. She heard the desperation in his voice as he called her name, as her fingers began to slip. She could find no words to speak as she met her father's eyes. She wanted to apologize, to tell him she loved him, to say goodbye. But she knew what she needed to do.
"Whoever you are, please, stop!" she screamed, as loudly as she could over the shrieking wind. "If it's me you want, just... just take me, you bastard," she declared, voice somewhere between a war cry and a sob.
Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't hold on any longer. The moment she lost her grip on her father felt like an eternity, like she would forever feel her fingers relinquishing control to the storm.
She squeezed her eyes shut, frightened, and not wanting to see her father's face as the wind picked her up with a unnatural sense of direction and purpose.
Briallen felt as though she might be sick. She regretted her earlier thoughts, she just wanted this ordeal over with, smoothly, as planned. The winds only seemed to pick up after her father made his quiet comment, as though angered. Was this some Faerie trick because of her hopes for a rain-out? Was Alyuin doing this for her wicked and selfish thought? Or just to scare her? To scare everyone? Her veil was ripped from her hair, and she reached for it with her free hand reflexively. It moved unnatural in the air, floating upwards instead of being blown one direction or another. Before she could process the strangeness, the sky roared
Her ears rang, the world unclear from the force of the thunderclap. Had she screamed? She wasn't sure, but she did once she saw people being lifted into the wind, tossed about like ragdolls, joining silken decorations and wooden furniture being whisked about. She clung to her father, desperately, wanting to close her eyes, but unable to stop watching the carnage. The new future she had almost made peace with seemed as tattered and torn as the banners, ripped from their posts. The massive creaking cry of trees being uprooted joined the cacophony.
Briallen looked towards the sky, sentient and living with beasts for which she had no name. Their cunning eyes all seemed focused on one thing: her.
Please let this stop, she thought, as the wind pulled at her. It felt as though a rope had been tied around her ankles, being pulled skywards while it pushed Draenir away. She wanted to scream at him to not let go, please, please, do not let go. She heard the desperation in his voice as he called her name, as her fingers began to slip. She could find no words to speak as she met her father's eyes. She wanted to apologize, to tell him she loved him, to say goodbye. But she knew what she needed to do.
"Whoever you are, please, stop!" she screamed, as loudly as she could over the shrieking wind. "If it's me you want, just... just take me, you bastard," she declared, voice somewhere between a war cry and a sob.
Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't hold on any longer. The moment she lost her grip on her father felt like an eternity, like she would forever feel her fingers relinquishing control to the storm.
She squeezed her eyes shut, frightened, and not wanting to see her father's face as the wind picked her up with a unnatural sense of direction and purpose.
No problem! I'll try to work on a reply so you have something to reply to!
So sorry for not being on! Work has been awful. I'm planning on posting a lot this weekend though!
Briallen was glad it was her father who had opened the door; she needn't hide how she felt from him. His eyes were faintly reddened, and she imagined hers were the same. I always thought my eyes were mother's but it looks like they were father's in the end, she thought wryly, trying to force a smile from the bittersweet fault but only managing a slight twitch of the lips, the kind that locks away unspoken words. Draenir looked like her had also been groomed, and at another time and place, she would've giggled at the matching flowers in their hair.
Her breath was shaky with cries that she had internalized, but could not entirely suppress or prevent. Her father's words made her smile, just a little. She hoped it was enough for him to see. A flicker of strength and hope. He was right, Mother would be proud. She was the kind of woman Briallen always wanted to be: strong, unapologetic, caring, and entirely devoted to her people. Her smile could light up the same room her frown had darkened, she tempered her words with elegance and wit, and above all, though memories slipped away every day, she had been a good mother. Would Briallen be a good mother?
The train of thought made her stomach turn. She'd heard stories of Halflings her entire life, but she was never sure if they fact or fantasy. She didn't want to know. Oh Gods, she might have been sheltered, but she knew what usually awaited brides on their wedding night. Please let him be kind, please let him understand what this is like, she prayed, unsure of to whom. She tried to fix her gaze firmly ahead, but she was bleary eyed and the veil seemed more difficult to look through than before. She couldn't ascertain whether the King of Elfland stood at the alter yet. She knew he would be. He had to be.
That's the only reason it would be so quiet. Weddings were usually full of cheering and merriness, even as the bride was led down the aisle. Were they looking at her or the faerie?
She was chewing her lip again, reopening the gash she had created earlier. She felt the salty blood dribble off her bottom lip and slide down her chin. She could almost smell the metallic scent...
No. That was a different smell. Like the air before a storm. Hadn't the sky been cleared?
Were the Gods answering her prayer? Would the wedding be rained out? Would she get one more day with her father?
She crossed her fingers for luck.
Her breath was shaky with cries that she had internalized, but could not entirely suppress or prevent. Her father's words made her smile, just a little. She hoped it was enough for him to see. A flicker of strength and hope. He was right, Mother would be proud. She was the kind of woman Briallen always wanted to be: strong, unapologetic, caring, and entirely devoted to her people. Her smile could light up the same room her frown had darkened, she tempered her words with elegance and wit, and above all, though memories slipped away every day, she had been a good mother. Would Briallen be a good mother?
The train of thought made her stomach turn. She'd heard stories of Halflings her entire life, but she was never sure if they fact or fantasy. She didn't want to know. Oh Gods, she might have been sheltered, but she knew what usually awaited brides on their wedding night. Please let him be kind, please let him understand what this is like, she prayed, unsure of to whom. She tried to fix her gaze firmly ahead, but she was bleary eyed and the veil seemed more difficult to look through than before. She couldn't ascertain whether the King of Elfland stood at the alter yet. She knew he would be. He had to be.
That's the only reason it would be so quiet. Weddings were usually full of cheering and merriness, even as the bride was led down the aisle. Were they looking at her or the faerie?
She was chewing her lip again, reopening the gash she had created earlier. She felt the salty blood dribble off her bottom lip and slide down her chin. She could almost smell the metallic scent...
No. That was a different smell. Like the air before a storm. Hadn't the sky been cleared?
Were the Gods answering her prayer? Would the wedding be rained out? Would she get one more day with her father?
She crossed her fingers for luck.
Ugh, sorry for not being on. I will try to write a reply tonight/in the morning!
Briallen chewed her lip nervously as her father spoke once more, this time talking of memories long since tarnished by time. How funny, she thought, that as a baby she hardly cried, but now she was doing her best to not fall apart. If she did, she would never be able to piece herself back together. What would be more disrespectful to a king than for his bride to weep, for she did not want the life he had to offer?
She remained composed when her father first began, memories before she could remember anything at all with her fragile babe's mind. Her father, for the first time in days, sounded truly happy as he mused of her -- of their -- past. She didn't let a tear fall until he brought up her expeditions to the creek. Oh, he had seemed so furious! He chastised her for sullying her dress, for wandering too far, for dragging other children into the fields of tall grass and wild flowers to hold court for childish things. A single tear rolled down her face as Draenir lowered his tone, as he held her hands.
Draenir the Cunning, Bold, and True suddenly seemed his full size again, holding her hands within his and squeezing them with a father's reassurance. For the first time that morning, she purposefully looked her father in the eyes and made a solemn promise.
"I will, Daddy. I'll stay safe. And I'll find a way home or..." she trailed off, knowing how unlikely it would be to come back, trembling at the thought of what would happen to someone alone in the faewilds. "I -- I will find a way to be happy. But I will miss you and the family every day while I am gone," she amended, knowing the most likely truth, trying not to allow herself to sob. She quivered with sorrow, like a bowstring after releasing an arrow. Her bottom lip was seeping red from her nervous biting.
The knock on the carriage surprised her. She wanted to say "I love you" one last time, but she couldn't summon the strength to do so. Instead, she pulled her hands from her father's grasp, and indignantly wiped her face, as though angry with the saltwater tears. She hoped her eyes were not too red, lest they reflect her true emotions.
"I'm ready," she called to the coachman outside. He opened the carriage door, sunlight streaming in. Not a cloud in the sky. Good weather for a wedding, she thought bittersweetly to herself, looking over her shoulder one last time at her father before letting the eager staff lead her away from preparations.
The ladies in waiting got to work as soon as Briallen entered the room. Usually, there would be happy chatter, but they only whispered amongst themselves. The princess was bathed, her hair plaited back elegantly, her eyelids and lips painted with some vogue cosmetics that must've been exotic, for she did not recognize them. Finally: the dress. It was made of fabric so fine and soft that Briallen knew it wasn't of this world. A gift. The first gift from the King of Elfland. A white dress tinted pink for his new primrose.
It felt unnatural against her skin and it fit strangely, hugging her body. It was luxurious, with jewels encrusted in the top, and it looked as though a million tiny stars had been captured and but within the layers upon layers of the large, lacy skirt. She wanted to protest as the corset was cinched tighter, but she didn't have the breath with which to do it. Most days, she wore one only loosely, and even at past events, she'd never had worn one so tight.
They wouldn't allow her to look in the mirror. Perhaps they sensed her unease. Instead, they moved the mirror out of the room and spun her around as they situated the veil. This led to a small meeting, and they redid her hair, braiding it around her head like a crown, weaving flowers into it, and touched up her lips (the color of which Briallen wasn't sure, the cosmetic looked pink). They seemed to approve of this, and promptly placed the lacy veil back on.
As the ladies in waiting dispersed to make sure all arrangements for the next step were made, Briallen had nothing to do but glace at herself. The lace, she noticed, was not a traditional pattern. It weaved in and out and she swore she saw trees and spires, man and beast within the fabric. But if she focused too long, it was gone. Was it nerves? Was she wearing some fae enchanted dress? The former made Briallen more comfortable, so she chose it as her answer.
A lady of waiting ducked back inside the tent. "The carriage is here. Your father will meet you in the Glade when you step out of the carriage." She then helped Briallen into her shoes, which reminded her of riding boots, but with a more narrow heel and not nearly so tall.
The carriage she was ushered into was far more regal than the last, painted white with the royal insignia on the back. It was a lonely ride there, despite all the smiling faces she saw through the window. It was like a winter's day, white covering everything: white gossamer hanging on branches, temporary walkways, signs painted white. White was a hopeful color. She supposed it fit well enough. Women and children, even some men, wore flowers in their hair. They were symbolic of a beautiful new life. Which Briallen found ironic, since it was really just a temporary purpose: the flowers would wither and rot without their roots. Like a girl without a family.
She would have known they were close to the Glade even without the visual cues, the sounds of the river running over stone was slightly relaxing to her. Just a few miles downstream, however, it turned into rapids, crashing and violent. A metaphor for life, almost, she thought to herself.
The carriage came to a halt. It was silent.
And the door was opened.
Briallen's only thought as she saw the handle move was please let this end quickly.
She remained composed when her father first began, memories before she could remember anything at all with her fragile babe's mind. Her father, for the first time in days, sounded truly happy as he mused of her -- of their -- past. She didn't let a tear fall until he brought up her expeditions to the creek. Oh, he had seemed so furious! He chastised her for sullying her dress, for wandering too far, for dragging other children into the fields of tall grass and wild flowers to hold court for childish things. A single tear rolled down her face as Draenir lowered his tone, as he held her hands.
Draenir the Cunning, Bold, and True suddenly seemed his full size again, holding her hands within his and squeezing them with a father's reassurance. For the first time that morning, she purposefully looked her father in the eyes and made a solemn promise.
"I will, Daddy. I'll stay safe. And I'll find a way home or..." she trailed off, knowing how unlikely it would be to come back, trembling at the thought of what would happen to someone alone in the faewilds. "I -- I will find a way to be happy. But I will miss you and the family every day while I am gone," she amended, knowing the most likely truth, trying not to allow herself to sob. She quivered with sorrow, like a bowstring after releasing an arrow. Her bottom lip was seeping red from her nervous biting.
The knock on the carriage surprised her. She wanted to say "I love you" one last time, but she couldn't summon the strength to do so. Instead, she pulled her hands from her father's grasp, and indignantly wiped her face, as though angry with the saltwater tears. She hoped her eyes were not too red, lest they reflect her true emotions.
"I'm ready," she called to the coachman outside. He opened the carriage door, sunlight streaming in. Not a cloud in the sky. Good weather for a wedding, she thought bittersweetly to herself, looking over her shoulder one last time at her father before letting the eager staff lead her away from preparations.
The ladies in waiting got to work as soon as Briallen entered the room. Usually, there would be happy chatter, but they only whispered amongst themselves. The princess was bathed, her hair plaited back elegantly, her eyelids and lips painted with some vogue cosmetics that must've been exotic, for she did not recognize them. Finally: the dress. It was made of fabric so fine and soft that Briallen knew it wasn't of this world. A gift. The first gift from the King of Elfland. A white dress tinted pink for his new primrose.
It felt unnatural against her skin and it fit strangely, hugging her body. It was luxurious, with jewels encrusted in the top, and it looked as though a million tiny stars had been captured and but within the layers upon layers of the large, lacy skirt. She wanted to protest as the corset was cinched tighter, but she didn't have the breath with which to do it. Most days, she wore one only loosely, and even at past events, she'd never had worn one so tight.
They wouldn't allow her to look in the mirror. Perhaps they sensed her unease. Instead, they moved the mirror out of the room and spun her around as they situated the veil. This led to a small meeting, and they redid her hair, braiding it around her head like a crown, weaving flowers into it, and touched up her lips (the color of which Briallen wasn't sure, the cosmetic looked pink). They seemed to approve of this, and promptly placed the lacy veil back on.
As the ladies in waiting dispersed to make sure all arrangements for the next step were made, Briallen had nothing to do but glace at herself. The lace, she noticed, was not a traditional pattern. It weaved in and out and she swore she saw trees and spires, man and beast within the fabric. But if she focused too long, it was gone. Was it nerves? Was she wearing some fae enchanted dress? The former made Briallen more comfortable, so she chose it as her answer.
A lady of waiting ducked back inside the tent. "The carriage is here. Your father will meet you in the Glade when you step out of the carriage." She then helped Briallen into her shoes, which reminded her of riding boots, but with a more narrow heel and not nearly so tall.
The carriage she was ushered into was far more regal than the last, painted white with the royal insignia on the back. It was a lonely ride there, despite all the smiling faces she saw through the window. It was like a winter's day, white covering everything: white gossamer hanging on branches, temporary walkways, signs painted white. White was a hopeful color. She supposed it fit well enough. Women and children, even some men, wore flowers in their hair. They were symbolic of a beautiful new life. Which Briallen found ironic, since it was really just a temporary purpose: the flowers would wither and rot without their roots. Like a girl without a family.
She would have known they were close to the Glade even without the visual cues, the sounds of the river running over stone was slightly relaxing to her. Just a few miles downstream, however, it turned into rapids, crashing and violent. A metaphor for life, almost, she thought to herself.
The carriage came to a halt. It was silent.
And the door was opened.
Briallen's only thought as she saw the handle move was please let this end quickly.
Perfect!
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