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Season of Giving 2020

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User avatar

phosphene member of RPG for 2 years

Visual Appeal Friendly Beginnings Lifegiver Author Tipworthy Conversationalist Promethean Inspiration Greeter Novelist Concierge Giver

but whenever you’re not being a delight, you’re being a degenerate little minion of Satan. - roleplaygateway user Alekai
114,059 words written.
143 total posts.
798 words per post.
8 posts per roleplay.
93 average days in a roleplay.
18 universes joined.
51.50 INK received in tips.

Basic Information

United States
Fantasy, Sci-fi, Star Trek, Star Wars, fiber arts
Began Role Playing:
0- 8-2007
Game Master:
Favorite Setting:
Speculative Fiction

User statistics

Wed Sep 04, 2019 9:14 pm
Last visited:
Fri Jan 15, 2021 12:02 pm
Total posts:
Search user’s posts
(0.01% of all posts / 0.27 posts per day)
Most active forum:
Out of Character
(65 Posts / 48.87% of user’s posts)
Most active topic:
Neon Streets
(13 Posts / 9.77% of user’s posts)

Contact phosphene



Visual Appeal

Visual Appeal

Awarded for adding an avatar to your profile!

Friendly Beginnings

Friendly Beginnings

You posted your first topic in the Welcome Forum.



Created a character in an RPG universe.



Wrote your first piece in a universe!



Awarded for receiving your first tip from another user!



Participated in 10 different conversations on the forum!



Successfully created a universe for others.



Another user created a post in a universe you created!



Responded to 10 different topics in the Welcome Forum.



Wrote over 80,000 total words!



Responded to 25 different topics in the Welcome Forum.



Has given a tip to another user!


5 created.
2 active.
3 inactive.
0 completed.

Universes Created

storage unit 284

storage space for nonconformingrole; not open to the public.

The Rhapsody

private rp between myself and Lyysa

Neon Streets

In a futuristic city filled with corruption, everyone must decide for themselves who they are, what they stand for, and if they’ll let the system keep them down.

scrapbooks and memories

private rp, not accepting

Most Tipped Posts

29.50 INK received for post #2817541, located in Scarmouth:

every word has consequences.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzevery silence, too.
Ryan had been to a few events like this: he used to cover them. You show up, take a couple pictures, do a little eavesdropping, write a piece about how good the speeches were and how happy you were for all the award recipients, and that was it. He learned pretty early on not to dress a certain way, or else you might be mistaken for the event staff, which was a hassle that he’d once preferred to avoid.

The past six months hadn’t been easy; Ryan wanted his life to go back to normal, but it had become increasingly obvious that wasn’t going to happen. Either no one wanted to deal with him at all, or they wanted more out of him than he wanted to give. So far he’d survived by selling some of his unused shots from the revolution- some of his shots had turned out to be a bit too artistic for rogue news websites. He would have preferred to go back to being unknown by everyone besides the sorts of people that actually cared about the sports and entertainment pieces published to the media streams.

He’d been invited to this event. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be there, or that he even deserved to be there. In his mind, he hadn’t done anything extraordinary; he’d done what anyone who had the nerve to call themself a journalist should have done, he told the truth. Apparently his work had helped catch the attention of the governments who’d sent aid to the revolution. The seemingly endless work he’d done in those long months had accomplished something, at least.

Ryan knew many of the people who were receiving awards: he’d taken their pictures, heard their stories, in one case his pictures had brought major attention to them in the first place. Ryan genuinely felt bad for Noah; while he couldn’t begin to understand what it was like, he did know how uncomfortable being put on the spot could be. How you never forgot the way the other children mocked you when your ears turned red, your eyes welled with tears, and you couldn’t spit out the words no matter how badly you wanted to. Some people refused their awards, and Ryan could understand their reasonings. He felt very much the same, in some ways. When called up to receive his own award, Ryan looked visibly uncomfortable. All those eyes on him made him wish he could run and hide; he stared wistfully at a fire escape, wondering if he could make it out before someone stopped him to ask if he was okay. He also considered using the moment as a platform to speak up about how disappointed he’d been in journalism in Scarmouth, how so many people should be ashamed, and how little faith he truly had in the new leadership.

Instead, he graciously accepted the award. “This is very nice... I’ll try to make sure my cat doesn’t break it.” Someone chuckled. Ryan hadn’t meant to make a joke. He grew a little more uncomfortable, and it struck him that this was the first award he’d ever received for his work. He wasn’t sure this was what he wanted to be known for. He wasn’t sure he ever really wanted to make a name for himself in the first place. He also knew he probably needed to say something else, “I, uh…” Why was it so hot? Was he speaking too quickly? He was speaking too quickly. “I did nothing more than what I felt I had to do, but thank you.”

Once all the awards were finally distributed, Ryan, like everyone else, made a beeline for the bar. Being the homebody he was, he never got out much, and he didn’t really know what to ask for. He wound up with some fruity monstrosity- tasted pretty good, though. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself, but he saw Noah and made his way over. “Hello,” He said, and after a beat, “It's nice to see you again.” Ryan had never just attended an event like this, and Noah was the person in the room he felt most comfortable with at that moment. Whether this was a good or bad thing had yet to be seen.


he seems to feel his own worth,
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzand the greatness of his fall.

When you’re given a chance to integrate back into society- especially after a particularly bloody (and successful!) uprising- you take it. Attending a stuffy awards ceremony for the very people you’d once actively worked against seemed like a strange decision, but Miles knew he wasn’t that important. Not really. So he went to the award ceremony. These were the heroes of the revolution, and ultimately they weren’t all that impressive. (Well, aside from Damien. Sure, he turned down the award, but good for him.) Nobody seemed larger than life, several seemed like they would rather be anywhere else. Something about seeing it all laid out in front of him like that made him feel like perhaps he hadn’t done enough.

He thought about just leaving after the awards were given out, but there was something about fancy party food that was impossible to pass up. The free booze wasn’t really his thing, but Miles had never let himself feel ashamed for sipping a diet coke at a party before, and he wasn’t about to start now. As it were, he was pretty content to sit back for a time. There was plenty to take in, after all. Sad as it may have been, Miles knew that if life had played out how it was “supposed” to, he’d be very used to events like these. And probably in prison. Sometimes things really do work out, in the end.

Two things happened: first, Miles spotted Magnolia, and considered walking over to say hello. Then Camilla Rhodes approached Magnolia. An interesting mixture of dread and anxiety filled Miles’ stomach, and he immediately knew that there was no way he was going to go anywhere near that if he could help it. Cam was likely to be on her best behavior, but Miles was sure nothing good would come of it.

Second, someone came and took the empty seat next to his. Now, in years past, this wouldn’t have bothered Miles in the slightest. Now? He was in a room full of people, and though he knew he could leave whenever he wanted, he was beginning to feel a little trapped. He didn’t know if this would pass, if he would ever get used to being free again. He shot Scott a look that pretty accurately communicated his thoughts: ‘what do you want?’

Pretty quickly, though, Miles thought he understood: Scott wanted to sit down with someone nobody here would be looking for. If you look busy enough, people will leave you alone. It’s true at work, parties, the grocery store. So he smiled; bright, brilliant, and genuine enough that most people wouldn’t question it. “I think I would rather be at the lab right now, but you know how I live to disappoint.” He leaned over so he could speak lower and still be heard, “We’re all adjusting, aren’t we?” Other than that, he mostly dodged the question of how he’d been: the past year of his life had been a nightmare followed by some kind of listless twilight. Things were starting to look up for him now, but it wasn’t hard to guess that Miles had had a rough go at life, lately.

He shrugged, settling back into his seat, “But enough about me,” He said, as if he had actually said anything personal or noteworthy, ”What about yourself?”


Things are only impossible until they're not.
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