and so the hare's maimed dead.

but not the house pet. no, the mere rabbit lives on.


a creature of fear at its core.

(misc. & pretty things to look at)

[ dossier ]

quick but weak, his heart beats ever faster to outpace those who'd do him harm.

a dog unloved ✦ childhood summers ✦ selfish selflessness ✦ martyrdom ✦ soft epilogues


name

devon di'grace
(tribal name discarded)


age

twenty-five


zodiac

♓︎ pisces


arcana

☪ the lovers (upright)


affiliations

Oschon's Refuge (ORAS), Moonshadows Archive


voice claim



race

viera
(veena)


orientation

pansexual


height & weight

177,5 cm (5'10 ft) / 67~ kg (147 lbs)


moodboard

Memorabilia of Adair


playlist

The Past, The Future and Never-Present


character theme


Often stuck regretting the past or fearing the future, he’s rarely found living in the present.

With rosy eyes does he see the world's cruelties, and welcome them not as fact, but as something to go remedied. Willing to bleed for anyone who manages to sway his fickle heart, he holds the firm belief that next to all can go redeemed — should they try hard enough.

moth in a cocoon


A freckled kit goes born to a tribal off-shoot in Coerthas. It's important, as they diminish by the year. Only, it turns out too soft and too messy a thing to go put in the woods. Too weak of heart to protect its home, too weak of body to protect itself. So they hope for a woman, but it turns out a boy.Fourteen years of small acts of unkindness whittle away at his heart, eyes searching past treelines for someplace to romanticize. It comes through the origins of a friend— Ala Mhigo— and so they depart.It's a failure, one from which he returns alone. The glen they once shared now host a grave.Cycles pass in a haze, until soon his one anchor— his brother— leaves to become the ward he himself wasn't destined to be. Left with the bitterness of a promise unmade, soon he too, makes a second escape. One he doesn't come back from, and that he cannot undo.

Smooth knuckles go juxtaposed by calloused fingertips; chewed up, torn up — raw.

Too anxious to get most quips, his humor boils down to comic strips of G'arfield Tia, and if particularly spicy, the occasional dad joke.

trivia

  • Devon suffers from hemophobia, and is particularly disturbed by having his hands sullied.

  • The rabbit smells of petrichor; of forest rain and soil.

  • As a kit, he wished to become a botanist. It has since become a dream discarded.

  • Although a poor speaker of the language, Devon knows how to read and write intermediate Garlean. If only he had someone with which to practice.

  • Strangely chaste about covering his chest, he believes funky socks to be the greatest fashion statement.

  • Despite his gentle nature, Devon is surprisingly poor with animals. nerves often get the better of him.

likes

  • cool socks

  • madeira cake (and variations thereof)

  • being lovingly bullied

  • any form of validation

  • the nostalgic smell of sunlit hair

  • the feeling of damp earth in his hands

  • having his head stroked, even when seething

  • the satisfaction of peeling off scabs, despite how it hurts

  • prying into people who really don't wanna get pried into (+ points if they happen to be a traumatised garlean)

  • stew (it's the only thing he can cook)

dislikes

  • sleeping in silence

  • violence as a first language

  • the nauseating taste of blood

  • people who are too kind (sus)

  • people who are too mean (also sus)

  • wearing anything remotely flashy that isn't cool socks

  • being treated like a bad dog, or assumed ignorant (which is often true)

  • stew (...it's the only thing he can cook)

character sheets

(albeit somewhat outdated)



Quick are the feet of a hare lacking teeth.

Plucked out and discarded – traded for...

Kindness?
Patience?
Some other hidden virtue he'd yet to wrap his head around?
He wasn't sure.

He'd yet to figure out a better defense than allowing himself to go mauled.

"say... when you hate something– someone, but there's really nothing left for you to hate...
what do you do?
where is that hurt meant to go when there's no one left to listen?
there's no justice to be wrought, no nothing.
are we just left to sit on all of it?"

"well... you only got one option."

"i'm not sure i understand yet."

"but i'll try my very bestest to make you proud."

"sew yourself back together, because it's clearly the only thing you're fucking good for."

"yes. it's the one thing i'm good at.
i'm good at fixing myself– at taping the cracks."

"i tape

and i tape

and i tape

and i tape

...and yet it's never good enough."

A broken bowl set aside at a shop to be fixed at a later date, but the time never came.

It was never his turn to be mended.

A little tragedy, he was.
Soft, weak, malleable.
Appeased by kind words, or the warmth of a hand on his head.
Each stroke through his hair combed away his concerns, each anxiety and woe.
How lucky he was, to go soothed with such ease,
bruised heart left to bleed.

"What a shame it was, what happened with that boy."

"A tragedy, yes. What of the other?"

"Oh, the freckled one lived. Survived without a scratch – save for a throat gone sore from causing such a fuss."

"Ah, yes. Imna's boy. A tragedy in its own right."

"A sorrow, indeed."

"if I'm quiet, real quiet, to where not even my breath goes heard..."

"do I exist at all?"

How many times had he let the roll spin?
Over, and over, and over again.
Music from a cold land, sung in a tongue yet familiar to his lips.
Still, through his repeated obsession, it'd become the one thing he'd pronounce next to flawlessly in the language of gales.

"...i should stop listening."

[ HOOKS ]

FREE ME WITH SERVITUDE


If he cannot be wanted, then have him be needed, and if he cannot be needed, then let him be used.Devon wants for purpose, to serve and be praised. It is how he affirms and measures existence and worth; how may he be of use? While no combatant, he'd make for a fine retainer, courier, servant or dog.

THE BROKEN & DAMNED


What he cannot mend within himself, perhaps he may fix in others. For a pacifist and idealist, Devon often finds himself in the company of the violent or otherwise trying, usually in hopes of changing their ways. He takes pride in acting a lockpick to stubborn desires, in flushing rotting wounds clean and writing endings for others.If only he'd find his own soft epilogue, too.Is yours a world-worn, tired soul? Whether open or not to receiving succor, Devon likes most to pry where he shouldn't. Find perhaps in him a confidant, perspective, or supporting pillar to any ongoing quests.

GARLEAN SYMPATHIZER


For his ignorance about the outside world, Devon has a curious interest in Garlemald and its people. Whether a fellow enthusiast of the language or someone with less than savory opinions of the people, you're sure to get a rise out of him upon mentioning the topic. Of course, this also means that the man has a positive inclination towards most of the nation's people — whether deserving of it or not. Use or abuse it as you wish!

YOU WEREN'T MEANT TO SEE THAT


Curious, inquisitive — prying. Devon has a knack for getting himself into affairs way beyond his understanding. Did he express curiosity about things he shouldn't have? Perhaps he overheard or saw something he'd be hard-pressed to ignore? It wouldn't be out of character for him to get involved where he shouldn't — willingly or not.

O' GUIDING LIGHT OF MINE


Directionless and unsure, this wayward soul longs for guidance. A mentor in whichever form; a master with a bow or blade, a talented magitek engineer, or somebody with wisdoms and ideals they dearly wish to impart before they pass.Malleable to any cause that might convince him it is just, you will find in him a stalwart student hard to get rid off — regardless of intentions malicious or pure.

Quiet Is the Green Word


Long lost are rolling plains and winter treetops, once holy grounds now cause for death. While Devon's rejected the lifestyle and tribe he's never fit into, a part of him longs for acceptance from kin. Is there truly no place for the weak of heart and mind?Other tribal viera have him on guard, and have him intrigued. Perhaps you are a Warder, looking to take in an overgrown kit? Or perhaps you're here to hunt down a traitor. Either way, dredge him back into community lost.

Little Vigilante


"Nobody is fit to be both the judge, jury and executioner. Nobody."In his eyes, dark knights perform little more than vigilante justice. Poor past experiences have left him with some scorn, and yet he can't help but feel a morbid curiosity around the subject.Most of their actions are morally dubious— if not wrong— but is their intention not to make the world a better place? Someplace kinder, just like he wishes it was? Dissuade him from the concept, or persuade him it's the only way.

Magitek Tinkering


Although his knowledge is on par with that of a curious child, Devon holds a keen interest in magitek and the ways it could go used to better the world. Unfortunately, he has neither the resources nor the mentor required to pursue such an interest. Perhaps this is you?

(have any other ideas? hit me up and let's workshop something!)

[ out of character ]

(hi, it's me. thank you for your interest! :D)

The Player, thematics & reaching out


Hi there, I'm Mey!
I like keyboard smashes to express excitement, ginger cats, and emotional suffering in the media that I consume.
I'm currently troggling through my mid-twenties, feeling both 12 and 85 at all times.


Devon's just a lil' guy. Painfully average in next to every way, except for the company he keeps. Created to excel as part of a supporting cast, consider him an excellent fit for a 'Samwise' type deal, the protagonist bestie that tragically dies, or the bright-eyed student to mentor unwilling. The warm heart to cold logic, the naive to the jaded.
I've found he works best in gentle opposition than with those he's too much alike.
As a pacifist and non-combatant (albeit a brilliant shot and subpar swordsman), Devon is heavily disinclined towards engaging with violence or knowingly entering dangerous jobs.
As a writer, I'm more than happy to and in fact excited about exploring his relationship to brutality! I love me some good body horror and gore.
But it needs to serve a purpose, and there needs to be a build up as to how he'd find himself in such circumstances.


I'm always happy to talk shop about new potential connections, and so don't hesitate to reach out to me on Discord as meydri!
I really value enthusiasm in my RP partners, and love geeking out about blorbo melodrama and memery.
I do both in-game and Discord RP, typically with a preference for the latter due to fluctuating energy levels and being in CET.I'm also down to exchange moon codes.I'm a long-form writer that focuses on overarching narrative and intent, and therefore I enjoy brainstorming and curating specific thoughts, ideas and dynamics in terms of plotting!I like for scenes to feel meaningful and serve a long-term purpose, even if candid in nature. As such, I'm not very big on one-off tavern meetups that struggle to go places narratively, or just "tossing them in a box to see what happens". I would rather over— than underplot, just to have a loose sense of direction.Read on to see what I'm all about, and subsequently, what I'm not into!


➵ NameDevon Di'grace
➵ ServerCrystal - Balmung (world/data center-hopping is fine!)
➵ TimezoneCET (flexible times)
➵ Discordmeydri

My Jams & Non-Jams


We all want different things out of roleplay, and that's perfectly okay!But to help in making sure our wants and needs are in alignment, I've put together a quick list! While it'd be impossible for it to be exhaustive, here's some of the things I'm looking for in RP, and subsequently, what I'm not too keen about.


  • ㅤmature themes.ㅤ i'm open to most things grim and macabre, including but not limited to; violence, gore, abuse, sexual content, body horror and drug use. ooc communication prior to exploring these themes is paramount in order to make sure everybody remains comfortable, and i expect both of us to breach these topics with tact, if and when they arise.

  • ㅤc o m m u n i c a t i o n.ㅤ please, i beg of you dfyhjfuikso– is a scene or plot taking a direction you're not fond of? did something not feel quite right? on the contrary, is there something you really enjoyed, that you'd like to see more of or do in the future? is work or real life getting dreary, or are you in need of a break from rp to recharge your creative batteries? please, communicate these things!

  • ㅤconsequential roleplay.ㅤ do stupid shit, win stupid prizes. i like to aim for some kind of realism in my rp, which includes heeding law & order and following appropriate social conduct, whether in public or in private. or by all means, don't — but be prepared to face the consequences.

  • ㅤlore-bending.ㅤ i'm willing to entertain most concepts within reason! preferably grounded in some semblance of established lore.

  • ㅤdming scenesㅤ and roleplaying npcs for the sake of storytelling purposes! dice and all.

  • ㅤooc friendships!ㅤ i love geeking out about rp, plotlines, nerd culture, memes, you name it! it's half the fun to me! please send me all of your pinterest boards and playlists, I adore chatting about 'em.

  • ㅤreal life always comes first.ㅤ that goes for both of us!


  • ㅤlack of communication.ㅤ most issues in life stems from this. just be open and honest, and i promise you it'll work out!

  • ㅤshipping or erp.ㅤ While Devon might be intimately friendly, these are all platonic gestures made with naught but sappy sentiment. This flusterbun's heart already beats for somebody else's. I'm not interested in any themes of romance, shipping or erotica — and neither is he.

  • ㅤic/ooc bleed.ㅤ this line is absolutely sacred, and i will not tolerate it being blurred. ic thoughts, remarks and opinions do not reflect my own.

  • ㅤminors.ㅤ for the sake of themes explored, and because i expect a certain level of ooc maturity, i require you to be 21+.

  • ㅤundiscussed maiming & death.ㅤ i'm likely to be down with any permanent disfigurement! but as i'd see it as a major character alteration, i'd like for there to be an ooc discussion prior to any such attempts. i don't mind exploring character death in bad end AU scenarios, but canonically i'm not ready to have him die just yet.

  • ㅤskewed effort.ㅤ i put in a lot of time and care into the rp that i do, whether it is scheduling, doing prepwork, spitballing what comes next, etc. i do it out of excitement and enthusiasm for the relationships and stories i really care about! but that means i expect the same kind of effort from my partners. it takes two to tango, and i'm not about chasing people down. i won't take it personally if things weren't to work out!

  • ㅤoverpowered characters.ㅤ While I'm open to interacting with skilled and influential characters, I enjoy veering towards low-medium power plots so as to preserve the stakes and problems of semi-average people. while i'm all for the occasional epic power move within an area of expertise, character strengths ought to come with appropriate drawbacks, or else most stories quickly lose their meaning.

  • ㅤwol characters & most solution 9 shenanigans.ㅤ they're just not my cup of tea!

  • ㅤfledgling sprouts.ㅤ i'm really sorry, but I sadly don't have the time to help new players navigate FFXIV's lore or rp scene. but i wish you the absolute best!

  • people who cannot conduct themselves like adults.

Easter EGgs


this carrd contains a bunch of lil' easter eggs hidden in words and images! most of these go highlighted in some way once hovered over, so keep an eye out!

if you're like me and have lots of dust bunnies clogging up your brain, but a desperate need to know everything and anything,
here's a cheat sheet:



(thank you to @beepostudios for this beautiful character theme,
and thank you to Zirka for a birthday gift I'll forever hum the tune to <3)

im leaving, for real this time.
this time, i'm going past the treeline.
alone.

every ghost, i'll take with me.
every regret, i'll reshape.
everything i've ever done, and everything that have ever happened...

i'll give it purpose.i'll make it nothing but a prequel.
i'll create for us a soft epilogue.
the one we always dreamed of.
the one i think we've earned.

...haven't we, Salem?

Cherished pockets of time, occasionally he'd go to visit.
He'd find somewhere quiet, shut his eyes, and let himself relive the best things twice.

Thrice.

However many times he so wished, as long as it gave him comfort.

Then one day, he wondered...

"was this really how things went?"

"was that always how he smiled?"

"am i..."

"forgetting?"

"no."

"i can't ever forget."

[ Memorabilia of Adair ]

(see these as little writing excerpts, and a peek into his memories!)

Lamentations of an Overgrown Kit


It was a horribly discreet thing, the way he grieved— the way he’d been taught to. Narrow and cold were the confines in which he was allowed to express his distress. His frustration and sorrow.There was a certain violence to his quiet in the aftermath of it all. Normally so very quick to fill the silence, he didn’t seem to mind its looming weight— his thoughts too diffuse to go strung together. A fleeting mist, impossible to hold. Any words of comfort would dissolve on his tongue, any wisdoms get picked apart. There was nothing for none to say, except perhaps apologies and repentance.

Ebb, now


When there are no claws that graze against his skin, Devon peeks back through the corner of his eye. Ah, his hand has simply gone unnoticed. With Seneca focused on other things—surely drowning in thoughts just as deep as the waters below the bobbing pier— Devon pulls into a small, unseen smile. Off-set by the furrow to his brow, it's something worrisome yet fond.Had he the ability, he’d chase each doubt and woe away with fire and fang. He’d tell Seneca that a friend was someone you wished to sacrifice for, and that sacrificed for you, too. That no voluntary weight could be considered a burden. That blood washes away with water— with repentance and effort and tears—, and that together they would scrub beneath nail and claw. No ask was impossible. Even should they never complete the journey, the ask alone was not impossible.Alas, he had no fangs to bear, and a penchant for remaining in the dark. Shooting arrow after arrow, hoping for flint to run against stone and create the spark necessary for a flame to guide him.Two sets of footsteps turn to one, and Devon cranes his neck back to check on his companion. The upward curve to his lips withers fast the moment Seneca shrivels onto the ground, eyes wet and breath shaking.

The Rabbit's Burrow


Frosted windows weep meeting the morning sun. When the winds lay still and the clouds stay parted, Coerthan hostility turns to quiet beauty. Crystalline and perfect, rather than another plain tainted through war. Imperial scars have gone buried beneath the snow, love turned spite left as draconic remnants; frozen reminders of the lengths to which grief had gone.Inside woodworks rarely traveled, timber has gone fashioned into a humble cabin. Winter shrubs stand potted by the doorframe, saplings struggling to take root. Rime makes sneaking peeks into a homelife Seneca has yet to see a tricky thing. But through topmost edges, he may spy snippets of sentimental clutter. Teabags not stowed away, knitwork unfinished and a gramophone with only one record.Dawn shines through the upper level to douse Devon in its light, still fast asleep amidst a loft of boxes not yet unpacked. The clothes of yesterday have gone folded onto a nearby chair, his covers kicked aside and pelts slowly drooping to the floor.A linen shirt that drapes past half his thigh has turned too warm, and yet he insists on laying buried amidst both pillows and duvets. In place of other hearts to seek, one such bundle has gone claimed and pressed against his chest. The mess, the closest echo to a childhood surrounded by bodies soft and warm.

Await me, my friend


Where she sought to eradicate the what ifs, he'd tried to make himself comfortable. If only his expectations went lower, he figured things would hurt a lot less. He wouldn't be quite as disappointed with his lack of progress, should he expect none– should he deem himself simply inept and take it as truth. If he didn't expect basic respect, then all the jabs that he suffered, joking or not, they wouldn't come to sting. If he didn't expect her to come home every night, he'd be less disappointed.
Less fearful, less concerned.
If he expected chaos to follow each moment calm, he’d feel more prepared.If only he saw it all as a privilege, instead.
Had he not many things to feel lucky for?
Could he not make himself into somebody happy?
Someone satisfied and at peace, and not...
"A little tragedy."Was it not all a part of what she'd told him, too? To take things as they came, and appreciate their incremental progress. And so, tried he did. And, in a way... with success. In some part surrendering himself to the fate which he did not believe in– for such a concept seemed far too cruel to him to exist– he’d allowed himself to bask in the respite offered by their good days. They were fortunate moments of rest where his head broke the surface of water to savour each breath, before the lake would freeze over again, its ice thicker than ever before.In the wake of their friend's disappearance, the world hadn’t so much as stumbled before it moved on, and given enough time, so would he. He'd scrape whatever remains were left of stability, of trust and fond memories, off that desert brick and back into the hollow that'd opened in his chest.Eventually, filled.
Not fully, perhaps.
No, that'd be impossible.
But enough so to carry on.
...He’d hoped.Yet they’d keep cropping up.
Flames of hope he'd stomped out, embers that hissed in displeasure– in retaliation to his mental defeat, as he’d run out of tears to shed over the thing.
“We’ll get our answers. And we’ll help him find his answers, too. We’ll rest, bide our time.”He’d piece himself back together.
With tape, after tape, after tape, he’d cover the cracks.
Just one more time.
If only to answer Sev's call.

"du vet att jag älskar dig."

"om du älskar mig, varför ska du då gå?"

"jag måste gå."

"det måste du inte alls! du lämnar ju mig här, du lovade– du svor att du inte skulle lämna mig!"

"jo, det måste jag. du förstår, jag måste gå innan jag inte längre kan förmå mig att se dig som något annan än en börda. jag måste gå, för annars kommer du aldrig lära dig nånting själv. du kommer aldrig bli något själv. jag... jag förstör den jag vet att du kan vara. och du förstör mig. så därför måste jag gå."

"snälla, gå inte... lämna mig inte här! cerville!"

"i refuse to think about it anymore."

[ memes ]

(clearly, the most important page of them all)

[ callouts ]

(proof that pinterest knows my character better than I do)


[ the fool ]

"haven't i given enough?




[ held together with string ]

"he looked in the wrong place for redemption"


i like to think i try my best to give more than i take.
to do more good than i do bad.
for every fault of mine, i compensate.

through favours.
through words.
through looking the other way,
or letting people touch me when i'd rather they did not.

it all means so very little to me, if they want it, they can take it.
if it makes them happier, why not?
it's something i take pride in, making people glad. being of service.

to go used and spent for the sake of other's comfort...

isn't that the greatest gift of all?


In an overgrown glen in Coerthas stands a lone wooden cross.
In winter it bears scarves.
In summer, it dons flower crowns which swiftly go undone.

Every cycle passed is one he will not live through.
One he will never see.


"so i'll remember them instead."


at first, he was a replacement. a temporary fix.
i didn't mean him to be, but i realised he was.

he joked a lot, but rarely about me.
it felt refreshing, to laugh at something not myself.

never did he pity me.
he saw that i was weak– recognised there was lots i couldn't do,
but thought of it as room for growth.
i think he made me grow a lot.
and so he grew into something else.

my first-ever confidant.

my best friend.

please, won't you come home to me?

to have tried will become my legacy.

to have tried to be kind, to be patient, to be warm.
to remain soft in the face of the edges of this world.

i want to be that someone you see as worth protecting.

i want to be a moth that made it.

she'd be my sword, and i her pen.
it was a silly thing. an off-hand comment.
and so naturally, i took it straight to heart.

that was to be my purpose.
to be soft and gentle, a steady hand to hold.

in time i hope you'll see it, too.
just how much i love you.

i swear i won't be useless anymore.