#HE IS MACHIAVELLIAN INTRINSICALLY. ITS WHO HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN. HE BELIEVES THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS

[lotus-pear]

hear me out for genshin x bsd-

atsushi would be a cryo claymore that scales off atk (since the tiger is shown as extremely powerful and can even cut through space) and optimizes physical dmg

dazai would be a geo sword support that increases elemental res, acting as a debuffer (as no longer human works in the bsd universe) he would also scale off em

kunikida would also be geo but catalyst that deals physical aoe dmg.. he'd be an in-slot dps but not an optimal one imao his talents are much better suited to make him a battery unit

akutagawa would be pyro polearm?? or sword?? and he's obviously a heavy dps that scales off crit rate/dmg and tenma tengai could be similar to cyno's burst when, once activated, increases def while simultaneously raising rashomon's atk

chuuya would be an anemo catalyst dps similar to wanderer bc of his gravity manipulation and he would have a melee stance where he atks from the ground and an elevated state where he uses gravity manipulation to be able to atk off-ground. his ult would be corruption obviously and would parallel xiao's where his atk and crit rate/dmg are sharply increased but he undergoes continuous dmg until the duration of his burst ends (in this state he is vulnerable as his def is lowered and he isn't able to accumulate energy meaning he needs a team built around him, preferably with a healer and a shielder)

how does it feel to be the sexiest person on this site w absolutely the most correct and banger takes anon??.. why are u correct on literally everything

[archiveddvrpg]

Congratulations, DAPHNE! You’ve been accepted for the role of EDMUND with the faceclaim of Hunter Parrish. Admin Kaitlin: Oh man... oh man, oh man, oh man. Daphne, there were a great many things about this application that spoke to me, but I cannot imagine a world in which you didn’t include that final interview question because wow--it took my god damn breath away. With a single line, a part of me just knew that you understood Easton on an absolutely intrinsic level. You show so so much development potential just from your sample alone, never mind your actual plots. I cannot tell you how excited I am to start plotting things out with you, and to see you on the dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Daphne

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | 6/10 – I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing things, but I tend to be quite slow with replies. I even struggled with trying to finish this application on time (oops!), but there it is.

Timezone | EST

IN CHARACTER

Character | Edmund / Easton Craven, although he sometimes uses his mother’s maiden name (which is Westfall, because I have a terrible sense of humour). Please let me change his face claim to Hunter Parrish so I may bless the dash with his presence. :)

What drew you to this character?

Why bastard? Wherefore base? There’s a lot to be said for individual interpretations of characters, but I’ve always considered Edmund to be a remarkably nuanced individual in Shakespeare canon. He’s someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain. He’s the very definition of Machiavellianism, delectably manipulative, clever, and cunning in his own right, and by god, he’s hungry—so deprived, so angry that he should be despicable in his ruthless pursuit of satisfaction. But somehow, he still demonstrates the capacity for remorse; he evokes sympathy for his situation. He takes matters into his own hands, refuses to settle with the cards fate has dealt him, and I can’t help but admire that audacity, even if it stems from long-standing resentment and spite. The way he chooses to reclaim his identity is a well-earned fuck you to the system, and as a wise Lannister once said, you should never forget what you are. Wear it like armour, and it can never be used to hurt you—if only there was anything left of Easton to hurt.

I’m a huge glutton for fictional angst and bitterness, but admittedly, what I love more than either of those things is the sheer futility of Easton’s situation. I love him precisely because the odds were against him from the very start. In King Lear, he’s drawn the short stick in life, and the moment Edmund steels himself against the order of the world, he becomes a marked man living on borrowed time. Easton is similar in the sense that he’s doomed to never achieve the fulfillment he so desperately craves. He will never be able to fill the emptiness that remains after his forest fire of hatred has razed all else to the ground, and that is largely because the circumstances for his unhappiness are beyond his control. He was born broken, which isn’t to say that he doesn’t have to be held accountable for his actions, but rather that the descent into hell for him is easier than most; to be damned, after all, is his one and only birthright. He is very much a monster of his father’s making—so much that I imagine for all he wishes to reject his background, the resemblance he bears to his father both in appearance and ambition is ironically uncanny to everyone around him. A part of me aches deeply for the person he might have become if only he had been loved (tl;dr, yes, I am a sucker for characters with major daddy issues), but since that isn’t the case, our only other option, really, is to bask in the glory (the horror) of what his father created: Easton as he is currently, as the Craven’s unholy son. You see, the gods may deny his cause, but I came here to stand up for him in their stead.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

I. KING OF NOTHING - Easton pursues glory with a dark, ugly vengeance. He wants to rule, and he’s hellbent on getting there, although the way I picture it is that he’s currently biding his time under the radar, scoping out the playing field, and figuring out how he can manipulate people to his best possible advantage before he makes his move—much like a spider unattended, quietly spinning its web in the dark corner of a room. And while that in itself will be pretty fascinating to flesh out, I’m more concerned with the endgame of it all. For Easton, there’s no question that the ends justify the means, but what, exactly, is the “end” he is trying to justify? I don’t think he has a good grasp on the answer, and while he ultimately has the drive and the craftiness to ascend through the ranks, the question I want Easton to confront once he arrives there is, what now? As much as he wants the world to pay, becoming the king he thinks he deserves to be will not make him whole. I want to explore his struggle to deny this growing realization, and to have him eventually look down upon a kingdom from his point of conquest, only to see the vast emptiness that lies before him—to understand that despite everything, this is the one constant that has stuck by him his entire life. And once he accepts that nothingness? Some men just want to watch the world burn.

II. MY BROTHER’S KEEPER - But Easton was loved, you cry; he has Everett! To which I say, ah, but does he really? I think that to some extent, Easton is aware that Everett does care for him—his own feelings, however, are much more complicated, because he can’t seem to separate his resentment towards Everett from the deep-seated insecurities at the very core of his being. He has the life that Easton has always wanted, so it makes sense that at the heart of these issues, they’re intertwined. The way Easton sees it, Everett may care about him, but he does so from a position of privilege: his life was handed to him on a silver platter, and for that, he can never hope to understand. Easton is convinced that Everett never truly put his full effort into trying to understand or to help mediate their family dynamic when it mattered, and to be honest, I don’t think he’s wrong to feel that way. Not that he gives a damn anymore—as far as he’s concerned, they don’t owe each other anything—but since they’re both working under the Capulets, ignoring Everett won’t be as easy as it used to be, and I can’t wait to see how their relationship unfolds because there’s really no other character who defines him more. It’s inevitable that Easton will eventually realize his relationship with Everett is something to be exploited, not only because he’s a complete tool, but also because it’s that timeless rom-com cliché: to fake a relationship for ulterior motives only to realize that some small, twisted part of you may actually care (gasp, the horror!) for the other person. Except they’re brothers, not lovers, and I can’t think of any better way for Easton to come to terms. Something tells me that Everett may not be so forgiving, but I am 100% here for the drama and the fallout that ensues.

III. BERSERKER - There’s a very dark and primal part of Easton that contributes to his anger, and although his mind is definitely valued, this is ultimately what makes him such a great soldier for the Capulets. The moment Easton gives into that rage, all his boundaries disappear, and he becomes single-minded in his ruthlessness. He’s much better at reigning in his temper than he used to be, but you can still sense the savagery that brews just below the surface—the dark, nameless thing that paces restlessly inside of him, just waiting for an excuse to be let loose. I imagine it’s something that’s often been ascribed to him as innate, if only because of his illegitimacy. What I’m interested in exploring is, how much of that is true, and how much of it matters?  Is it still something he can keep at bay, something he can still reject, if he so chooses, as it’s called into play more often with the Capulet’s plans? Or is it something he has no choice to succumb to—that internal war between instinct and emotion versus logic and reason?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? Sure!

IN DEPTH

I didn’t manage to finish the interview section in time, but I still put one of the responses in the Extras section just because I thought it was too good to waste :)

In-Character Para Sample:

[FOUR YEARS AGO]

“Huh.” Colborne brings a hand to his chin. “Interesting. It’s risky, but it might just be ballsy enough to work.”

He is 22 when he still believes the world could be his oyster—eager to impress, eager to prove himself, and he preens, but it comes a moment too soon. He’s gathering back up his sheets and packing up his briefcase when the executive starts again, shaking his head with a chuckle.

“I have to say, I’m impressed. This isn’t exactly what I was expecting from someone of Craven & Ricci calibre.”

The world slows to a stop.

“What did you just say?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice even. The clasp on his briefcase shuts with a click. Easton turns to face him. The Dellecher executive is mopping his forehead with a handkerchief, and all he can hear is the irregular beat of his heart, responding in time to those dreaded two words.

“Well, Everett—your brother, isn’t that right? He called earlier. Put in a good word for you.”

Half-brother, he almost corrects with a growl.

Of course he did, thinks Easton, with a cold, resounding clarity. How completely and utterly stupid of him to assume there was a world beyond Everett’s reach, simply because he’d picked what he thought to be a relatively obscure firm. His face shutters, and for a moment, he pauses. Takes in a breath. The world is bleached white, but when he responds, his voice is still calm. Serene.

“I see.”

“How about it, then? You think you’ll be ready to start on Monday?”

Easton smiles thinly and gathers his coat. It’s easier than it used to be, and just like that, the door swings shut on another opportunity.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he says, without turning around. “I assumed I was going into this position based on my own merit.”

Colborne laughs, just a little nervously.

“Look. You’re talented, don’t get me wrong,” he says, licking his lips, and Easton can’t help but wonder, snidely, where this man was twenty, thirty years prior—how his words fall to pieces as soon as they leave his mouth, buoyed up on the tongue of a hypocrite. This man may be a superior, but to Easton he’s nothing, and he loses more respect for him with every passing second.

“But you’re also young, and you’re inexperienced. Talent won’t get you everywhere. I’ve got ten other guys all dying to get their hands on this job, and frankly, if you weren’t a Craven, well…”

But he isn’t a Craven.

Not really.

He stops listening to Colborne and slides the dossier across the table. Later, he thinks back on how he was too forgiving—how he should have burned that folder; how he should have let the company go up in flames.

Colborne’s voice swims in and out of focus.

“You should be thankful, really,” he says grimly. “All your connections, all that luck, and you’re just throwing it away. You have no idea how many people would kill to be in your position—”

And just like that, something in Easton snaps. All the control he’s been working so hard to exercise unravels in an instant as a hot streak of rage courses through him, rearing its ugly head. He grabs Colborne by the tie and shoves him up against the wall so hard that the Escher replica hanging on the wall crashes to the floor, frame splintering into pieces.

“You have no idea what I should or shouldn’t be thankful for, you sorry son of a bitch,” Easton spits, fingers clenched around his disgustingly damp collar. Red starbursts flare in his periphery, adrenaline pumping fire through his veins, and the image of Colborne’s face, bloodied and broken, rises up in his mind, the satisfaction of hearing the crack of his skull running rampant in his brain. He’s about to slug him when his mother’s laugh appears out of the blue, unwelcome and intrusive.

Suddenly he’s twenty again, sitting in the backroom of a Venetian cabaret club across from someone he can’t call anything other than a stranger.

You can dress nice all you want, she tuts through ribbons of cigarette smoke, nodding at his clothes. It’s a valiant attempt, I’ll give you that much. You almost even pass as being fully related to that beloved brother of yours.

But you can’t hide that temper.

Easton drops his fist.

It’s the bastard’s blood.

(For the first time, he wonders whether she meant him or his father.)

He lets go of Colborne, who slides down against the floor, shocked into silence, and something ugly blooms in chest when he steps back—something that feels an awful lot like guilt. It lingers as he dons his coat and smoothes out his hair, intermingling with the stench of the man’s sweat, and the longer he looks at him, the more he realizes that he feels nothing for the man—that the guilt isn’t so much for Colborne as it is for the satisfaction he gets from towering over him.

Easton nods at the folder.

“Something to remember me by,” he says stiffly. “Use it. Or don’t. I really don’t fucking care.”

He calls Everett while he’s waiting for the bus and catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glass pane. He looks every inch the part. Not a wrinkle, not a flyaway hair, not a thread out of place. It’s a far cry from how he was managing just a few months ago—ever since their father announced he was stepping down, and he’d let himself entertain the inkling of hope that maybe, just maybe, there would be a sign—but what’s important hasn’t changed. He still isn’t good enough.

Everett picks up on the first ring.

“You called Dellecher,” he accuses, voice flat.

“Westfall? Really?” Everett sounds amused. Bored, even, as if it surprises him in the slightest that he’d choose to use a different name.“Do you truly hate us that much, little brother?”

Irrevocably, something stings. More than the nip of winter frost at his cheeks, or at his ears. No, he decides, it’s not so much a sting as it is a burn, spreading through his ribcage, up his throat like white fire. A gloved fist clenches at his side, and in that moment, he makes up his mind. He’ll claw his way to the top if he has to or die trying.

Do you truly hate us that much, little brother?

If only he knew the half of it.

“Stay out of my way, Everett,” Easton says coldly, just before ending the call. “I don’t need your help.”

He doesn’t need anyone’s.

He’ll make it on his own—just like he always has.

EXTRAS:

Mockblog: http://machiavillains.tumblr.com

A cornucopia of unrelated (but still fun) facts:

Also has a hand in managing certain offshore accounts, so I guess he does dirty work for his day job too? Point being either way, he’s not afraid to and will play dirty

Is still sensitive about a cryptocurrency fiasco that happened last year and will lash out if you mention it in the slightest

His misspelt Starbucks name is always Edinger Westphal

Yes, he’s kind of juvenile but that’s what happens when you’re emotionally stunted because your dad doesn’t love you

And finally, the response to “What has been your biggest mistake so far?” question:

“Haven’t you heard?” Easton smirks faintly, the smile no less cruel, no less mocking. If only they knew how easy it came to him now—how easily he wears the words, how they slant around his ears like a crown, not a curse (or maybe—just maybe—they’re one and the same). “I’m the bastard son,” he says with a dramatic flourish, reclining further back in his chair. But there’s something true, something bitter about it, something that snags at the end of his words. “My biggest mistake was being born.”

All in all, it appears the Easton in my head is much more of a mopey, woe-is-me mess than I expected and I’m really sorry about that BUT he appears well put-together and vindictive on the outside I promise it’s just inside he never grew up and he’s still an angsty teen.

Okay, that’s it! I’m sorry this was so long, and thanks again for considering me :)