maxparkhurst

[maxparkhurst]

THE CUPS

a collection of character development questions based on the arcana and their themes !! this is part of a collection of tarot-themed asks. if multi, please specify which muse(s) the question is directed toward !!

[PAGE] - Do they daydream? If so, what about? Is it something they're set on doing, or something that seems out of reach?

[PAGE, REVERSED] - How do they react to being overwhelmed? What do they do, if anything, to calm themselves?

[ACE] - Would they drop everything to have a fresh start, or would they try to find balance between old and new?

[ACE, REVERSED] - Is there anyone that makes them feel like a puppet on strings? If so, who is this person in relation to them, and how do they navigate that relationship?

[TWO] - Is marriage something they want/look forward to? Would they settle for a civil union? Or would they prefer to have a long-lasting relationship without the paperwork?

[TWO, REVERSED] - Have they lost an important relationship (e.g., estranged family, divorce, etc.)? If so, how did they internalize that loss? Did they mourn? Did they feel better after the fact?

[THREE] - How do they celebrate their achievements? Do they enjoy large gatherings, or do they prefer simply treating themselves to something luxurious (e.g., a meal out, a gift, etc.)?

[THREE, REVERSED] - Do they gossip? If so, are they good at keeping the story straight, or do they take "creative" liberties with each retelling?

[FOUR] - What is an opportunity they missed, and do they regret it? What do they feel they could have done to do things right, if anything?

[FOUR, REVERSED] - What patterns do they observe in their day-to-day life? Do they have any thoughts about them, or is it just background noise to them?

[FIVE] - Do they have trauma? If so, what type is it?

[FIVE, REVERSED] - Are they easy to forgive, or do they hold a grudge?

[SIX] - Are they nostalgic about their childhood, or do they prefer to not think about it? If they are nostalgic, what is one object or memory that stands out from the rest?

[SIX, REVERSED] - Have they left home, or did they stay in their family home throughout the years? If they stayed, do they still live with family, or are they the sole inhabitant?

[SEVEN] - Do they have vivid dreams? If so, what types of things do they imagine/dream about?

[SEVEN, REVERSED] - What is something that helps them focus, be it on a specific task or in general?

[EIGHT] - Have they faced abandonment? If so, how?

[EIGHT, REVERSED] - What is one thing they are avoiding the most?

[NINE] - What do they consider luxury? Is it a stereotypical definition (e.g., millionaire status), or is it simply the ability to have stability?

[NINE, REVERSED] - Are they materialistic? If so, what are the things they indulge in?

[TEN] - Are they family-oriented? If so, what does the ideal family look like to them? Is it obtainable?

[TEN, REVERSED] - If they had to choose between friends and family, who would they choose? Would they be able to make that choice with a clear conscience, or would they feel guilty?

[KNIGHT] - Are they a romantic? Do they believe in things such as love at first sight?

[KNIGHT, REVERSED] - Are they disappointed with anything? Is it someone in particular, a specific situation, themselves?

[QUEEN] - Are they spiritual? If so, what are their beliefs? Do they subscribe to a specific mantra, or do they have their own belief system?

[QUEEN, REVERSED] - Do they consider themselves dependent on something/someone? If so, what/who?

[KING] - What type of wisdom do they possess the most of? Are they a bookworm? Someone with a plethora of practical talents?

[KING, REVERSED] - Do others consider them cold or volatile? If so, what makes them think so? Does your muse agree with their beliefs?

[maxparkhurst]

#beth harmon #queens gambit #max vibes

[maxparkhurst]

Don't need to look down Know I'm on the edge I like the fatal feeling that I get. I'm high off vertigo When you're close

#the alchemists #character aesthetics #max vibes

[maxparkhurst]

from steps by frank o’hara 🫶🏻

[maxparkhurst]

[GhostAndBlue : Tr(eat) Your Girl Right T-shirt]

#character aesthetics #max vibes #max would most certainly wear this

[maxparkhurst]

"I waited too long for you. I will devour you, Love you into flame"

#the alchemists #character aesthetics #max vibes #| Fox's Fire |

[maxparkhurst]

#the alchemists #max vibes #character aesthetics #| Fox and her smile |

[maxparkhurst]

Stardust Not to be confused with the fun in-game item that makes your friend’s sparkle, Stardust is a glittering substance gathered from shrubs growing within the Ruins of Stardust (32,67). The item is described as “frosted” in appearance, covering bushes within the ruins, and it is demonstrated to have advanced healing properties. For example, it is specifically used within a poultice to help quell a fever in the sick Night Elf, Relara (a quest that is, unfortunately, now obsolete). The Ruins of Stardust have fallen to Fel corruption, coloring the area in a sickly green and contaminating the bog beasts. The exception, of course, are the resilient Stardust bushes which have remained untouched by the fel power.

RP Ideas A Priestess can always find great travel/adventure RP through restocking her healing supplies, bringing specific supplies to a distant outpost, healing a wounded friend; perhaps a player is creating healing poultices to sell within distant cities (Stormwind, Ironforge, etc.); the item could be needed for a Novice Priestess to complete a rite of passage, or prove her ability to track, identify, and utilize healing resources; alternatively, a non-Kaldorei player could sell the item on the black market or to unfriendly alchemists for their unsavory experiments!; etc.

References http://www.wowhead.com/quest=1034/the-ruins-of-stardust http://wowwiki.wikia.com/wiki/Ruins_of_Stardust http://www.wowhead.com/item=52490/stardust http://www.wowhead.com/item=5494/handful-of-stardust http://wowwiki.wikia.com/wiki/Relara_Whitemoon

[maxparkhurst]

BLOOD. -What types of injuries has your muse sustained? What was the worst? 

Injuries are not an uncommon occurrence. Either sibling has sustained superficial hurts incurred by their alchemical hijinx. More often than not, they are peppered with cuts and burns. Alchemy, after all, is quite hazardous to an individual’s health. If a cross-section were to be taken of a Parkhurst's lung, you’d be forgiven in thinking it was charred. Years of inhaling caustic chemicals have turned their insides a tad softer and a pinch blacker than they should appear. All of this is to say that the Parkhursts value their health as a gambler values their life’s savings. And while some injuries are worse than others, such as Max’s missing eye or Augustine’s disfigured hand, none of them are deemed the worst. No. That title is saved for a chilled evening deep in Drustvar’s taiga. There, the eldest sibling danced intimately with death itself.

Augustine fumbled with the clasps, hands shaking and head buzzing. He couldn’t understand why anyone decided to wear a coat with marble-enameled buttons. Wooden ones were just as serviceable and far easier to undo with blood-slick fingers. After so many failed attempts, he spat out a curse and yanked the dagger from the man’s sheath. Damn all this courtesy to the dead. He sawed away at the fabric with amateur precision and wretched the dismantled coat aside, revealing a bandoleer that housed a variety of vials. Relief warmed his chilled veins as he plucked three unscathed.

“You won’t be needing these,” he murmured, “Will you?”

The corpse once possessed a name- as all dead things do. In life, the man was callused and cold. His steel-sharp gaze haunted every corner and all of Augustine’s waking moments, plucking him from the shadows with predatory ease. Even with the light snuffed from them, that gaze still found him in his most guilty moment. Bulging and wide. Set in an unsettling amalgamation of horror, shock, and amusement. The man once named Abel Eloi died with a smile etched on his lips. Humored by the notion that prey had claimed predator; that this meek kit possessed fangs and claws of his own. Augustine rose to his feet and stumbled under a wave of vertigo. Whether the headiness was from disgust or elation, he had not decided. He wiped the blade clean on the shredded coat, shoved it between his belt and pant loop, and then kicked past the corpse and its revolver empty of the last bullet. Material items held no value to the dead, after all. Streaks of gold and maroon gorged the sky as dusk crept over the horizon. Night would fall soon. Pines and oaks, their leaves ethereally sanguine, scraped at the firmament of the Crimson Forest. Smaller plants like aspens and alders added a lush depth that filled the air with dense pockets of silence. In the distance, Augustine heard the yip and howl of hounds drunk on the hunt. He scanned the wilderness. There was no one besides them, the wind, the quiet brush, and the occasional spindle-limbed shade - remnant wraiths sewn by the hands of the Heartsbane Coven, unliving and forever burning- that shambled through the gloom. If there were men concealed in the boughs, they harbored no interest in showing themselves. His shadow, stretched long and dark, guided him to where his sister laid limp like a doll.

Augustine had read these kinds of scenes in novels. They described blood like it was a painting, idyllic in nature and otherworldly charming. Authors had the penchant for glossing over the fact that blood was messy. It so rarely pooled stagnant. Her blood had mixed with his blood, which had mixed with the dirt and mud and grass and whatever the hell else until he wasn’t even sure who or what was crusting under his finger nails. It all made his stomach churn with unrest. He swallowed hard, stealing a glance at the venous red that stained the undergrowth, and clawed at his sister’s shoulders.

Max gasped, ragged and wet, as she was rolled onto her back. She pressed a hand firm against her stomach. Between her fingers seeped crimson threads. A futile attempt to keep herself from unraveling. She bristled, overtaken by a coughing spasm, before spitting up crimson gruel onto her chest. A dark needle pierced his heart as she grew still and quiet.

“Max…?” Augustine whispered as he gathered her in his arms. Her skin felt as cold as glass. He tried to shake a bit of warmth into her, and to place a bit of strength in his voice. Though to his ears, he only sounded lost and small. “Maxinora?”

There was a long beat of silence that made Augustine question if she’d heard him or not. Then came her gossamer soft reply, “Auggie…”

Max’s eye fluttered open, her gaze slow to find her brother. She peered through him with a vacancy that belied uncertainty. She was unsure. Unsteady.

“I’m here.” Augustine forced a thread-bare smile despite the heat collecting in his throat and the sting threading his eyes.

Clarity warmed her gaze a beat later than he’d have hoped. Max wheezed a tired laugh as she lifted her hand and revealed her wounds. Her blouse bloomed red from where she’d been unseamed at the stomach. She cupped his chin, directing his eyes away from the gray stuffing that fell out of his rag doll sister.

He could barely hear her speak those last words. Such dense words that ushered a silence thick enough to smother the taiga’s timberland.

Her smile turned his insides cold.

“I’m sorry…”

And for a moment, the world shattered beneath Augustine as his sister grew still and quiet in his arms.

Thank you for the ask @nixalegos!

#the alchemists #timeskip events #| Fox Hollow | #asks and prompts

[maxparkhurst]

There once was a pair of foxes, coats the color of fire and ash, who did not smile with their teeth. Teeth scare the sheep, reminding them that they are prey. The older fox learned through Truth; the younger fox learned through Deceit. When hiding in the flock’s heart, it is important to remember: Never scare the sheep.

#the alchemists #| Decay of Fear | #preludes and intermissions

[maxparkhurst]

[ To every resident in Stormwind: These are your esteemed alchemists. They are the ones brewing your potions and medicines. The most trustworthy nerds]

"If Max was the scalpel-sharp reason... ...Then, Augustine was the spark of inspiration."

Auggie by [Claina] on Twitter! LOOK AT MY NERD SON

#commissioned art #character art #warcraft OC #The Alchemists #Max & Auggie

[maxparkhurst]

No Agreements With Fire

[ Photo by raquel raclette on Unsplash ]

“There, that should do it.”

Deep within Sor'theril Barrow Den, Ymalius stepped back, kicking aside discarded bandages stained with blood and ashes to examine his handiwork. In front of him, a kaldorei sat on a low stool, stripped to the waist with her back turned to the healer's work. Burns and cuts littered her shoulders, back, and arms, each wound carefully cleaned and even now fading as the green dragon’s potent magic sped the healing process.

“You ought to rest, you know.” He stepped close again to trace a burn along her left arm where the flesh had once been seared to black. It was almost recovered, well ahead of her other wounds, the swirled markings on her skin clearly visible once more. “This healing’s going to take a lot out of you.” He snorted, visage turning to a wry smile. “But you should know that by now”

“What am I supposed to do, hrm?” Kyuusei half-turned, silvered gaze looking sidelong at the dragon. “Rest in the Dream?” Her laugh was humorless. “We’re already here. They’re already here. And I told her I’d protect it. You knew what you were doing when you dragged me out of Val’sharah and asked me to come to the Isles. Don't tell me to rest now.” She leaned forward again to rest her elbows on her knees, long, unruly hair obscuring her face.

“I suppose,” Ymalius mused, “I did.” Of all the healing wounds on Kyuu’s back, one old scar resisted any attempts at mending. Between her shoulder blades, the skin was warped in a palm-sized circle, twisted like clay beneath the hand of some cruel potter. “What about this?” he asked, lightly touching the disfigurement.

Kyuusei jerked forward as if shocked. She glared over her shoulder, lips pulled back in a fanged snarl, and Ymalius quickly stepped away to raise his hands in placation. The druid reached for her tunic with an abrupt motion and stood to pull it over her head, back still turned as she became engrossed in the act of lacing the leather garment. “There’s nothing about it,” she snapped back. “I don’t have time for this, Ymalius. I need to get back out there.”

“You forget what I am, Kyuu.” Still circumspect, he moved to the opposite side of the small barrow, leaning against the wall with affected nonchalance. “I’m a dreamwarden, and I slumbered in that meadow outside your cottage for years. Long before you arrived there. I knew your dreams while I slept.” Ymalius sighed ruefully. “And I know your nightmares as well. I know how you came by that scar. Are you going to tell anyone before it comes back to burn you?”

With a last tug at the laces of her tunic, Kyuu turned to face him. Her eyes were still set in a glare, but with a slow exhale of breath, her gaze softened and her shoulders drooped. “Tell them what? The Circle already knows about Delyra, knows she went to the Flame, knows I was the one that killed her at Hyjal. I loved her since we were children, Ymalius. What am I supposed to tell the Circle now, that I was so heartbroken when she left that I tried to follow her, and the Druids of the Flame wouldn’t even have me? That they just... marked me and cast me back out? That I slunk back to the Circle to join the assault on the Firelands instead?”

She took a deep breath before squaring her shoulders. “No. That’s the past. I’ve been lost and burned and found myself again since then. This is what matters now. “ Kyuusei gestured to the passage that led out of the barrow and back to the Emerald Dream. “Amirdrassil. That tree, that – hope.”

“You’re not afraid someone will come forward?” The dragon pushed off the wall and gathered the discarded bandages for a waste bin. “That some disciple of Flame will speak up under interrogation? Her!” Yamalius abruptly took on a self-righteous cast as he leveled a taloned finger at Kyuu in mock accusation. “She came to us in the past! You can’t trust her!” He lifted a brow in question.

Kyuusei’s response was flat and sure. “No. The ones who cast me out? They’re dead. I remember that clearly enough. And these... zealots? Cultists? They’re something different. I thought I was the only one left to remember until you opened your mouth. Besides,” a lopsided grin, the expression familiar and comforting, crept across her features, “I was recruited to defend the Dream by a member of the Green Dragonflight. You. That has to be worth something, dora dor.”

Ymalius gave a low chortle. “It might be, a little bit. I’m sorry, Kyuu. I just don’t think there’s room for doubts out there anymore.” He canted his head. “I had to be sure.”

“You say you’ve seen my dreams,” Kyuu snorted, “but you still needed to be sure. So much for the storied wisdom of Dragonkind. Come on, we need to get back out there.”

A few-score paces took them out of the barrow den, followed by the thunder of broad wings striking the air as Ymalius bore them north to the Wellspring of Life, where the fight against Primalists, Djaradin, and Druids of the Flame was fiercest.

And if the torches that lit the barrow den were dimmer, their flame guttering lower with Kyuusei’s departure, there were no eyes remaining in the barrow to notice...

References

Influences – Delyra

A Repressed Memory – The Firelands

A Dream of You

#friend writing #reeeeead it

[maxparkhurst]

PRIDE. -What is your muses biggest flaw?

“DAMN.” Questions for Muses.

There are a lot of things wrong with Max Parkhurst. A cursory glance could tell a stranger that much; she is a hard-knuckled and deeply flawed woman. Mistakes and shortcomings burnt to brittle ash are left in the wake of her trail-blazing path. Those unfamiliar with the Alchemist may see that misfortune often follows in her wake. Just a woman down on her luck, flying by the seat of her pants.Those who know Max intimately understand how close she dances with misery. It is not an unannounced guest, but a partner she actively courts.

Max is comfortable being miserable. Fear and self-loathing have become familiar friends. Paranoia is a way of life that drives her to accept the abnormal, the severities and cruelties of life, as a perverse normality. They are accepted and deserved. For no amount of happiness can be obtained without a substantial degree of sacrifice - or so she tells others. In truth, she isn’t sure how to exist peacefully. Who is Max Parkhurst without rage, misery, or fear? What person does she become when the sky, open and vast, no longer harbors an accusatory glare?

These unanswered questions have burnt more bridges than she would ever care to admit. And as the years unfold, she comes to realize something important: Some unseen force may hold the matchbook, but she is the one to strike the first stick.

Thanks for the ask @safrona-shadowsun!

#the alchemists #asks and prompts #max parkhurst #| Misery Loves Company |

[maxparkhurst]

[maxparkhurst]

Artificer: Ah, the Scientific Method. Step One: Fuck around. Step Two: Find out. Step Three: Record your results. Step Four: Confirm, or fuck around again.

#Parkhurst method #fren sent me this #is very accurate

[maxparkhurst]

For @maxparkhurst @auggieparkhurst or @wingsofhyjal

Headcanon meme~

Put a symbol (or several) and a character/characters in my ask box, and I’ll give you a headcanon.  Yes.  Do it.

☾ - sleep headcanon

★ - sad headcanon

☆ - happy headcanon

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

✿ - Sex headcanon

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

♥ - family headcanon

☮ - friendship headcanon

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

▼ - childhood headcanon

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

☼ - appearance headcanon

ൠ - random headcanon

◉ - Any other question of your choosing

#two per person please #headcanons #asks and memes

[maxparkhurst]

Cynthia Cruz, from “Diagnosis,” The Glimmering Room.