#malmiq

[vophyer]

[cinderflower]

Young twins :)

[chicxibalba]

Commission piece for the wonderful @cinderflower!

[twincest-ship-of-the-day]

The Twincest Ship of the Day is:

Malenia & Miquella from Elden Ring!

[aroace-nut-case]

Inkpot Gods would be a fire duet between the twin prodigies

[deathstaregazer]

malenia- blade of miquella

[weprywepry]

If it's chilly, every time she touches you with her prosthesis you get a Malenia jumpscare.

A kind of sweater gets designed for her prosthetic so you can cuddle and hold hands better.

Am I onto anything?

if this was a malmiq scenario i imagine she'd have some tailor in lleyndel do it for her in secret and maybe be really sheepish about it then Miquella would like make it his life's mission to find that person and have them make a bunch for her and she'd be surprised but also would like instantly see her entire future with him by her side

if it was a malenia x finlay scenario then finlay would just go barging into whatever armorer in elphael and proudly demand a custom arm sweater and malenia would get all embarrassed but she's kinda beloved by her people so everyone's like pogging at it. canon!!

if it was a malenia x tarnished scenario she'd make it herself and it probably would be pretty scrappy unless there's some lore indicating malenia was the one that designed her own prothetics even though i think it was probably Miquella? anyways the tarnished would swoon over her like even harder than before and swear their service for all eternity or some shit

i just wrote a long ass essay about sad stuff so i needed this to cheer myself up

[telatire]

w for malmiq! :)

Thank you so much for the ask! Turns out I'm terrible at word limits, so this is above 250 but at least not double! Haha!  W. Waiting impatiently for something

... She’s late.

She’s never been late before.

As the moon continues to rise high in the sky over his little village – shimmering and vibrant and full and brilliant – the last bell chime of the hour rings out, as the tick of an imaginary clock keeps track of his footsteps, as he paces about in his cottage, mulling over on what to do.

The garden has been tended to, and won’t need looking after until morning; the flowers at his window sill are all fine, and blooming beautifully; the floor and walls are clean, the kitchen’s pots and pans are pot away, and his bedsheets are freshly laundered, with a small fire roaring in the fireplace. And should he decide to wander outside, at night, alone –

Oh, doubtless he’ll ever hear the end of it.

He glances over at his bookshelf, and picks a random title to reread; he supposes it doesn’t matter which, however short or how long; if he can just focus, the time will pass. But no matter how hard he tries to concentrate, how many times he tries to reread sentence after sentence, word after word – his gaze returns to the window, pausing at almost every half of a page. He sighs; he won’t make progress like this.

He closes the book, and puts it back. His mind drifts to his easel; he places a fresh canvas down, and organizes all of his tools, his brushes, and paints. He can’t seem to settle in his stool for very long – fidgety every minute, recounting all the tubes of paint that he has. But every shade he sees in his hand is vermillion, just like the stands of her hair.

Where are you?

Has something happened?

He shakes his head, putting those thoughts away. No, he won’t bring about such misery in his life. She is fine. She will be fine. She is just late.

And just then, he hears a wolf howl, breaking him out of his thoughts. His brow furrows, as he goes to look out the window – only to see a familiar figure walking up the pathway to his house.

And though he knows she has asked him not to do it –

He can’t help but run to her.