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limerental · 2 years

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while digging through my wips, I found a whole fully finished ficlet so here's that I suppose!

a frinfran corporate office au

While her fellows in the office yearn for the weekend with a religious sort of zeal, moaning and gnashing their teeth less and less as their pitiful two days off from their corporate hell finally approach, Fringilla has always dreaded Fridays.

There is never enough time in the work week to do everything that needs doing, always one more memo to write and one more report to look over. Contrary to her coworker’s apparent belief, the world does not stop turning over the weekend, and every Monday brings a backlog of briefs and voicemails and messages to slogs through.

She frets over falling behind, always seeming to miss her next promotion, always landing just shy of the accolades that others achieve, offered formulaic praise for her tireless work but never more than that.

She has already fallen behind, her dear family so quick to remind her of the successful lives of her older siblings and cousins. Her mother calls her each Sunday night with news and gossip, and Fringilla sits in her pristine kitchen with the phone crooked against her ear and makes the appropriate noises in the right places and feels her dread grow all the while.

Fridays also allow for business casual office wear. Fringilla does not observe the practice, keeping to her rotating wardrobe of neutral-toned power suits and simple jewelry, but sometimes, she looks at how the women and even the men in the office dress each Friday and wonders how exactly they make the simple act of wearing clothing seem so effortless.

She fears there has been some memo she missed, not just about fashion but about socializing at all and about hobbies and music and TV shows. About friendship and romance. About life.

In the evenings, Fringilla goes home to her luxury apartment alone and looks out over the glittering lights of the city and sips at a glass of red wine while her microwave low calorie meal heats up and frets and dreads and wonders.

Then, there is Francesca.

Fringilla hears about the merger with the new firm on a Wednesday morning and is immediately anxious of the flood of paperwork that will no doubt be her responsibility if she wants any of it done promptly and done right. Despite the fact that Nilfgaard Industries is an ever-growing, multi-national company, she feels as though she is the singular member of corporate who cares if things are done properly and on time.

She voices this concern at the morning’s planning meeting and is told that if she is so worried, perhaps she can handle their integration. Perhaps she can have lunch with their upper management this Friday afternoon. Yes, there's that new seafood restaurant near the business district, yes, get out of the office for a moment on the company's dime.

Fringilla frets.

For one, she is allergic to shellfish, which is a secondary anxiety to knowing just how dreadful she is at small talk.

Friday looms, and she aims to soothe her fears with frantic googling and only worsens them. Francesca Findebair is beautiful and successful and happily-married, smiling in her corporate headshot alongside impressive achievements and titles. For more diminutive companies than Nilfgaard but no less respectable, especially for her age.

Only a year older than herself, Fringilla notes miserably.

She considers feigning illness. She considers inventing a crisis. She considers admitting to her severe seafood allergy and ordering lunch alone in her little office per usual. She really is swamped with work. Her file cabinets need dusting. Her pen collection is in desperate need of reorganizing. Her label maker probably requires a recalibration.

But she imagines the disappointed grimace of her superiors. Imagines someone like her supervisor, Cahir, going instead. He probably doesn't have to rehearse possible topics of conversation. He probably doesn’t have any allergies at all.

On Friday, Fringilla summons all of her courage, punches the address of the seafood place into her GPS, and heads to the restaurant.

The woman who meets her on the sidewalk outside is more beautiful in person than in photos. She smiles warmly and offers a hand, and Fringilla tries not to tremble as she shakes it. Her palms are smooth as butter. She looks like a woman from a magazine, her skin warm-toned against the steely winter-grey of the city.

Fringilla feels her body flush with heat the longer they clasp hands. She almost forgets to let go, even as her palms grow embarrassingly clammy.

“Francesca,” says the woman, touching her elbow as their hands unclasp. “You’re Fringilla Vigo? You look different than your photos.”

Fringilla thinks of her own headshots, greyscale and simple. She has not thought to update them in a few years. She is rarely photographed for press releases or marketing opportunities and has no social media. She cannot think of the appropriate response. Has she already failed to make an impression?

“Don’t worry, it’s not a bad thing,” says Francesca, laughing softly. Her laugh is musical and airy. “You look much less stiff in person. You have a gentle eye.”

“Oh,” says Fringilla, the reassurance doing nothing to ease her worry. “Um.”

“Ah, I’ve been too forward. I’ve made you uncomfortable. My apologies,” says Francesca , dropping her hand from Fringilla's elbow. She immediately misses it. "I meant only that it is a relief not to meet with another brown-nosing man who thinks himself better than me."

Fringilla nods with a tight smile, thinking how many times she has been accused of exactly that.

They enter the restaurant together and are promptly seated in a booth beside a large potted plant. Fringilla stares at the plant to avoid watching Francesca so closely as she peruses the menu but soon cannot resist looking.

Francesca's style is unique, feminine and artistic and colorful, while still remaining appropriately professional for a corporate setting. Her crimson beaded earrings match the color of the hair clips pinning her intricate braids, and she does not cover the dark freckles across her cheekbones with foundation.

Fringilla feels both plain and overdone.

She is wearing her favorite pinstripe suit in dark pewter and has never felt self-conscious wearing it. For years, she has kept her hair close-cropped and simple and enjoyed the practicality. Now, she feels stiff and formal next to Francesca's effortless beauty.

"You're staring," says Francesca. "Is there something on my face?"

"Is that a ficus?" blurts Fringilla, redirecting attention to the plant beside them. "I think it's in need of watering."

"I'm fairly certain it's plastic."

"Ah. Right."

"You're nervous." Francesca smiles, and Fringilla's nerves increase tenfold, her stomach fluttering. "There's no need to be. We're equals here. No corporate nonsense. No politics. This is just lunch. You haven't even looked at your menu."

"I'm um." Fringilla swallows, steeling herself. "I'm allergic to shellfish."

Francesca laughs and sets aside her menu.

"Why didn't you say so? I can barely stand seafood myself. Especially this overpriced nonsense. Do you always neglect your own needs for the good of the company?"

"I don't know," Fringilla says honestly.

Francesca stands, and for a terrifying moment, Fringilla fears that the woman will walk out, that she's stupidly blown this whole thing. But Francesca doesn't look angry and doesn't storm away.

"We'll go somewhere else," she says. "Do you have any other allergies or ailments I should know about? Or do you plan on waiting to reveal the next one when our food is on the way?"

"No that's-- I'm sorry," she says quickly. "Anywhere. We can go anywhere. I'll eat anything. I mean-- Cats. And oh, you meant food allergies of course, I um."

Francesca smiles at her without pity and without judgment, and she loses her line of thought.

They walk together from the restaurant, Francesca waving an easy goodbye to the perplexed hostess. The weather is as brisk and grey as when they arrived, and Fringilla has eyes only for Francesca beside her. She almost stumbles in her heels on the sidewalk trying to keep up.

Francesca appears amused.

"Are you always so easily flustered?"

"You're very pretty," Fringilla blurts and wishes the city street would swallow her. But Francesca only smiles her same disarming smile and touches her arm as they walk.

"In that case," says Francesca, "why don't we call it a date? Nevermind that your boss is so graciously paying for it."

Fringilla really does stumble, Francesca tightening her hold on her arm to keep her from faceplanting.

"But you-- you're--"

"Married?" Francesca shrugs and twirls a gold ring on her fingers. "Tax benefits."

"Oh," says Fringilla. She feels like she's lost the plot of the afternoon. If there is a social script for this situation, she has certainly never thought to study it. "What does that mean?"

"It means I would like to meet you again next Friday. Somewhere you would like to go. And I'll be paying."

"I-- I don't know what to say."

"You can tell me no. I won't be offended. But I don't think you want to say no."

"No," Fringilla admits. "I don't."

She feels as though she may pool into liquid on the sidewalk, but she knows she does not want to say no.

"It's time you stopped making yourself so small," says Francesca. "Your resume is impressive, Fringilla. There's no reason you shouldn't be number one in your company."

"Oh, I mean, I--"

Francesca nudges her, her beaded earrings dangling.

"No more excuses. You owe yourself more than that."

Fringilla has never met anyone like this woman. She wonders if she should be offended or frightened. No one has ever seen through her defenses as easily as this. Is this a test? Or a joke?

"Why do you… why are you saying this?"

"Because I think you're very pretty as well," she says. "With gentle eyes. And if we're to work together, I want us to be able to be honest with each other. As a mutually beneficial partnership."

"Right," says Fringilla. Honesty. She can try that, though it feels absurd and impossible.

Honesty.

She finds Francesca beautiful and compelling. She wouldn't mind listening to her talk on and on, though ordinarily she would rather sequester herself away instead of sit to talk with anyone for any length of time. She would like to hear her laughter again.

She takes a deep breath. "I like pizza," she says, "but I'm allergic to mushrooms. And certain lotions. And birds."

Francesca laughs. For all her intensity, she laughs so freely and sweetly.

"I'll keep that in mind," she says, and their shoulders bump. "Pizza it is."

In the end, Fringilla has little reason to dread another Friday again.

#the witcher #frinfran #fringilla #francesca #fringilla x francesca #my fic

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jaskiersvalley · 2 years

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Scissoring pizzas, please and thank you <3

Panda, my beloved menace. You and your pizza snipping ways. It had to be immortalised in fic, you only have yourself to blame <3

Red Strings of Fate

Love was a weird and wonderful thing. A weird thing but wonderful. It wasn't something Fringilla had ever expected to experience. Hadn't in all the years she had lived. Sure, she had found power, hope and ambition in Nilfgaard, even a friend. But love? Out of the question. Which was why she couldn't quite fathom how Francesca had gone and declared them partners. While holding her hand over her office table! Just to be certain, Fringilla had clarified that it was not purely a work partnership. It wasn't, Francesca had said she was hoping for more and had the audacity to smile at Fringilla, flustering her to the absolute.

They had dates, went out, Francesca cooked for her. Of all the things Friniglla excelled at, cooking wasn't one of them. But she was determined to take her fair share of looking after her partner. So Fringilla did the only sensible thing. She bought ready made pizza, ice cream and set the living room up so they could eat and watch something at the same time. Things were almost ready, she had the pizza on the coffee table, was kneeling next to it, slicing it and caught up in the music she had playing. Which was how she didn't hear anything out of the ordinary until a gasp went up behind her.

"What are you doing?!" Francesca had a hand in front of her mouth, other hand clutching at the doorframe as she looked on, horror twisting her usually pretty features.

Confused, Fringilla looked over her shoulder. "Dinner. It's just ready."

She snipped another slice and pulled the scissors back, red, sauce covered cheese attached to them. While she usually preferred eating pizza with a knife and fork, Francesca had insisted it was something to eat with bare hands. The last time they ate some takeaway pizza, it hadn't been cut properly and Fringilla hadn't been best impressed.

Hesitantly, Francesca approached, eyes glued to the scissors as they cut another uniform slice.

"Are those your kitchen scissors?"

"I'm not going to use my fabric ones! This would blunt them horribly."

Sinking to her knees, Francesca stared as Fringilla cut the pizza. Her slices were smaller, easier to handle than what the takeaway had tried to make. Not understanding Francesca's disbelief, she shook the scissors to get rid of the stringy cheese.

"I think that should do it," she announced, trying to encourage Francesca to take a piece and get settled on the sofa. The scissors were still dirty though so, without any thought, Fringilla licked the cheese and sauce off it.

Opposite her, Francesca's hand froze as she had been reaching for a slice. In a weak voice she said, "Aren't those the scissors you used to cut the cat food open the other day?"

"Yeah? I've washed them since, don't worry."

The hand that had been reaching for pizza changed course and cupped her cheek. Looking her in the eyes, Francesca sent her a wobbly smile. "I love you. But never ever again are you allowed to cut pizza like this."

A smile blossomed on Fringilla's lips, her brain had stopped working after three small words. Instead, she sighed happily. "I love you too."

#frincesca #fringilla/francesca #fringilla x francesca #fringilla vigo #francesca findabair #the witcher #tldr: fringilla cuts pizza with scissors

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astaldis · 8 months

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Friends - Chapter 9 (The Witcher TV)

Chapters: 9/10

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Fringilla Vigo, Francesca Findabair | Enid an Gleanna & Fringilla Vigo

Additional Tags: Whump, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Whump, Major Character Injury, Sickfic, Fever, Fever Dreams, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Has a Bad Time, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Fringilla has motherly feelings, Friendship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Cahir is a wet paper towel, Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Breakdown, Guilt, Resurfacing Past, Nightmares, Aftereffects of Torture, Headaches & Migraines, Trauma, Panic Attack, Whumptober 2023, Whumptember 2023, August Whump Week

Summary: Cahir is badly injured and missing after his fight with the Scoia'tael on Thanedd island. Fortunately he has a good friend in Fringilla. Inspired by Whump Week in August, Whumptember and Whumptober prompts.

Excerpt from chapter 9:

Cahir rests all day and drinks copious amounts of willow bark tea. Fringilla checks on him regularly and keeps him company for long stretches of time. Nevertheless, his migraine does not show the slightest inclination to get better, the contrary. By evening his head pounds and throbs like it is going to burst any second, every movement, every sound hurts like hell and even the dim light in the shelter feels as if it wanted to burn holes into his retina whenever Cahir as much as opens his eyes just a tiny crack. The pain is so bad that he moans and whimpers almost incessantly although he tries not to. To Fringilla's chagrin she cannot even hold his hand or pat his shoulder as the lightest of touches seems to cause him more pain.

"I'm getting Francesca, maybe she can help," Fringilla finally decides, genuinely worried about her friend. Cahir wants to object but the only sound that passes his lips is another groan. He wishes it were otherwise, but he knows from experience that there is nothing the elven sorceress could possibly do. In Cintra several healers tried their skills and their luck but to no avail. No potion, amulet, incense, massage or whatever else they prescribed and administered made any difference. Staying in bed and enduring the pain until it passes by itself after a few hours - or an entire day when it is an especially vicious migraine - is the single one thing he can do. Only as of late the migraines seem to be getting worse and more frequent. Like his visions and dreams of the princess ...

Continue reading on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49262185/chapters/125761576

#cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #cahir #eamon farren #fringilla x cahir #fringilla vigo #fringilla #francesca findabair #fringilla x francesca #the witcher season 3 #cahir whump #hurt/comfort #hurt comfort

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pendovah · 5 months

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#thewitcheredit #the witcher #witcheredit #francesca findabair #fringilla vigo #francesca x fringilla #myedit #frinfran

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quietparanoiac · 10 months

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The White Flame chose to back you.

The Witcher (2019–), 3x04 | 2x08

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lanfear-is-my-darkmistress · 9 months

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Headcanon: That bracelet Vilgefortz gave Tissaia had mind control enchantments on it that's why she was never worried about the novices going missing.

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thence-we-came-forth · 1 year

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Hi! I opened an inprnt, so if you ever wanted to buy prints from me, or support me, here is your chance!

I am slowly fixing up my older artwork as well, so you can expect some of those pieces to be up at some point

#the witcher #what we do in the shadows #our flag means death #artists on tumblr #art shop #blackbonnet #tealoranges #nadja x laszlo #yennefer of vengerberg #fringilla vigo #francesca findabair #my art #posting again cause tumblr decided to fuck up the quality and then crash <3

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icefrye19 · 2 months

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 | ❝ And so the flames danced until one would conquer the other one. ❝

Valerievna Adalia Visenya Malfyre, the daughter of Adelaide Adalia Fiona Riannon and Emperor Razar Malfyre, entered the world amidst a fiery eclipse. With the strength and vigor of a dragon. Determined to forge her own pathway, she would find many obstacles standing in the way of that.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐱 𝐒1-𝐒3

𝐄𝐦𝐡𝐲𝐫 𝐕𝐚𝐫 𝐄𝐦𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐬 | 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Book I of Dancing of Flames

* Introduction

* House Malfyre

* House Malfyre Memebers

* Prologue I

* Prologue II

* Chapter One : Battle For Cintra

* Chapter Two : Fall of the Lions

* Chapter Three : Castaways

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jaskiersboobs · 9 months

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Fringilla x Francesca power couple reunited baby!!!!

#the witcher #the witcher season 3 #the witcher netflix #the witcher netflix season 3 #twn #twn s3 #the witcher spoilers #the witcher Netflix spoilers #twn spoilers #twn season 3 #fringilla vigo #francesca #Fringilla x Francesca #i have only watched episode 6 so this may not last #but I'm gonna enjoy ot while it does!#witcher blogging

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cycian · 2 years

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Fringilla and Yennefer commit several small crimes. Triss is hangover and makes poor life choices. None of the above is surprising.

#the witcher #Yennefer of Vengerberg #Triss Merigold #philippa eilhart #fringilla vigo #yengilla #merihart #sabrina glevissig #francesca findabair #sabrina x the elves #franny and ida are shaggin the racism out of brina #the lodge of sorceresses

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sidprescot · 2 years

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a very soft, very gay frinfran playlist full tracklist also posted under the cut ► 1hr 6min

LISTEN ON SPOTIFY HERE

1. love from NGC 7318 - barnes blvd., tanerélle 2. holding feelings - nakala 3. she’s my sunshine - celeste 4. coffee (i’m addicted) - jordan occasionally 5. she’s just a friend - issadora ava 6. nothing compares - chynna mac 7. under cover - jordan occasionally 8. she interlude - nakala 9. firesmoke - kae tempest 10. witch - be steadwell 11. ritual - drea 12. ripe - tanerélle 13. hers - issadora ava, hrtbrkfever 14. you know - kehina 15. feelings - symphani soto 16. undeniable - nakala 17. love somebody - NIA 18. love-showered - dounia 19. honey water - jackii kennedy 20. marry me - rileyy lanez 21. collapsed in sunbeams - arlo parks 22. mama saturn’s galactica - tanerélle

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #frinfran #fringilla x francesca #fringilla vigo #francesca findabair #playlist #fanmix #fringilla @ francesca: i'm in lesbians with you #this is just the soundtrack to the gay little blorbo film that plays in my head 24/7 #including the song from my last gifset #hope y'all will enjoy it #also i spent forever on this graphic lmao #looks horrible on mobile rip #click for better quality <3

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limerental · 2 years

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ficletober 2022 day 6 - frinfran reunion

To her mortification, Fringilla discovers that the woman she had a dramatic falling out with and still cannot help but love is part of the super secret coven of Sorceresses she has been invited to join. Awkward.

This is twn!Witcher canon projected into the future so has possibly some vague book spoilers. Content warning for some canon-typical elf racism and implied homophobia from Assire.

Fringilla was fairly certain she was going to die. At the very least, she wished to. This agony was more than she had been trained to endure, more than she could possibly stomach, and she prayed for mercy to any god who still would listen and despaired.

"What are you mumbling about?" whispered Assire beside her. The Nilfgaardian sorceress wore a bright salmon lipstick that clashed with her mauve eyeshadow. Her fingers were pinched around a delicate flute of amber liquid, and she seemed to be feeling the effects of the drink. Or she was simply wearing too much coral blush.

"I'm not mumbling," said Fringilla. She was praying to be turned to dust by a merciful deity. "I'm– nevermind."

"You don't look well," said Assire, her salmon lips pursed. "Did you eat too many of those oysters? I told you to stick to the meats that walk on land. Preferably that flies above the land. Closer to the heavens, better for the gut."

Fringilla pointedly picked up another oyster and sucked out the salty meat, though her satisfaction at Assire's huffs of disdain only lasted long enough for the sound of bright, familiar laughter to ring out through the small gathering, plunging Fringilla back into ceaseless misery.

Across the hall stood Francesca Findebair, Enid an Gleanna, the Daisy of the Valley, new Queen of Dol Blathanna. She was speaking with Triss Merigold and Keira Metz, the latter gesturing widely with her hands and the former nodding along with a blush tinged across her cheeks, clearly awed by Francesca's beauty.

Or perhaps just drunk. The Lodge's post-meeting cocktail hour had gone on far longer than ordinary gatherings following covert political strategy sessions. Her time in the court of Nilfgaard had certainly never involved lengthy post-discussion refreshments. Sometimes there had been lectures. Reprimands. Complimentary tickets to a public hanging. Far less seafood resting on fogged ice and far less casual flirtation.

At the moment, Fringilla would rather stand alone before Emhyr var Emreis himself and confess to the most heinous of practical jokes played at His Imperial Majesty's expense than stand another moment watching the woman she had loved laugh and smile and never look her way. Still loved, probably.

When Assire had invited her to join this strange Lodge of Sorceresses, she had not remembered the names of any of those involved. Fringilla had been willing to accept that several members would likely be those she had personally wronged in the first Northern War, but only upon their arrival in Montecalvo had Fringilla realized the true depths of her despair.

"This was a mistake," said Fringilla, perusing the nearest table of appetizers simply to avoid looking at Francesca any longer.

"The oysters? Yes, I already said that several times, dear."

"Not the oysters. This whole affair. It's gone on long enough."

"Cocktail hour? Well, I do suppose it's been a while."

"No, not the–" Fringilla sighed, selecting a savory pastry the size of her thumb and eating several from the platter. "Nevermind."

"That elf woman," said Assire in a lowered voice. "You've been staring at her all evening."

"No I haven't."

"You know her?"

Fringilla could not help but look again, seeing the way Francesca's long, braided hair flowed like water down her back as she laughed. Her face in profile was exquisitely beautiful, and Fringilla recalled how it had felt to walk beside her through Xin'trean gardens, her smile serene and attention wholly hers.

"She's very pretty, that's all."

"Ah, they all are," said Assire, somewhat morose. She toyed with an elaborate jeweled necklace that she had spent far too much on for the occasion. "But yes, that one's a natural beauty. No need for ornamentation. If you like that sort of thing. You know. Elves. And sheesh, the way they fawn over her… Do you think all of them are the same way as…"

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," breathed Fringilla, ignoring Assire's casual bigotry.

To her mortification, Francesca's attention turned her way.

"Oh, she heard you," sighed Assire tipsily. "Do you think she heard what I… Oh dear, she's coming over."

"Quiet, Assire," said Fringilla, panicking.

Francesca had indeed taken her leave from the others and was floating their way, her hands clasped before her and beautiful expression soft and inscrutable.

Fringilla considered the consequences of attempting to breach the castle's anti-portalling measures to disappear. She had already calculated several methods of doing so by the time Francesca drew close.

To Fringilla's utter dismay, she drew closer still, close enough to kiss each of her cheeks, Francesca's powder-soft skin brushing her own, her floral fragrance filling her nose. Fringilla stood rigid and still, hoping her face was not doing anything too ridiculous.

"My Fringilla," said Francesca, her musical voice sweet around her name. Fringilla was likely to expire immediately. "I apologize for delaying coming to speak with you. I fear I must admit, I'm a coward. I did not feel brave enough to even look your way. Knowing how we last parted. You must have thought me horribly rude, not acknowledging you all night."

"Oh," said Fringilla. "I hadn't noticed."

Francesca smiled in the familiar pitying way she did when she knew Fringilla was full of shit.

"Let's talk somewhere private," said Francesca.

Fringilla braced for further mortification but despite herself, felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Though she had tried desperately to forget the warmth that the elf's voice inspired in her body, it was a futile effort. She felt the same way as she had all along. Likely always would.

Francesca offered her arm, and Fringilla took only a moment to decide to link their elbows together. Assire watched them go with a bewildered expression, clutching her drink to her chest.

"Is your friend ok?" asked Francesca, leaning close. "She looks distressed."

"She's… experiencing a touch of culture shock. She'll be fine. As long as no one here gets drunk enough to try dancing on tables and taking off their clothes." Such things had been known to happen at large gatherings of Northern sorceresses. Fringilla had had the misfortune of attending several such functions in her youth.

Francesca laughed, a sweet and carefree sound. Fringilla, as it turned out, would live to see another day.

#my fic #frinfran #fringilla x francesca #the witcher #ficletober

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