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Fringilla Appreciation Hours

@bamf-jaskier / bamf-jaskier.tumblr.com

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limerental

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.

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“An utterly new, secret organisation should be founded which will exclusively serve matters of magic. Which will do everything to prevent a cataclysm. For if magic were to perish, our world would perish with it. Just as happened many centuries ago, the world without magic and the progress it brings with it will be plunged into chaos and darkness; will drown in blood and barbarity. We invite the ladies present here to take part in our initiative: to actively participate in the work proposed by this secret assembly.”

The Lodge of Sorceresses, The Witcher

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Chapters: 1/?
Wordcount: 11756
Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Dara & Fringilla Vigo, Dara & Filavandrel aén Fidháil, Dara & Francesca Findabair | Enid an Gleanna, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Dara Characters: Dara (The Witcher), Fringilla Vigo, Francesca Findabair | Enid an Gleanna, Filavandrel aén Fidháil, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Iorveth (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach
Additional Tags: Dara-centric (The Witcher), POV Dara, Prince Dara, Dara is just about done with the Continent's bullshit he'd like a nap please, Worldbuilding, implied Jaskier/Iorveth, cause it amuses me, Fringilla is going to be having too much fun :)

Summary:

“It’s not about if you can fight,” Francesca hissed, dragging Dara down the hallway, “It’s about the royal line. I haven’t heard further news on Filavandrel’s condition and I have to defend the people here. If something happens to us…you are all that’s left, Dara.”

He felt tears at the corners of his eyes.

“I can’t leave you to die,” Dara said.

“You don’t have a choice,” _______________________________________________________________________

When Ciri spoke of her own destiny Dara stayed quiet. He knew the burdens of a heavy legacy all too well, after all, he had taken the same actions as Ciri. A Royal Heir on the run, trying to stay anonymous. The one difference was, Dara had been playing the role of runaway so long, he fell into the role like a cloak, the fear like a scarf wrapped around his neck.

But with his capture by Redania and a dangerous mission set by Philippa Eilhart herself, Dara is realizing that the time for masks is over. That despite his uncertainty he will need to take up the mantle of Prince again. Not only to save himself but to save the people of Xin'trea.

_______________________________________________________________________

I know!! I’m finally posting another fic, this one, in particular, is a VERY late entry to @beyondthecontinent. I’d like to thank my friend @brothebro for the lovely art accompanying this fic and I will be hopefully posting more of this fic in the not too distant future!! 

I figured it’s about time there was more Dara-centric long fic in this fandom and I’m excited to have finally gotten the chance to write some! I cannot thank Bro enough for inspiring this fic with their amazing art and always being there throughout the process even when it’s been a struggle. 

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I never had a partner ...me either

"We could maybe take a walk outside together "The voice bring her back from thoughts over running Cintra. Fringilla loked up to door meeting beautiful eyes of Francesca.

The elf had beautiful features and Fringilla sometimes wondered how much and for once she was glad she doesn't share her thoughts with Francesca.

"Oh sounds very nice "She said getting up. "My partner "She slightly tested these words. Something about them felt right.

It make her shrugged slightly as they eyes meet. Francesca offer her hand and their fingers connected.

They together left Fringilla room and walked together to stairs which lead to garden. "You seems tired ,"

"I am tired "She agreed ad they walked. "Emphyr should arrive soon and it means all have to be in shape "She admitted. Fringilla was stressed about it.

They walked in next long moment in the silence. "Forget about him for moment "Francesca said gently as they walked. They walked slowly together to the fountain. It was place where they like to sit. Hiden from everyone sigh.

"I know maybe I should "She agreed gently as they sit down and both female for moment loked to each other eyes.

"You should not stress yourself more then its need " Francesca said touching her face. There they felt it. It felt right. They eyes meet again.

Fringilla touched her hand gently too. She smiled and her eyes for moment wondered to her lips. That urge was so new but also felt right.

Francesca loked go her eyes and slowly lean closer. "You are beautiful to be stressed "She said quietly.

She then lean in and kissed her lips softly.

Kicking off Femslash February with Day One: Xin’trea this is absolutely fabulous work!

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bamf-jaskier

“To beautiful to be stressed” oh my gosh my WHOLE HEART. I love these two together so much!! 🥺 🌹

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As February is about to start I thought I would offer up a list of Witcher-themed femslash prompts (both weekly and daily options) for the month.

As well, if you are interested there’s an AO3 collection here where you can post your work or feel free to @ me or @witcherladiesamirite if you post it on tumblr!

If you want to talk through some wlw ideas and come to where the heart of this mini-event is come to the Witcher Ladies Discord Server!

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limerental

I had the most big-brained cyberpunk frinfran idea this morning

consider: dystopian urban futuristic with magic setting where cybernetic enhancements are (at least said to be) limited to those who can control chaos, so mages are made into cyborgs at their ascension and though they are afforded great social privilege, are essentially robotic servants and armcandy to the wealthy and powerful.

After getting caught up in a power struggle, Fringilla was discarded and left in disrepair, rescued and reconfigured by Emhyr, an enigmatic cult leader who claims to seek to bring about a new utopia. She gets a sick rose gold robot arm.

Nonhumans have largely been assimilated or wiped out, deemed largely irrelevant, but by chance, Fringilla encounters and becomes allies with Francesca, a punk anarchist and elven terrorist, a Queen whose people occupy the underbelly of the city and strike where they can against those in power. She's heavily tattooed in floral patterns and talks of the fertile land rippling with flowers and crops where her people once lived and tended.

Anyway they smooch and get matching mohawks.

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acemoppet

Have some fluffy FrinFran~

“She’s a cuddly one.”

Francesca looks up. Fringilla stands at the edge of the room, one hand on the doorway. Her face is bright and soft, like a spring sun, as she smiles at the little girl in Francesca’s arms.

She can’t help it- she smiles too. “That she is,” Francesca murmurs, turning her gaze back to her daughter, who’s started chewing gummily at her dress. She brushes Liserne’s cheek with her fingers and feels her heart ache when the babe blinks hazily up at her. “I’m going to miss it when she grows older.”

“You don’t think she’ll remain cuddly?” Francesca shifts, just enough for Fringilla to take the invitation and slip under the blankets with her.

“You think she will, then?” she asks, feeling Fringilla lean over her shoulder.

Fringilla hums. “It’s a possibility,” she says, adjusting Liserne’s blanket so that it covers her head again. “The well-loved ones often are.”

She does not ask if Fringilla knows this because she was well-loved or because she felt the lack. She thinks she knows the answer.

Instead, she shifts closer and gently lays her head on Fringilla’s shoulder. The mage stiffens at first, but quickly relaxes, even going as far as to rest her own head on top of Francesca’s.

“She likes you,” Francesca says when Liserne blinks up at Fringilla. “I think she knows you saved her life.”

“You could have done the same.” Fringilla plays with the ends of the baby blanket, fingers shifting over the knotted ends. “It was just warmth, Francesca.”

“Mm.” Francesca nudges her gently. “Maybe. But you were the one who did. I don’t know if I thanked you for that.”

Fringilla laughs then, low and raspy. “Oh, you did,” she says, and Francesca feels her crescent-moon smile against the crown of her head. “You were quite out of it- I’m pretty sure you offered to kill General Hake for me.”

Francesca tenses- as much as she’s sure Fringilla hates the general, she can’t be certain the mage won’t be forced to act if Francesca had made a threat against him. When Fringilla pats her hand, she allows herself to relax again. Still… “I’m guessing you won’t hold me to that, then?”

“Mm, not this time,” Fringilla jokes back, and Francesca feels the last of the fear leave her.

“Ah!”

She looks down to see Liserne trying to latch at her nipple, eyes welling up with tears when she fails.

“Oh baby,” she cooes, pulling down her dress and bringing her daughter’s head closer. “Oh my sweet little girl.”

“Time for dinner, hm?” Fringilla says, not bothering to hide her amusement.

Francesca laughs. “Mm, and she’s a demanding one.”

“Well, she’s a princess, isn’t she?” Fringilla smiles against her hair. “Do you need me to leave?”

“Do you need to leave?”

“Well… not quite yet.”

Francesca hums. “Stay then,” she says. “Maybe you can cuddle with her once she’s finished eating.”

“...Maybe I could.”

Francesca’s no prophet, but she ends up being right.

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