elle.ೃ࿐

she/her | 20

[kiriganarchives]

Masterlist

*ੈ₊˚. a complete list of my fics, hcs, and one-shots (wip)

pedro pascal

a confession | ☆ joel miller fluff | 1k words

jud duplenticy

the interview | ⊹ Dog Collar - Part 1 (ao3)

grishaverse

the wedding | *ੈ₊˚. matthias and nina hc | 1.2k words

[kiriganarchives]

| the interview

⊹ Dog Collar - Part 1 (ao3) | 2.4k words

Father Jud is determined to reshape Our Lady of Perpetual Grace into an inclusive church, breaking away its reputation as a conservation stronghold of the Catholic faith. But he can't do it alone. With Martha gone, he must find a new secretary to help. When the search begins he doesn't expect to meet someone like Annie Sharpe, a newcomer in Chimney Rock...

One Year Later

June 25th, 2025

Today, I bought this journal so I can record all of my experiences as the new head priest of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace. Last year, Benoit Blanc asked me to put pen to paper and recount the events leading up to the murder of Monsignor Wicks. I never considered myself a writer, but I remember feeling a burden lifted from me with every word I wrote. Since I will be handling my own flock for the first time, I think it’s important that I maintain a clear mind. So, I hope that keeping this journal will help me to become the best priest I can be for my church. I know I’m not alone, and that God will guide me during this transitional period. The first item on the agenda for today is to find a new secretary. Martha ran a tight ship and some days seemed to be the only one keeping the church together whenever the Monsignor was drunk on his ass. I will consider myself lucky if I can find anyone as good as she was, bless her soul.

-J.D.

I shut my black-colored journal and checked the time. The digits on the green display of my watch read seven a.m., which meant I had an hour to kill before Mass. I woke up early and felt well-rested. I was proud of that. After solving the case last year, it took a while for me to be able to fall asleep again. When I closed my eyes, I would be met with the cold stare of Wicks in my dreams. Nothing would happen, but it would be just him staring at me, standing inside a dark room lit by a single oil lamp. That unbearable nightmare came to me every night for about a month, until it slowly began to appear less, and then eventually stopped. The first morning I realized I had finally gotten a full night’s sleep after what felt like an eternity, I thanked God and prayed one Glory Be.

Grabbing my jacket, I stepped outside. I decided to walk rather than take my bike. The world shone brightly this morning in Chimney Rock, and the weather called for a slow wake-up. Despite all that’s happened, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. The warmth of the early sun basking in my skin, the smell of lush green grass, and distant birds singing in the trees brought me a sense of peace I rarely had at my previous post. My polished dress shoes clicked against the pavement as I strode down the road. Passersby would greet me good morning, and though I had yet to learn their names, they certainly knew mine. The story of the murder of Monsignor Jefferson Wicks changed the town forever, and Cy Draven milking it for publicity until now made sure people didn’t forget it.

I took a turn down the road on the way to the diner, just a few blocks away from the church. It’s where I had breakfast almost every morning, and also served up the best English breakfast in town. I didn’t know why, but since being reassigned to this little part of upstate New York I suddenly had a strong affinity for English breakfast. As I opened the door the little gold bell above it rang. A head turned at the sound and my eyes met Louise’s, a newly avid church-goer. A warm smile spread across her face. I smiled too and approached her table, one hand in my pocket. The sweet smell of coffee and pancakes filled the air.

”Good morning, Father! I’m looking forward to your homily today,” said Louise.

”Thank you, Louise. How are you doing?” I asked.

”Well, you know. I woke up missing my mother, but I know she’s safe in God’s hands now."

”She is,” I reassured her. “I’ll include her in the prayers this morning.”

”Thank you, Father,” replied Louise, squeezing my hand. I squeezed hers back, then headed for my usual spot at the counter.

I slid on the stool and Tom, the owner, nodded at me.

”The usual, Father?”

”Yes, please. Will I see you at Mass today Tom?”

Tom raised a brow and gestured to the packed room around us, holding a nearly empty pot of coffee in his hand. I chuckled sheepishly.

”Yeah, not likely,” said Tom. “I’ll probably have to catch the evening service.”

I clapped my hands together. “That’s perfect! I will see you tonight, then.”

”You don’t have an assistant pastor doin’ that or something?”

”For now it’s just me,” I said. A waiter slid my plate of food towards me and darted away to serve the next table. I immediately dug in and went straight for the eggs.

”Let me get this straight,” said Tom, pointing a palm at me. “Since reopening the church, you’ve been doing every single service by yourself?”

I nodded wordlessly, my mouth full of English breakfast.

Tom blew a low whistle and shook his head. “Shit, I can’t imagine talking for that many hours, let alone to a whole group of people.”

“I sing sometimes too,” I said, scooping up a spoonful of beans.

”Aren’t your hands full?”

”That’s actually what I’m trying to solve today. Gonna interview some secretaries.”

”Good luck with that, Father. I’ll see you at Mass tonight, yeah?” Tom’s eyes followed me as I stood and left a bill on the sticky counter, my plate wiped clean.

I checked my watch again. Seven-fifty. Shit, I’m a little late. It’s important that I arrive at least thirty minutes before eight so I can tend to any last minute things. I step up the old stone path and see that the one altar boy had already arrived, standing in front of the looming arched doors. I usually arrived before him. The young boy waved at me and I muttered a quick “God bless you,” as I ducked inside the church.

Still chewing, I lifted a thumb up in reply, then grabbed my jacket and left the diner. After a few paces I rounded the corner, and there stood that 19th-century gothic stone church, Our Lady of Perpetual Grace. I was determined to break the stigma around this place, and I started by changing its name from Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude. Monsignor Wicks and his predecessors believed in building walls, protecting the sheep from the wolves. I say, let them all come.

In minutes, I’m in my chasuble and the pews start to fill up. I smile, realizing that there were more people than last Sunday. I will definitely need more hands on deck in the coming months. Christmas will be a busy time.

An hour or so later, I finish the homily. I looked around the crowd and noticed some people holding their handkerchiefs. It felt weirdly good knowing they were moved to tears. I cleared my throat, wiping off my smile and apologizing silently to Christ for my brief moment of pridefulness.

After finishing four more Masses, I headed back to the rectory by one p.m., exhausted. I waited for the interviewees in the church office, leaving the door open. The rest of the afternoon would be spent looking for a new secretary.

The first person entered. An elderly woman in her seventies, around the age Martha was. When she appeared in the doorway, she paused, as if measuring the distance between herself and the desk. She was small, bundled in a gray cardigan despite the warmth of the afternoon, her purse clutched tightly to her chest.

“Good afternoon, Father,” she said, voice thin but polite. “I’m Mrs. Davis.”

The interview went smoothly enough at first. She spoke of decades spent organizing bake sales, keeping minutes for parish councils, filing records by hand long before computers made things easier. Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke, but her memory was sharp.

Then she cleared her throat.

“Father Duplenticy,” she said, tightening her grip on the cane, “I do have to ask something.”

I waited.

“Do you allow the… LPBGQ… people into the church?”

It took me a second to understand. “I’m sorry—the…?”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “You know. The gays.”

“Ah. You mean LGBTQ,” I said gently. “Yes, Mrs. Davis. Everyone is welcome here.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced past me, toward the crucifix on the wall.

“That’s not how Monsignor Wicks did things.”

No, I thought. And that was the problem.

“The Monsignor’s methods drove a lot of people out. I believe the Church should be a place people run to, not away from.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared at the floor, the rubber tip of her cane worrying at the wood. When she finally looked up, her eyes were troubled, searching.

“I’ll need to pray on that,” she said. “I’m not sure this position is right for me after all.”

The second interviewee arrived two hours later, the late afternoon heat still clinging to her like a second skin. She wore mud-streaked boots and faded overalls, the cuffs frayed and dark with soil. Her hair was pulled back messily, a smear of dirt still visible along her forearm. She smelled like sun-warmed grass and fertilizer.

Before I could respond, she stood, slower than she had sat, and excused herself. The tapping of her cane faded down the hall. Some people needed more time, others never came back.

I checked the log-in sheet. Val. Just Val.

“Please, have a seat,” I said.

I nodded. “That’s fine. So, do you have any experience as a secretary?”

She shook her head and rocked back on her heels instead, the floorboards creaking beneath her. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand. Been crouching all day. Gotta keep the blood moving.”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully.

I stared at her.

“But,” she continued, counting on her fingers, “I can clean, answer phones, organize stuff, keep the pews neat.

“Well,” I said carefully, “the position does involve a fair amount of filing and paperwork.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” She waved a hand. “Just don’t make me keep the books. Numbers and I don’t get along. I’m better with my hands.”

I glanced at the ledger on the desk. “Handling tithes and expenses is part of the job.”

She winced, just slightly. “I could brush up on high school math,” she offered. “Probably.”

I thanked Val for her time. The door closed behind her, leaving faint smudges of dirt on the floor.

As the sun dipped behind the stained-glass windows, the office grew dim, dust floating lazily in the slanted light. I rubbed at the bridge of my nose and glanced at my watch. Evening Mass in an hour. No secretary to fill this chair I’m sitting in. I stared at the empty chair across from me and wondered if I’d be handling the parish finances myself for the foreseeable future.

Then came a soft knock at the door.

I looked up. She stood in the doorway, a small smile tugging at her lips, a bicycle helmet tucked under one arm. Sunlight clung to her like she’d carried it in with her.

“Hi, um—are the interviews over?”

“No, no,” I said, motioning her in. “Come on in.” Third time’s the charm, I thought.

She stepped inside. Her hair caught the last rays of the sun peeking through the blinds, warm brown streaks glinting gold. She extended a hand, delicate but firm.

“I’m Annie Sharpe,” she said.

“Father Jud. Have a seat, please,” I gestured toward the chairs in front of my desk. She was the youngest interviewee. Something in my chest eased.

Annie hesitated, placing her bag on the nearest chair before sitting. “Sorry for being a little late. Instead of driving, I rode my bike here from my place near the town borders. Wanted to enjoy the good weather… beautiful day. Silly, right?”

“Not at all,” I said, smiling. “I have a bike, too. Don’t even own a car.”

“Well, how about that?” She laughed softly. “Anyway… here’s my resume.” She handed it over, the paper crisp and neatly typed.

I realized she was the only one to bring a resume. In a small town like Chimney Rock, where everyone seemed to know a little something about everyone else, there wasn’t really a need for formalities like resumes.

”Are you new in town?” I asked.

”Yes, how’d you know?” replied Annie.

”Just a hunch,” I replied with a knowing smile.

”Man, is it that obvious? I hoped I was blending in,” Annie groaned, suppressing her own smile.

I scanned the document quickly, raising an eyebrow. She previously owned a clothing business. “It’s clear you’re… overqualified,” I said. “You worked in the city?”

It wasn’t common for young people from the city to move here unless there was something they wanted to get away from, like the way Simone did with her injury.

”Yep, Manhattan.” She started to fidget with her fingers.

”Do you mind if I ask what made you settle on Chimney Rock?” I searched her face.

There was a pause. Annie shifted slightly, and I caught a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “My brother and I used to visit our grandparents here over the summer, as kids. Ever since my brother died, the city just wasn’t the same. I had to get out. So… I packed my stuff and came here. No regrets. Something about this place… I just felt drawn to it, like the Lord was calling me.”

I nodded, watching her closely. “And your business?”

Her lips pressed together for a moment. “I opened it with my brother. We were partners. Without him, it just didn’t feel the same anymore.” Her voice faltered slightly, and I felt an unexpected urge to reach across the desk, to offer comfort.

I sighed, rubbing my neck. “I have to be honest, Annie. This job isn’t nearly as exciting as running your own business.”

She laughed softly, the sound light and warm. “Father, I’m here because I want to serve the Lord. What could be more fulfilling than that?”

I looked at her, noticing the way her eyes shone. Was it sadness, or passion? I couldn’t tell, but it warmed my heart.

“Annie,” I said, grinning, “welcome to Our Lady of Perpetual Grace.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait… really? Oh my God. Thank you, Father! I can’t wait to start on Monday—well tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Annie.”

She left with a smile, and the faint vanilla scent of her perfume lingered behind. I leaned back in my chair, feeling relieved. I had a feeling about her—about what we could do here together.

[grendelsmilf]

I think the hot new trends for this summer should be reading comprehension and critical thinking skills

[peskypixel]

i was so scared for him

[kiriganarchives]

the wedding

*ੈ₊˚. matthias and nina hc | 1.2k words

One of the few chapels in Ketterdam was a crumbling old building, weathered under the weight of neglect and decay. Fortunately, it was tucked away in Black Veil, keeping them close to their hideout. Nina examined her surroundings, the dim light barely illuminating the peeling paint and cracked stone. The room was dark, and a steady drip echoed from a leak in the ceiling, punctuating the silence. They shouldn’t be here—not at this hour. Kaz would undoubtedly have their heads for it, but that was why Inej was by their side. Nina hoped that with her presence, Kaz would be more forgiving. Also, Inej was the only one in their crew who spoke to the Saints. Her devout spirit lent a symbolism to the occasion, and even more so, she was Nina's closest friend. It was important to Nina for her to be there, and meant more to her than she could say. 

 “Sorry there wasn’t a better option,” Inej said softly. “This was the only chapel we could reach without being noticed.”

Matthias glanced around, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “I can see why,” he muttered.

Nina rested a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. “It’s fine,” she said, her eyes shifting between him and Inej. “I’d marry you anywhere, as long as you were beside me.”

A faint smile broke through Matthias’s somber expression. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

Matthias approached the remains of what had once been an altar, the edges of the stone barely visible under layers of dust and ruin. Nina moved to the start of the aisle, each step heavy with anticipation. Inej stepped beside her, slipping her arm through Nina’s, offering a small, steadying smile as she began to walk with her. Nina’s heart raced with each step forward, and she felt her Heartrender abilities useless against the surge of emotion tightening her chest. She met Matthias’s gaze; he looked as worn as the crumbling chapel surrounding them, exhaustion etched into his features, his clothes tattered from days spent hiding in Black Veil. His once-neat hair now fell in disarray, far from the disciplined Fjerdan soldier she’d first met on that ice-bound ship. But none of that mattered. Saints, his eyes—those eyes that burned with fierce, undying love for her. She knew she must look the same, that he could see the raw, undeniable reflection of it in her gaze too.

Inej unthreaded her arm from Nina’s, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “What you’re doing is beautiful. I am truly happy for you,” she said, her voice trembling.

Nina hastily wiped away the first tear that slipped down her cheek, taken aback by Inej’s vulnerability. “The Wraith is crying? It must be that the Barrel has been turned upside down and shaken violently,” she laughed bitterly. “Thank you, Inej,” she whispered, her smile softening. She embraced Inej tightly before reluctantly pulling away.

The last few weeks had been marked by chaos. Even after rescuing Inej from Van Eck, the crew was teetering on the edge, pushed to their limits. Kaz was already plotting their next move, and Nina couldn’t shake the feeling that this one would be the final gambit. Matthias sensed it too. The night after Inej’s rescue, the consequences of her use of parem surged through Nina like a tide, pulling her under. She felt the darkness creeping in, the edges of her strength fraying. But Matthias was there, and he held her close, offering comfort in the quiet, a balm for the pain that threatened to swallow her whole.

That night, Nina nestled against Matthias, her heart racing with a mix of fear and longing. She could feel the remnants of power still coursing through her veins, a reminder of what she had sacrificed for strength. The whispers of the drug clawed at her mind, seductive and insistent, tempting her to surrender to it once more. But as she looked into Matthias’s eyes—those fierce, steadfast eyes—she found the resolve to fight it.

“Why did I let it get this far?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in her words hung between them, heavy and charged.

Matthias traced a thumb over her cheek, anchoring her in the present. “No use dwelling on what’s already gone,” he said, his voice steady, a quiet strength meant for both of them. “All that matters is this—I'm here. We are here.”

Nina lifted her gaze to him, eyes shining, her hair a soft whisper against his chin. “Matthias, it hurts,” she breathed, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds. All I want is to be with you, and I ask the Saints—why not now? Can’t it be now?”

Matthias frowned, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “What are you asking?”

Nina inhaled slowly, the breath heavy with the weight of her heart, and the parem. “Be with me, forever. Promise me things, even if the world doesn’t let them happen.”

A twinkle shone in Matthias’s eyes. “I never took you for a romantic,” he said with a soft chuckle, though the humor felt hollow.

“Maybe I’m just tired of hiding, of waiting,” she confessed, her voice no more than a breath. “I want something we can hold on to, no matter what tomorrow brings.”

Matthias’s gaze softened, his grip on her hands tightening just slightly. “Something that won’t slip away with the night,” he murmured, as if testing the thought aloud.

Nina nodded, the ache in her chest easing ever so slightly. “Exactly. Something that’s ours, even if the world tries to take it.”

He studied her, the tension in the air crackling between them. “We will make this permanence,” he said, his voice firm. A smile broke through the shadows that had lingered in his eyes.

It had only happened a few days ago, yet the memory lingered vividly in Nina's mind. She needed to hold onto it, especially as she stepped closer to Matthias, and a wave of fear washed over her. She fought to push it away. She knew, deep down, that this was what she truly wanted. When Nina finally reached the altar, her fear melted away, replaced by the undeniable love she felt for the man standing before her. The Druskelle, her warrior.

Outside, the world felt on the brink, shadows dancing in the flickering light of the lanterns that lined the narrow streets of Ketterdam. The city was a living beast, wild and untamed, and they were caught in its jaws, waiting for the moment to strike back. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp night air, determined to face whatever awaited them.

“I don’t know what will happen,” Nina said, her voice trembling, but a smile broke through.

“I do,” Matthias declared, cradling Nina's hands in his own, gently tilting her chin to meet his gaze. “With these vows, we will be forever bound. No matter what tomorrow brings, we will love each other fully and completely. It doesn’t matter when or how. I am here now, Nina. If you will have me.”

Nina squeezed his hands, warmth blooming in her chest. “Of course I will. Will you have me, Matthias Helvar?”

“Until death,” he replied, his eyes aglow with fervor. “In the eyes of Djel, the Saints, or whatever heavens may be watching, I will choose you—today and always, Nina Zenik. I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”

[bebx]

[maybemacdc]

why the net, kaz?

[daily-spooky]

[desinteresse]

If im reading a 800 page book I should be freed of all other responsibilities in my life. Like sorry I can’t do that right now because im reading this long ass book. Yeah you know how it is

[finalgirlabigailhobbs]

I do like characters who do not exhibit any hint of sexuality in any way because they’re too busy being tormented by the narrative. like “yea I might be gay or whatever but the labyrinth is growing so I can’t worry about that shit rn”

[kiriganarchives]

| a confession

☆ joel miller fluff | 1k words

You anxiously pace back and forth across the room, it's worn floorboards groaning under your feet. Joel and Ellie went out for a food run hours ago, and still haven't come back. It was already dark out. Despite the growl in your stomach begging for something to eat, you were more worried about the last two people you have in your life being shot dead or worse, getting infected.

The panic was starting to settle in fast before you heard the door burst open. Your eyes met Joel's, and relief flooded your body. But it quickly vanished when you saw who he was holding. It was Ellie, bruised and unconscious in his arms.

Your eyes widened. "What happened—"

"Get me the tape," he said gruffly. Without hesitation, you rummage in your pack and throw it to Joel. He rips a strip out with his teeth and wraps the black piece tight around Ellie's forearm. "There were four raiders. Said they would kill her if I didn't give them what they wanted." Joel scoffed. "Of course, she beat those assholes real hard. I was shootin' at them behind her, watching her back."

You gently rub Ellie's injured arm, frowning a little. "She's amazing." Joel glances up at you, then back at Ellie to tend her wound, his brows pressed together. "Sorry, you must've been worried."

You nod your head. "I was, but it's—hey, you're hurt too." You lift a finger and point to Joel's cheek. There was a nasty cut sliced across. He touched it to check, then flinched. It was the slightest movement, but you saw. You knew him well enough already to see when he's trying to hide pain.

"Let me help," you say. Joel nods once in agreement, then looks down at Ellie. You notice a faint look of uneasiness in his gaze. "She's sleeping. She'll be fine," you assure him. Joel only shook his head. "Yeah, you should've seen her go at them. Thinks she's invincible or somethin'..."

You helped Joel up to his feet, and the both of you sit on the two chairs propped nearby Ellie. Whether it was you or Joel, neither of you would let her out of your sight. You take a cloth and pour a bit of water on it to clean up the gash, at least a little bit. Some drops of water fall to your lap, and Joel absentmindedly clears them away with a swipe of his hand.

"I should've went with you," you sigh.

"You had to watch our stuff."

"I can carry the stuff, and go out with you guys next time," you said sharply, making a pointed look at Joel.

Joel stared at you for a moment, then softly, finally said, "Alright."

There was a beat of silence before you wrung the cloth, squeezing the reddened water out. Your lips were pressed tight in a line while you dabbed some alcohol on Joel's cut. He winced but ignored it, instead noticing the tension on your face. Joel laid a hand on your knee. "Hey, what's goin' on?"

Your hand drops down a little. "Nothing, just thinking." You lift your hand to Joel's face again, but he gently brings it down to your lap.

"Come on, tell me," he says. With a defeated sigh, you toss the cloth. Joel leans in closer toward you.

It took you a minute to say anything, but he waited. "You and Ellie, you were only gone for a few hours but, it felt too long. I was so afraid," you whispered, your voice shaking a little. Joel shook his head to say he and Ellie were alright, but didn't speak. You went on.

"Joel," you swallowed, talking into the dark pool in his eyes. "You don't understand, this was the longest fucking day of my life. It's stupid, I know, I should've expected this to happen but, if anything happened to you—"

"Hey, hey, no. It's not stupid," he cut in, putting his hands on your shoulders. You shake your head, and close your eyes tight, shutting away the tears threatening to fall. Joel knew what you were doing, and pulled you into his arms. The action tore down your dam, and you cried silently into his shoulder.

He held you tight, close. It felt so right, like if he let you go you would fall apart to pieces on your own. But you stayed wrapped in his arms for a long time, listening to his soothing whispers in your ear. Finally, when you were ready, when you felt like he'd put you back together well enough, you broke away from him.

But Joel wasn't ready. When he saw your reddened, tear stained cheeks; his face changed and mirrored the pain written all over your face. Gently, he pressed his palm against your cheek, and kissed you softly. You heard a sigh escape his lips, and the sound made you melt. Slowly, your pain and his began to dull in your chests, and a feeling of need crept in.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. He pressed one hand on your back and the other on your waist. Joel would've kissed you for hours if it meant your hurt went away. But you pulled away, and were both out of breath. With foreheads touching, you looked at him, and his eyes were closed, chest rising up and down fast. You crept your fingers to the back of his head, and stroked his gray hair softly—it calmed him, his breath slowed. He opened his eyes, leaning back to look at you.

"Was that okay?" he asked, his voice coarse.

"Yeah. I feel better," you said, your lips formed in an almost undetectable smile.

"Ah, do you?" Joel teased. He let out a low chuckle, and you could feel the sound rumble down to your stomach.

"Stop it," you laughed, shoving him away. But Joel was fast, and he immediately had you on his lips again, breathing you in. It caught you off guard, and before you knew it the kiss was over, breaking apart with the sound of you catching your breath, and Joel's eyes on yours.

"You're beautiful," he sighed. You scoffed almost silently in reply, but Joel heard it. "Hey," he said, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Really, I'm serious."

You rolled your eyes, smiling. "Okay, okay," you whispered. It was dark, but by some moonlight spilling through the windows Joel saw the flush forming in your cheeks. He grinned, and with one last kiss on your head, he went down to the floor and opened up his bedroll. You curled up beside him, and you fell asleep, his fingers locked in yours.