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Amazing! I love the writing style dude! I can’t wait for you to post more about this I’m genuinely intrigued ^^

Embers of Yearning

Prologue

Pairing: Ignacio x Father Gregor

Word count: 1852

Summary: Much to his dismay Ignacio is tasked with infiltrating the church.

This Prologue is a telling of the events that lead up to this post.

Ignacio scowled up at the building looming over him. It mocked him with its presence. Its status as a house of worship; as something sacred— holy.

It overwhelmed him with a feeling indescribable.

A feeling that sunk down to his stomach, tying it into a tight knot. He balled his fist in an intensity that matched that feeling. A low growl rose from within him, no doubt stemming from that sickening knot in his stomach.

He so loathed being designated to such a job—

His task? Infiltrate the only church in town.

To destroy it from the inside was the objective at hand. It would benefit the collective overall were it to cease operations immediately. Not only does its beliefs clash with the collective’s but the man who ran it was vigilant. Observant. They had begun to suspect that he was onto them, and if given a chance would interrupt their activities, if not attempt to shut everything down as a whole. An important job without a doubt, but an unfavorable one to be sure.

And who, pray tell, was the most competent yet least favored among the collective?

Ignacio himself.

So he stood before this “sanctuary” which mocked him so.

Him and all he believed in…

He hadn’t been to church in years and by no means did he ever intend on going back…

That was a part of the past…

A past that’s now been reduced to cinders, a trail of ash that lay behind him.

What would he even say…? How would one “destroy it from the inside”?

If they expected him to hold hands and sing kumbaya for the sake of subtly they were sorely mistaken.

But another fire taking place in town would draw suspicion, especially with his record. Those damn cops could look at his criminal record and pin him down easily, and then the collective as a whole gets exposed.

Even if those two are idiots, it's best to lay low for a while….

Ugh… what to do…

Lost in thought, Ignacio was taken aback by the sight of the door opening before him.

“Excuse me,” the man before him asked, a wary expression about him “may I help you…?” Though Ignacio was yet to do much as speak, it was clear the man was suspicious of him.

Oh great just the person he needed to interrupt his train of thought.

The “holy” man himself, dawning sacred black robes, and wearing his faith across his chest in shape of a wooden crucifix.

The priest.

Quick on his feet, Ignacio blurted out “Confessionals,” in response.

“Excuse me?” the priest asked in response, furrowing his brows.

“Confessionals. I wanna do a confessional.” he man shot back, shoving past the man in the door to enter the church.

He suppressed the urge to shudder.

The contrast in energies struck him immediately. Upon entry he already wanted to wipe himself clean of this place. To go home and take a shower so hot, it boiled like lava straight from the nether world. He’d cleanse himself by setting himself ablaze again than spend longer than necessary in this place.

Disgusting.

“...You… want to do confessionals?” asked the priest, incredulously.

Losing patience, Ignacio grit his teeth in a faux smile “Is there something w r o n g with that, priest?”

“It’s just that—”

“It’s just w h a t ?”

The priest began to grimace “You haven’t exactly exhibited the conduct of one who follows the ways of the lord”

“OH, well, excuse me. Didn’t realize your little church here was such an exclusive club”

“That’s not what I—”

“Aren’t priests supposed to welcome people into the religion with open arms? REAL warm welcome here. I really feel accepted. Good going, F a t h e r.”

The priest paused, taking a moment to inhale deeply though his nose.

Collecting himself, he let his frustrations go in a sigh.

“My… apologies. However, this is not the allocated time for confessionals, nor have you made an appointment with me, so might I kindly ask you to leave?”

“Leave?” Ignacio scoffed, “Are you kidding me? This place is fu-”

“D o n ‘ t .”

Ignacio’s grin sharpened as he cocked his head to the side “oh pardon me- this place is FREAKING empty! I come to you seeking aid, and you turn me down?”

“Watch your language in the house of the lord. And I’m sorry if I have my suspicions about a man who— not only exhibits deplorable behavior, but has stood outside my church glaring at it for a good few minutes.”

Ignacio dropped his smile in place of a blatant scowl.

Unphased by his glaring, the priest held the door open for him.

Ignacio marched back outside, frustrated with his failed attempts as the priest began to close the door, however—

There was a pause.

The man creaked the door back open slightly, looking at Ignacio.

“If you really wish to confess your sins, confessionals are open on Saturdays, from 11 am to 1 pm…” he said, before shutting the door again.

Unable to contain his anger any longer, Ignacio let out a loud groan, voicing his frustrations as he kicked up some dirt in anger.

Much to his dismay, it seemed like he would have to be in it for the long haul

Friday rolled around.

It was a day that he had been dreading.

Once more, he turned up to the church, but this time he took action; he knocked instead of engaging in a one-sided staring competition with the building.

Rather quickly, the man he had been expecting came to answer his call.

“Oh!” the priest exclaimed “You actually… came.”

“Uh. Yeah. No shit,” Ignacio snapped back.

“Language.”

“It's English, priest. Sorry, would you rather me say it in Spanish? Hablas espanol?”

The man before him deadpanned before stepping aside to allow him access to the church “I do speak Spanish, actually. But you know what I meant. No profanity.”

Ignacio rolled his eyes as he stepped inside.

“The booth is this way,” the man said, leading him further into the building.

Ignacio remained tense, shoulders shrugged, as he walked under rays of sunlight colored by stained glass of religious imagery.

He felt watched.

As if in this very moment thousands of eyes were staring him down. He felt as if he could feel the nonexistent breath of a figure behind him, hot on his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

The increasingly uncomfortable silence was broken with a simple question.

“So,” the priest said, “what is your name, sir?”

“...It’s Ignacio.”

“Ah. Good to properly meet you, Ignacio. I am Gregor Raguel, but you may call me Father Gregor.”

“Great. Yeah— can we get this over with, Raguel?”

Despite wanting a rise from him, this time around his impudence didn’t elicit a reaction from the man. He seemed much more composed, calm. He kept his head up and continued walking forward, not a hint of hesitance.

“Patience” he replied “We’re nearly there.”

Before long, they arrived at the confessional booth.

Ignacio once again felt something indescribable well up inside of him. An unease fueled by a cacophony of harrowing experiences. He felt the urge to either scream or vomit. Currently, he was leaning more towards the prospect of screaming— though his stomach was churning with a deep rooted anxiety he hadn’t exactly had anything to throw up. And the distress— rather than making him melancholic, rather being confused, rather than remaining uncomfortable— began to build an anger inside of him…

It lit a fire inside him, a rage fueled by god knows what.

An anger that builds, and builds…

A pressure rising, like steam in a kettle…

He watched with eyes that stared daggers as Gregor sat in the booth.

“You may begin” Father Gregor announced, his voice soft with a patience that broke through Ignacio’s building rage, leaving him almost stupefied.

Right.

The mission.

Don’t get carried away. Don’t lose your cool…

Just…say something…

Sighing, the hot-tempered man cast his gaze to the floor with a grimace.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he tried to recall the whole song and dance of starting a confession.

“Uh… Bless me father for I have sinned… blah blah blah… My last confession was…” He paused and narrowed his eyes, sucking up air in a quiet hiss as he contemplated.

“Ugh. Whatever,” he waved off the holes in his memory, “it’s been long enough that I don’t remember.”

. . .

He stared at the lattice with contempt, wishing that somehow his gaze would pierce through the dark wood, and stab Father Gregor directly.

He idly bobbed around as he tried to think of what to say, his body brimming with anxiety. He wore his impatience on his sleeve.

God, just— Think of something already!!!

As he was looking down— that’s when he spotted it.

Peering through his button down, the golden chain that bore the amulet he always kept close to his chest. The mark of his collective. The same collective that left him with all the undesirable tasks they could think of.

The same collective that cared not whether he crawled back to their gathering spot…

Screaming.

Crying.

His chest heaving— on his knees retching.

Layers of his skin burnt away into a sickening crisp. Injured— no, mutilated from the dirty work they left him to do.

Their first course of action?

Ask if the task was completed.

Then leave him to writhe in agony.

Fuck— even if they didn’t like him, that was just—

. . .

He inhaled sharply before looking up at the booth again.

“Look— let’s get one thing straight, priest,” he announced, suddenly seeming more casual and less awkward with his speech— “I don’t care about forgiveness,” he said bluntly “and I’m not trying to become a better person either.”

. . .

“But,” he interjected, projecting his voice with his objection. He gave a slight pause as he clutched the amulet— the mark of the group that hated him so— yet the only thing that kept him alive that night.

“...I don’t exactly…” his voice softened with a genuine sadness he couldn’t mask “...have anywhere else to turn to… So…” his voice tapered off “...yeah.”

A silence lingered in the air…

Ignacio felt the weight of what he said— it wasn’t anything he could take back. It was out there now… And he knew. This priest— the very man he was meant to ruin.

He felt like he should’ve been feeling embarrassed…

The pang of instant regret that strikes when you know you’ve said something you shouldn't have…. The dread of knowing you can’t rewind time and take it back… Fear of the fact that someone else has that information with them— the moment you’re most vulnerable, and why.

…But he didn’t.

He felt…

Lighter, almost.

Like— even if only by a little, a weight had been lifted off of his chest, making it a bit easier to breathe.

Confused by this revelation, but not off put, Ignacio sucked in another deep breath before letting out a big, exasperated (if not a bit exaggerated) sigh.

“...So anyways, I set myself on fire.”

🕯️x🕯️

A/N: Like I said, not the proudest of this but- please reblog/lemme know what you think. If you made it down here, thanks for reading!

#reblog #thoughts #amazing story

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