Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2017-04-26
Completed:
2017-07-30
Words:
39,397
Chapters:
10/10
Comments:
107
Kudos:
296
Bookmarks:
32
Hits:
5,906

In the Name of the Father

,

Summary:

"He had been fighting his impulses for a long time, devoted to his vocation and faith. He never expected that a young man's gaze would change his perspective entirely..."

Chapter 1: Blessed Mary

Notes:

peachycans: This is one fic that I have always enjoyed reading. A few months ago, I finally discussed with thelovearesick about doing a translation. Now it's finally here!

This is an English translation of thelovearesick's 'In the name of the Father...'. It's not an exact word-for-word, sentence-by-sentence story, but of course most of that is due to cleaning up the raw translation itself. I hope you enjoy.

thelovearesick: Hey Guys, this translation runs on the account of Peachy, who is doing an excellent job in this translation. I'm very happy with this. I'm excited that more people can read this story!

Chapter Text

Purity.

The word echoed like a mantra throughout his mind as he meditated, locked inside of a darkened room. The only source of light came from a single candle that illuminated the table he’d placed his elbows upon. He held a rosary between his fingers, palms clasped together. His prayers had become constant, even haunting as he closed his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts of earlier days.

Unfortunately, his mind continued to torment him with the image of a stranger that had once sat in the first pew of the cathedral just a few days past. He remembered the solemn expression over the stranger’s youthful face accompanied by a pair of wide eyes that stared into nothingness with a sort of brimful sadness.

The sweet stare he’d stumbled over was enough to hit him with a wave of shock that ran from head to toe. He’d had to take a couple steps back.

He knew with absolute certainty that the youth and beauty of that creature was one of the most striking, attractive and—exciting things he had ever seen in his entire life.

The slender rosy lips. The sand-colored hair that fell delicately over his cheekbones—and of course, the typical appearance of someone who had not reached their full maturity yet.

Firm hands held his book of chants as the boy tried to distract himself from his surroundings. He had caught the tremor of the boy’s chin, the slight curves of his torso, the tightness of his waist—even the near-unnoticeable tic his leg had as he shifted in his seat.

The young man held the hand of his mother with his free hand, an older woman who had been sobbing beside him throughout Mass. She had, after all, just lost her husband.

He shifted his palms, licked his lips and focused more on his memories of that day, warping them, allowing his head to rest on the back of his chair as his breath hitched, forming erratically.

In this new memory, the young man rose from his seat, walking up to the cleric. He moved with grace and elegance, his composure showing off youthful beauty in all of its splendor.

His own hands crossed over the young man’s waist, his chest rising and falling, alternating touch against his hips and face. A smile formed—small, gentle.

Their faces grew closer and closer, and suddenly he could see nothing but the boy, as if the whole world had vanished around them. He was only a few inches away from his lips, their minds consumed with thoughts of want and desire…

“Father Gluskin?” said a female voice from the other side of the door. He snapped back to reality almost instantly, a pitiful sigh escaping his lips. He placed his rosary onto the desk, rising from his chair to greet the one who’d chosen to disturb him at such a time.

He opened the door, forcing a small smile onto his face as he met the eyes of a nun, "Sister Sophia—what a surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure?” said Eddie Gluskin, keeping his tone polite and cheerful despite his growing annoyance at the disruption. “Remain pleasant,” he told himself.

Sister Sophia was a particularly bothersome and clumsy woman. She was far too young for her own good, and it was evident through all of the ignorant decisions she made. Especially when it came to dealing with the priests and other members of the community.

When Gluskin had first met her, he’d deemed the behavior acceptable—to a degree—and had taken on the duty of teaching her about their noble vocation of giving and strengthening life to the Lord. As days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, that smiling young woman had started to become less of a student and more of a nuisance.

“I’m very sorry for interrupting your prayers Father, but a woman has been looking to discuss something with you in the chapel. She says that it’s important that only you can help her, and—”

“Yes, thank you Sister Sofia. Please tell her I will join her in a moment,” Was all Gluskin said before closing the door.

Sister Sofia blinked in confusion on the other side of the door, a shiver of nervousness running down her spine as she nodded at the now-closed door. She retraced her steps back towards the chapel, obeying the command she was given. He would be out soon—he’d told her he would.

Gluskin ran his hands down his face, sighing. He just needed a few more moments to think—he needed to calm the emotions that had stuck with him even after he’d been brought out of his… unhealthy thoughts.

How could he have let that happen so easily? He’d learned to handle his sick impulses in the past. Fragile ideas had been blocked with care, passions repressed with ease. But he’d let this one slip right through his fingers. How?

Why had these thoughts come back to torment him?

It wasn’t his fault. No, it couldn’t be—it was the fault of that child. That damned child who had caused all of those unwanted visions behind his eyes. Gluskin cursed his own mental weakness on the surface—but inside, he cursed the fact that he didn’t even know the boy’s name, didn’t have a way to contact him—to be able to establish just a couple of words between them. To know what kind of voice he had. It probably sounded like a choir of angels.

Gluskin knew it was foolish to idealize an encounter with a complete stranger—one who hadn’t even spared him a passing glance at that. But it was the only consolation he had left. Many nights had been spent thinking about the boy, over and over again.

He growled, throwing a fist into the table beside him. The resulting bang resonated for a few moments, eventually dimming back down into silence. He huffed, tilting his head back as a few strands of hair fell over his eyes.

He could only assume someone up above was laughing him—making a mockery of his work. Taunting his vocation, his morals—every honest representation he had ever made for himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught himself thinking such vulgar things. He’s been fighting off those sort of thoughts for years upon years.

To be homosexual was an atrocity at best.

It had all become such a great burden on his life that interactions with men had become far and few compared to his interactions with women. He had devoted himself entirely to his ecclesiastical duties instead, hoping it would drive all of his unhealthy thoughts away.

His social apathy had soon proved useful, sending him into adulthood as a changed man. He was an expert of churchly subjects, a lover of dead languages, and completely willing to teach his learnings to others. He knew how to act properly, keep himself and others in line, and act the part he was supposed to play.

Gluskin was recognized as a severe man by most of the locals, but he was also known for his fairness and understanding as long as the receiver was deserving. Many women of the church as well as other priests exercised caution before Father Gluskin’s all-too familiar temperament. He was the one in charge of sponsoring Mass and festivities, after all.

Such respect entailed great responsibility—he couldn’t afford to find himself in love with the first young man who appeared before him. It wasn’t right.

Running a hand through his raven-colored hair, Father Gluskin set out from his chambers in the direction of the chapel towards the woman Sister Sofia had told him about minutes beforehand. Although Gluskin walked coolly and calmly, his height of six-four allowed him to travel faster and with greater strides. Soon enough he was standing in the doorway to the cathedral, finding the described woman sitting at the first pew. She was covered from head to toe in dark black dress, her face partly disguised by a veil.

Straightening his posture, Gluskin approached the woman slowly and cautiously, knowing fully well that this woman was recently widowed. He met her eyes as he approached, allowing a small smile to fall over his lips.

“Mrs. Park?” he asked, trying his best to sound consoling. She was struck with grief —he didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was.

The woman’s eyes widened with a start. "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt you Father—I know you're a very busy man. I apologize if this was of any inconvenience to you—”

Gluskin waved a dismissive hand, brushing her apologies aside. “It’s quite alright, Mrs. Park. You’re more than welcome here, anytime. It’s only normal to want to find comfort in times of difficulty such as these. I was informed you wished to speak with me?”

The woman nodded. "Yes. It's about my son, Waylon."

Gluskin paused, taking a seat beside Mrs. Park. He furrowed his brows, carefully taking her hands into his own. Her son? This could prove interesting.

"Has something happened to the young Park?" Gluskin asked next, careful with his choice of words.

Mrs. Park fell into another fit of sobs, releasing one of her hands in order to pull a handkerchief out of her pocket. She dabbed at her eyes, taking deep and ragged breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. She was a worried mother; Gluskin couldn’t blame her. Not really, anyway.

After another minute of sniffles and cries, she managed to compose herself enough to continue, placing her handkerchief onto the empty seat beside her. “I'm worried about him. We don’t talk much anymore, and he’s always stuck in his own thoughts as if he’s just… disconnected from me. After my husband passed away, I’ve been worried he hasn’t had the right figure in his life to guide him—”

“—It’s normal to have these kinds of thoughts, Mrs. Park—even more so when dealing with a teenager. They’re going through many changes during this period of their lives.” Gluskin interrupted, gently patting the woman’s hand.

She nodded. “Oh yes, I’m aware—it’s part of why I’m worried. What I really wanted to ask of you, Father… I was wondering if you would be able to guide him. Maybe even counsel him, if it’s not too much trouble, or if it interrupts your daily activities.”

Silence enveloped them both. Gluskin was more than surprised—no, surprised wasn’t the right word. Euphoric.

If Mrs. Park had not been distracted by the action of furiously dabbing her eyes again, she would have noticed the particular brightness in Gluskin’s eyes, the subtle change of expression, and the particular smile that was beginning to form ever so slowly upon his lips. He forced it back down moments later, clearing his throat.

"It wouldn’t be any kind of distraction, Mrs. Park. I am more than willing to help your son. In fact, you can bring him as soon as possible.”