Scorn and the Saint-Maker, chapter 48: Your mother’s eyes from your eyes cry to me
Scorn and the Saint-Maker is a murder mystery/ineffable husbands romance/who-turned-them-human Good Omens fanfic, set at a university in Scotland, with lots of (as-yet skippable) level-5 smut, ✨sexy maths✨ (passed peer review ✅), and one trans angel
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 48 summary: A split-moment choice leads to an unexpected revelation (unless you’ve paid attention in some earlier chapters).
This chapter isn’t (just) a walk in the park.
Rating: Chapter rated T. Fic rated E for skippable smut and instances of M-rated, heavy topics (please see tags).
Content warning: Passing mention of past family trauma, death of a sibling, and parental transphobia. It’s very brief and rather unemotional. (If that makes you nervous and you’d like more details/a hint of whereabout in the chapter to watch out for it, please write me. ❤️)
Excerpt:
Crowley’s eyebrows were angled dramatically towards the bridge of his nose. He didn’t speak for a long moment.
“Haven’t been,” he said stiffly. “There. Since… y’know, back when.”
Doctor Fell looked at him. “Not once in thirty-five years?”
A curt, lateral twitch of the head.
“Well.” He offered Anthony his arm; then, when it wasn’t taken immediately, maneuvered Anthony’s hand into position. “I can assure you, dearest, that it is just a church. A perfectly regular, normal, demon-free church. Elegant architecture, admittedly, but nothing spooky.”
Anthony scowled at the perfectly regular church.
“I don’t mind spooky. Big spooky fan, me.” He frowned, then sighed. “Oh, for fuck’s…”
Fell shook off the dripping, cold-water feeling of déjà vu.
Read chapter 48 on AO3 ➡️
or start from the beginning ↩️ (206k words, WIP)
LOOK AT ME UPDATING ALMOST ON SCHEDULE
Don't expect me to stay on schedule though – I just didn't want to make yous wait too long for this chapter, given the, ah... connections...? with the last, if you will.
It is also getting seriously, frustratingly, late-autumn-ly wet-cold just about now (#casual southern hemisphere exclusion), and I figure that sticking a spring-like scene and some romance in one's mind's eye (#casual aphantasia exclusion) might help keep a soggy person pretend-warm.
