#bedtime stories for little mafiosi

[random-doctor-on-the-internet]

Hello earthlings, your favourite aliens back! Well, not favourite, I probably don't even make it to the top fifty, but let a guy have dreams.

I am currently drowned in exams and two days late on my art commissions schedule, but I've just eaten coffee beans thinking it was chocolate (don't do that, kids) and decided that it's time for a new BSfLM.

@weirdly-specific-but-ok , tagging you because I haven't bothered you in a while. Read this coffee induced masterpiece and cry.

global cheering

So, since @randomvoices and @zonzolik asked about the cults, I'll talk about...well, the cults. And now, mortals, IT'S SHOWTIME. Neil Gaiman have your mercy, for the worst is yet to come.

global slightly worried cheering

Okay, buckle your seatbelts, here's the story of how I almost got dragged into a cult. Welcome to hell.

Alrighty-almighty, it all starts, as it will end, in some little russian town. You know, these little towns that seem to only exist to say things like "this famous guy was born there", "that famous guy tried to sleep there for a night but was met with a lot of suspicion", "that one blorbo on the net got dragged into a cult there", etc. You see what I'm talking about.

"But, Ash, why were you in this town?", you ask.

The truth is, I don't know. We were looking for a place to sleep, then God decided that my life will be a crossover between Florida News and those traumatic fairy tales from your childhood that you remember all your life, and threw me there. Hi!

So, we arrive there, it's late, almost everyone is sleeping, and we need to stay unnoticed for runaway reasons. The villagers, however, are not very eager to welcome two black haired strangers carrying an impressive amount of close combat weapons. After a bit of useless bargaining, we realised that it's time to pack our bags and hitch the road.

So, we get a loaf of bread for dinner and go away, trying to look very offended. Historians don't say if it was effective. We're almost gone when we see a guy who yells us that there's a small community of monks in the woods who usually welcome well minded strangers.

Sleep in a monastery is better than no sleep at all, we decide, and go in the woods. We arrive, the monks are nice even if not very monkish, they give us some mushroom stew and send us to sleep.

I don't know what they put in the stew, but we both sleep for more than three days. When we wake up, they're all nice, all seem very worried that we haven't woken up earlier. We apologize for abusing their hospitality and ask if we could do something to make up for it. We may be punk, but we have a heart. They happily agree and we spend an unknown amount of days alternating between enormous amounts of sleep and chopping wood, collecting flowers, brewing beer, and other monastery stuff.

We start thinking about leaving, but every time we mention it, they ask us if we could help with something else, and make clear that they won't tell us where they put our travel bags (with the guns inside.). Now that we live with them, we can see that they don't look like monks at all. Neither of us knows a lot about Christianity, but I'm pretty sure monks aren't supposed to wear flower crowns, sleep together, and sing songs about how Nature is a massive slay. They're hippies, we think, nice ones, and keep chopping wood.

They seem pretty excited about the full moon. Is God supposed to look at us through the moon's eye? Is God the moon? Were they secretly werewolves? Who knows. But they were acting very strange when we mentioned it. Told us that we need to see the full moon ceremony, that it will change our lives.

We help them decorate the woods, and put a small monolith around which it's going to take place. They ask Beez to pick a goat, because they're going to do a thing in our honour. Goat meat stew? Why not. Another 2 day-long nap later, it's the full moon. They give us white robes. Beez insists to keep all the things they haven't put away under them. The black-white combo doesn't look good, but it works.

We reunite in the clearing. As soon as the moon appears, they start singing. I don't know that song but it sounds metal. I'm joining them, stammering some lyrics about burning Christians. It fortunately goes unnoticed.

And then, the goat arrives. It's very clear that there won't be any stew. Beez looks at me. I look at Beez. And we run like our lives are in danger, which is probably true. Without the robes, we're almost invisible in the night. And we mindlessly run for dear life, two days of running almost without stopping. I don't know if they sent people after us, but they didn't catch us.

So, yeah, here's how we survived a moonlight cult, and people from said cult obtained two brand new backpacks, a dozen guns, perfectly done passports (it was awful to redo these without being found) and half a loaf of bread. Hope they remember us.

Remember, children, always trust suspicious strangers. Fun adventures might happen.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Thank you so so much Ash, take all the love back. *hugs you back tightly* yes I will drink the water and try to get better. Thank you for the stolen sunglasses, and honestly you saying you'd go back to a... military base? I have no idea it sounds dark, to steal mafia sunglasses is one of the sweetest things I've heard. Try not to get stabbed please. I'm so glad I met you, Ash.

hey, all of you, here's what I... I wanted to say after finishing good omens

Hey. I'm... I've been sobbing for the past three hours, so don't mind me. I'll make a coherent post in a bit, but I did want to talk to you all, so here's the audio I promised.

So um. Um yeah. That was the second take so it sounds more coherent (relatively) but in case you don't mind messed up rambling here's the first one, just to be entirely honest.

God, I'm so sorry, thank you all for being patient I love you all, maggots.

[random-doctor-on-the-internet]

Beloved mortals, maggot invaders, and all the lost good omens admirers (seriously, what the hell are you doing here), as some of you may know, I am giving art lessons as a part-time job. Due to pressure from @weirdly-specific-but-ok , I am now bound to tell you about my Tuesday evening classes. Y’all know Fifty Shades Of Gray, now, prepare yourself for

Fifty Shades Of Grans

Dramatic music, whatever rizz happens in the soundtrack of this kind of movie, I don't know, I fell asleep after 5 minutes.

So, yeah, the class. It all starts, as it will end (will it? At this rate, my life surely will), in a church.

Why a church? I am a simple man: the town tells me to work in an abandoned church, I work in an abandoned church.

So, every Tuesday, I go there to meet my ten young retirees. I should've started suspecting something is wrong when they started calling me "young master", two weeks after meeting me. I passed this one, thinking that they're old and don't realise what they're saying, no need to make a scene.

It was going well until last week, where I made them draw blindfolded people. It takes 5 mins for them to start making jokes about the various situations in which you can use these blindfolds, none of these having a place in god's (abandoned) house. And that's the moment where one of them, pretty deaf, chooses to intervene, thinking that they're complaining about the difficulty of the thing and whispering "oh, but I kinda like that". The class turns into a debate about whether or not that gran keeps various items such as handcuffs, children, metallic poles and whips in her house. I'm afraid that the answer pointed towards "yes" at the end.

Who knows. Perhaps they sorted everything out on their WhatsApp group where they exchange strategies to make me suffer.

But that doesn't stop here. Yesterday, they had to draw human bodies. My OnlyGrans somehow managed to draw naked men, despite the models being clearly fully dressed women. Do I need to mention that they had eyes instead of nipples? Artistic freedom, what can I say.

All that to tell that I'm being bullied by kinky women in their late 70's. At this point, I'm afraid of next week. Someone, save me.

[random-doctor-on-the-internet]

@hoarder-of-dragons , you asked for this, you get this.

@weirdly-specific-but-ok tagging you, because you apparently like hearing about my humiliations. If you say one thing about the good omens references, I'll be sad and do something stupid.

Buckle your seatbelt and get some handkerchiefs, time for

The Watermelon Story

The sunglasses are back.

So, it all starts, as it will end, with a bowling contest. It's not the first. All the previous bowling contests have been nice so far (and by nice, I mean degenerating into a gun fight), and all my family, their friends, and some associates are assembled in a lovely room that we arranged to suit the occasion, with a bunch of interior plants. We may be a slightly criminal organisation, but we're also civilised people.

The tournament works in pairs, chosen by the referee, who is just here to get a free Martini and has no impact on the following story. So, I got paired with my best friend (wahoo), and we start...uh... bowling? (What do you do at a bowling contest? Do you bowl? Do you throw? No fucking idea, but we do that. )

At some advanced point in the competition, we're against my uncle and one of his sidekicks. They're winning. The sidekick throws the ball and somehow manages to get it stuck in a palm tree. Because, of course, there's a bloody palm tree in the bowling room. My cousin (too young to play) tries to climb the tree to get it back. It's hilarious. Well, it was hilarious until he fell and broke some bones. (We got him to the hospital, he's ok now).

So, we have only one ball-throwing turn left, we're clearly losing, and we don't have any bowling balls left. That's the moment when Beez decides to take a watermelon who's been lying around (why? Love. Well, Ukrainian unconditional love for watermelons.). They throw it. They strike. We won.

Global cheering? No. Most people look at us, mouth agap, seemingly lost. Some of them yell that we cheated. My uncle asks the referee.

The referee doesn't know shit about bowling and is 5 Martini glasses deep. He said there's nothing against our watermelon methods. We're finalists.

My uncle becomes the personification of wrath. He yells at everyone. When he realises that he can't do anything against the referee's will, he shoots the watermelon. The watermelon explodes and knocks one plant pot off. The bullets (three, because my uncle does not simply burst into rage against the whole vegetal kind) respectively destroy the cursed palm tree (the bowling ball is still stuck there), a spider plant (sorry) and a bromelia (not sorry, it was ugly).

My uncle's boyfriend tries to stop him. It doesn't work. My other relatives do the same. At some point, he stops, leaving a devastated bowling room. The final competition is cancelled, all finalists (hey, that's me! ) are declared winners.

We leave the place (after paying the owner for the damage done) and go celebrating elsewhere. My uncle is still raging.

A few days later, we learned that the bowling hall "mysteriously" burned. Nothing left but ashes now.

And that's how, children, I learned that we should never anger that uncle. You should remember it.

[random-doctor-on-the-internet]

were u in a cult once pls explain

Yeah. Well, almost.

You can find the story here

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

...Ash autobiography when fr ARE YOU SURE YOU MEAN NUCLEAR POWER PLANT I DON'T THINK THAT'S POSSIBLE. GOOGLE TRANSLATE THAT AGAIN PLEASE.

Hey this is to all my mutuals! Ala eighth grade introductions, please share a fun fact about yourselves! No pressure, I just find it interesting!

@cheriboms

@kirks-slutty-red-tights

@spocks-husband

@emperorsfoot

@eternally-intermittent who I was inspired by

@h0l0gramglasses

@kingof-the-crossroads

[random-doctor-on-the-internet]

Okay.

Sighs

I read a book last night and it made me cry (it also made me run around the town like a madman to find a lilac tree, but the thing's not about it). So, I've read a book, and I cried, and it had been a very long time since I've felt this and, just, well....okay. I can do it... I'm going to write again. Poorly. Awfully. But I'm going to give it a try.

So, since I have too many forgotten drafts that I should look over, can I ask for help?

So...uh...yeah. Is this the right moment to say that I dread every single one of your answers?

[the-one-and-only-duckduckgo]

Buckle you seatbelts, everyone, time for:

The Watermelon Story

So, there was a bowling contest between different relatives and associates of my parents. Big contest, loads of people, all in teams of two.

Somehow got paired with the eldritch creature that is now my best friend. At first everything goes well, until the pure genius who is my uncle throws one of the balls in a tree. A very high tree. My cousin tries to get it back, falls, breaks his leg, goes to the hospital.

All the light bowling balls are used and no-one wants to share : my family is not really what I'd call an example of generosity. My uncle and the random guy who played with him try throwing the heavy ball. They fail. Only one turn left they were leading by 8 points. This is the moment where I take a random watermelon that was lying there (why? I don't know. Either God wanted to help us, or it's just typical ukrainian behaviour to bring watermelons to parties.)

My friend throws the watermelon, and strikes. The watermelon explodes after rolling farther. Global consternation. There are no rules against it in our family contest. After a long deliberation, they all agree that we won this match. We win the other matches and win the cp

And that's, children, how I used a watermelon in a bowling contest. Take notes.

what's a random experience you rate 3.7/10?

Anything related to watermelon. I think watermelon is a very 3.7/10 fruit.

Except that one time when we won a bowling contest with a watermelon. That one deserved at least a 7.4.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

HELLO BEEZ!! I'M ASMI AND I PERSONALLY PREFER TEETH TO KNIVES BUT I RESPECT YOU.

alright good omens mascot here time to bake a wedding cake for our favourite fools

So due to Reasons I'm currently hyperfixated on designing a wedding dress for Crowley (the post is here, though what started as a fashion design post has currently devolved into a soap opera and murder) and @queermarzipan showed me the infamous tumblr vanilla extract post so.

Let's see if we're better at baking than that, maggots, this is for Aziraphale and Crowley do nOT fuck this up (I say as I google cake ingredients because i am clueless):

[EDIT AGAIN: AS OFFICIAL GOOD OMENS MASCOT, I LAY A CURSE ON THIS POLL. THE MORE VANILLA EXTRACT, THE LONGER WE HAVE TO WAIT FOR SEASON 3.]

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Love how you're like the happy-accident child that the fandom got, and I'm the boy they fucking kidnapped from a grocery store

my life as a mascot, as told in memes

One month being the Good Omens Mascot, I'm still in mourning after S2 so rather than a speech have memes dear maggots. The absolute WORST memes I can make, because I actually know nothing about meme culture AND I'M IN MOURNING DON'T JUDGE ME MY THOUGHTS ARE A MESS OF QUEEN MUSIC AND SAD HEADCANONS OKAY.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

I'M SO MAD THAT ALL OF THESE GEMS GOT LOST IN MY NOTES I NEVER SAW THEM. Ash don't mind me I'm just stalking through your blog and reading all the shit I've missed I'm sorry--

the brainrot has worsened, i'm thinking about crowley's wedding dress.

Don't look at your Mascot, good omens fandom. Don't look at me. I'm coping so fucking well it's insane. But I discovered today that Neil chose the song Book of Love for Crowley and Aziraphale's Angelic Playlist. So I listened to it for the first time today. And I'm being very normal about it.

The song ends with But I... I love it when you when you give me things. And you... you should give me wedding rings.

Which may or may not have got me thinking about Crowley and all the costumes that he's worn so far, and then thinking about what my dream wedding dress for her would be, and then wondering whether it would be a dress or a suit, then realising that it would be both. Both as in, both combined into one dress.

Now, please bear in mind: I am a visual and graphics designer. I am not under any circumstances a fashion designer. What I am, however, is still crying over Crowley and extremely fucking insane.

I then grabbed a paper and brush pens and did a (terrible) drawing before the image could escape me, and brain-dumped ideas. I have six tabs open ranging from the gown necklines of each decade of the 1800s to the superior support of back-lacing corsets. And a whiteboard open on Canva. I'm so normal I swear.

Here you go everyone have my braindump of ideas for a wedding dress for Crowley.

[Would they get married the human way? Probably not. Would he wear a dress like this for his wedding? Probably not. Am I going to achieve the end result I want? Probably not. Will I spend hours over this anyway for her? Fucking yes.]

And yes, that is Crowley carrying a bouquet of leaves from her plants. Fight me to the death on this. I bet he yelled at them beforehand too. IF I SEE A SINGLE YELLOW SPOT ON OUR WEDDING DAY, YOU'RE ALL DEAD TO ME, THIS HAS TO BE PERFECT FOR AZIRAPHALE. Poor Aziraphale probably had to sneak up to them later and comfort them.

So. Wedding dress. Terrible idea? Absolutely, maggots. I'm going to think about this endlessly anyway. New hyperfixation unlocked.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

not me sitting here hunting every one of these down so I can organise them

T-48 hours to Armageddon (when we watch me finish GO Season 2), I want to make a statement. and a will.

I've been getting a lot of ominous statements from the fandom. They've become increasingly concerned for my mental stability and even survival post the season two finale (thanks guys). I feel like as mascot I need to make some kind of statement, in case I do not survive the Final Fifteen. Maybe a will. Don't worry, this contains no spoilers (?) and no speculations or fanfiction about season 3. It is simply My Dramatic Outpouring of Poetic Emotion.

Firstly, @neil-gaiman, good day to you, Neil, this is the first interview (?) I have watched of yours. And I see you said "quiet, gentle and romantic" which until now I was kind of assuming was a fandom inside joke. I'm glad I know what to expect going into the second half of season two. In case I do not survive, thank you very much for this journey, you have created a masterpiece. I think I will watch Coraline in the next 48 hours since I am living on borrowed time and I do very much want to watch that before it all ends.

Secondly, to all the maggots, thank you very much for kidnapping me and dragging me into this beautiful pain with you. I do not think I will survive the Final Fifteen. I fell for Crowley and Aziraphale too deeply. But all my love to you, and I hope you will ensure my memory lives on. Take my posts and my meagre contributions, for they are yours. Maybe @1800ineedshelp, Lina, you can ask the maggot choir to sing Eleimon Aegovoskos (for those unaware, that is a hymn I wrote for Crowley) at my funeral, if my body is found and not discorporated. @queermarzipan I need you to mention my love for Drarry.

I have already put a POTC post in queue, maybe I'll add a few more so I linger painfully on this site even after my mortal remains are resigned to the stardust that Crowley once created.

Thirdly, @howmanyholesinswisscheese, please make the funeral arrangements and pay for them, thank you. You can play Someone to Stay if you like as you cry over your beloved late son (me). I hope I was your favourite (only) problem child and family disappointment.

Those who made art for me, @ivory--raven, @1800ineedshelp, @madfangirlontheloose, @arkytiorlecter, my deep thanks, let it be displayed in lieu of a photo.

Lastly, OFMD fandom, I'm sorry I entered so late. Make sure the show is renewed. Fly your gay flag high for me.

I still have two days, but I'm taking precautions because I'm very organised like that. Take my love, maggots, all of you, I couldn't tag everyone though I want to. May the nightingales sing again.

Your mascot and prophet, very, very dramatically yours,

Asmi

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

SCREEEEEEEEEEEECHING I MELTED AT "little me" I LOST IT AT "At some point, I bought bagels. They aren't useful on this story, they're just here for the title." AND BY THE TIME GOD ABANDONED YOU I WAS DECEASED.

ASH I LOVE YOU, I NEED AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY RIGHT NOW OF YOU THANKS.

Ok. So, well, @weirdly-specific-but-ok , I promised you a mafia story for helping my friend. You helped my friend, you'll get a story.

Sorry, I didn't read it again before posting so it's entirely my fault if there are English mistakes. Fuck la grammaire.

I have no idea about what to write so don't expect high quality. Not that you're used to a higher level. Anyways, buckle your seatbelt, open a red bull can (you'll need it), and get ready for

Pulls sunglasses out of nowhere because that is the only thing I can do at this point.

The Bagel Story

(please notice the effort put into the title. I'm too tired to put any effort elsewhere so you can stop here)

Ok, so it all begins in Ukraine (before the war). At the time, I'm kind of free (compared to later. Long story) and spend most of my days exploring the town where I live. It's a nice town. Lots of abandoned buildings. Tom Sawyer-ish vibes, if Tom Sawyer lived in a tough neighborhood from Detroit.

So, this time, I decided to take pictures of one hundred broken windows in a day (little me had weird occupations), and start wandering until it was, what, 4 pm? At some point, I bought bagels. They aren't useful on this story, they're just here for the title.

So I'm kinda lost in an empty street, and the smartest thing I think about is going into the abandoned buildings, hoping to find someone who will help me.

I don't, and spend like an hour looking for someone (who's not drunk/ high/ having more important business than helping a six year old). Noone. I try anyway. At some point, I hear people in a building. Desperate, I enter the building by the window and walk through a corridor, to arrive in a room with actual people. Well, I didn't see, since they were all wearing masks.

And this when shit gets complicated.

To give you a picture of the situation, I've just walked in a room full of masked people who were singing a song in a language I barely know (idk what it was, I assumed it was Ukrainian but don't remember enough to analyze it with my old brain). These people look at me like I was Jesus reincarnated. I look at them like they were all multiverse versions of Jesus wearing wedding dresses.

At this point, there are too many Jesuses in the story and God abandons us.

They point at me and start screaming in Ukrainian (this time, I'm sure it's Ukrainian. But I didn't speak any of it when the story happened so it just sounds like alien metal music for me). I..uh…I smile, yell “no hablo Espanol” with a Hungarian accent and run away. I don't know why.

I mean, I don't know why I yelled in Spanish. Running away was a perfectly calculated decision.

So I'm running. I don't even look to see if they kept singing in their lair, undisturbed, or if there are actually nine masked people in white robes running after me in the streets. I ran to save my life. It's night. I'm still running. I'm tired. I stop. And then, I hear a growl.

I look behind me. Nothing. I look left, then right, nothing. I start walking again, and bam! Sinistros jumpscare.

(For those who are wondering what happened, a giant dog randomly appears in front of me.)

I mobilize all my mental powers and start running. Again. The dog follows me. Did I tell you that I was tired?

Anyways, I run for my guts for the second time in an hour, wahoo. At some point, I throw the bagels at EvilPadfoot 2.0. That doesn't have any effect. I run. I look behind me to see if I have a chance of survival. And pathetically fall in the sewers (Google translate, not sure about the word. Stinky tubes.). At some point, the monster abandons and I miserably find my way home.

That was the last time I got to walk alone outside my house.

Here you go. Is that worth anything? I don't know. But I'm too tired to write another one. Thanks for at least reading it.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Say hi to Beez again from the maggots please

Hey does tumblr have an Official Plant because if not I have a submission to make, a very strong contender for this site!

May I present to you the genus: Amorphophallus.

Yes, Amorpho-phallus, literally Greek for the 'shapeless penis' plant.

It's the tallest flower in the world! The magnificent Shapeless Penis, dwarfing grown-ass adults with a flower that grows up to 8.2 feet, is a sight to behold.

It's also called the corpse flower, or corpse bride flower, because this beauty has "a strong odour of rotting human flesh". We love that here on tumblr.

Edit: Just found out that it is also known as the Devil's Tongue and Voodoo Lily or Voodoo Plant. So. Do with that what you will.

The root of some of these Amorphophallic beauties is edible (I've seen them lurking creepily at grocery stores, the grocer usually grabs an axe and slams it into the root to split it and sell a part). This root is known as the elephant foot yam, which is fitting, because it is large, malformed, and disturbingly hairy.

Idk a plant named shapeless penis that has an eight foot flower that smells like rotting human flesh and a hairy edible root that can grow heavier than a toddler seems very on brand for tumblr.

Here you go:

@queermarzipan thank you for inspiring this by teaching me about bell peppers.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

I think I'm going to have to make a tag to keep track of your bizarre life, ash. what do you think of your infamous line bedtime stories for little mafiosi?

hey maggots PLEASE CALM DOWN ONE MOMENT PRESS CONFERENCE.

Okay. Have we stopped screaming? Okay, nice. *taps mic* Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your--I mean, hi, Good Omens fandom and maggots. I was going to make a new intro post eventually, but after you all flattened my notes with eldritch screeching I think a press conference is more fitting. Especially considering the phrasing of these beauties:

Maggots I love you but look me in the eyes and tell me you're not journalists reporting straight to the Times, with full honesty. You cannot. The how do you feel about this is only missing several microphones with news outlet names all in my face and that's wonderful. Entirely valid. Press conference time it is.

First, for those of you who do not need a Q and A, a quick note: Um hello maggots, yes I am still grieving, cheers to the people who queued sad Good Omens posts for the exact time I finished watching. That is dedication, truly, to torturing your mascot. A most sincere fuck you to all of those kind folks.

Next, Neil, thank you for showcasing my madness. I barely remember making that updated post. It was 2 am and I tried to convince myself it was a bad idea. So of course I did it anyway and now I am staring in horror at how unhinged I have revealed myself to be. You picked the most perfectly awful time to delve into the fray. I raise my glass to you.

Alright. For everyone else who is utterly confused and/or has just entered this madness, below is the press conference you have instigated, my loves.

You: ASMI WAKE UP NEIL REBLOGGED YOU. Me: I'M AWAKE I PROMISE THANK YOU ALL THE TWENTY ODD PEOPLE WHO SHOUTED FOR ME TO WAKE UP, YES I WAS NAPPING. BUT I AM AWAKE. IT IS DIFFICULT NOT TO BE. You: HOW DOES IT FEEL BEING LESS THAN A MONTH IN THE FANDOM AND-- Me: I was kidnapped, so with the blindfold and all the ropes, I'll be honest, I lost track of time. It could have been less than a month. *stares into distance* It could have been eighty years since Jan 4th 2024. You: YOU'RE AN ADOPTIVE MAGGOT. Me: Now hang on one second y'all you're stealing my term. I coined maggots to describe all the people, in the Good Omens fandom or otherwise, who kidnapped me or followed me or watched me descend into madness. Why? Because I was made the Mascot of the fandom, and Maggot sounded like Mascot. Kind of. I didn't know at that time that there was a bloody maggot scene in Good Omens. I also didn't know that apparently in the Bible, Bildad the Shuite calls mortals 'maggots'. But either way. I'm the adopted mascot. And the adopted child of divorce. You: If people who follow you or watch your descent are maggots, does that make Neil a maggot? Me: Uh okay I've got this question several times. @neil-gaiman, Neil I'm sorry, I'm going to pass this question to you. You are free to reply or not as you choose. *hands one of the mics over* You: ARE YOU OKAY, ASMI? Me: THANK YOU FOR CHECKING IN. *clutches Crowley even closer* NO I AM BLOODY NOT. I'M ON DAY FOUR OF GRIEVING AFTER THE SECOND SEASON. ANY MENTION OF POTTED PLANTS MAKES ME EMOTIONAL. THE GOOD OMENS BOOK IS ARRIVING TODAY IN THE MAIL, THANKS JEFF BEZOS FOR AMAZON. OH WAIT AMAZON IS THE STREAMER FOR GOOD OMENS. THANKS BEZOS AGAIN. IF I HEAR THE WORDS RITZ, EDINBURGH, PLANT, RED, BLACK, DEMON, HELL, STARS, CONSTELLATIONS, ESPRESSO, I WILL START TO UGLY CRY. *SHOVES MICS ASIDE, RUNS THROUGH THE CROWD TO GO SOB IN A CORNER ABOUT CROWLEY IN EDINBURGH NEXT TO ELSPETH AND WEE MORAG UNTIL THE GOOD OMENS BOOK ARRIVES AND I CRY OVER MY BABY ANTICHRIST AS WELL*

Cheers everyone conference over because your poor Good Omens Mascot is currently incapacitated with grief goodbye I'm sure you understand--

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

ASH WHAT THE FUCKETH--I'M SO GLAD YOU RAN AWAY.

ALSO AS USUAL, 5000/10 STORY-TELLING. LOOK AT MY HUSBAND Y'ALL THEY'RE SO FUCKING TALENTED AND THEY'RE SO BADASS I LOVE THEM.

@hoarder-of-dragons , you asked for this, you get this.

@weirdly-specific-but-ok tagging you, because you apparently like hearing about my humiliations. If you say one thing about the good omens references, I'll be sad and do something stupid.

Buckle your seatbelt and get some handkerchiefs, time for

The Watermelon Story

The sunglasses are back.

So, it all starts, as it will end, with a bowling contest. It's not the first. All the previous bowling contests have been nice so far (and by nice, I mean degenerating into a gun fight), and all my family, their friends, and some associates are assembled in a lovely room that we arranged to suit the occasion, with a bunch of interior plants. We may be a slightly criminal organisation, but we're also civilised people.

The tournament works in pairs, chosen by the referee, who is just here to get a free Martini and has no impact on the following story. So, I got paired with my best friend (wahoo), and we start...uh... bowling? (What do you do at a bowling contest? Do you bowl? Do you throw? No fucking idea, but we do that. )

At some advanced point in the competition, we're against my uncle and one of his sidekicks. They're winning. The sidekick throws the ball and somehow manages to get it stuck in a palm tree. Because, of course, there's a bloody palm tree in the bowling room. My cousin (too young to play) tries to climb the tree to get it back. It's hilarious. Well, it was hilarious until he fell and broke some bones. (We got him to the hospital, he's ok now).

So, we have only one ball-throwing turn left, we're clearly losing, and we don't have any bowling balls left. That's the moment when Beez decides to take a watermelon who's been lying around (why? Love. Well, Ukrainian unconditional love for watermelons.). They throw it. They strike. We won.

Global cheering? No. Most people look at us, mouth agap, seemingly lost. Some of them yell that we cheated. My uncle asks the referee.

The referee doesn't know shit about bowling and is 5 Martini glasses deep. He said there's nothing against our watermelon methods. We're finalists.

My uncle becomes the personification of wrath. He yells at everyone. When he realises that he can't do anything against the referee's will, he shoots the watermelon. The watermelon explodes and knocks one plant pot off. The bullets (three, because my uncle does not simply burst into rage against the whole vegetal kind) respectively destroy the cursed palm tree (the bowling ball is still stuck there), a spider plant (sorry) and a bromelia (not sorry, it was ugly).

My uncle's boyfriend tries to stop him. It doesn't work. My other relatives do the same. At some point, he stops, leaving a devastated bowling room. The final competition is cancelled, all finalists (hey, that's me! ) are declared winners.

We leave the place (after paying the owner for the damage done) and go celebrating elsewhere. My uncle is still raging.

A few days later, we learned that the bowling hall "mysteriously" burned. Nothing left but ashes now.

And that's how, children, I learned that we should never anger that uncle. You should remember it.