#(I'm not a fan of trying to have conversations with the void of the internet)

[charles-leclerizz]

Hello hello.

Tuning in for a "not-so-normal" post. because it's deeply necessary.

F1 has never beeen inclusive for women- and it's disgraceful.

For female fans- it's always assumed that we're in it for the hot men and not the machinery or talent. let me say this, it's okay if you're here from dts, for the hot drivers or something that isn't "legacy" it's okay, because exposure is exposure, and you're a real fan. And half the time, drivers aren't seen, only their eyes and their helmet's are, so that point is null and void because women who watch the races, aren't there for the covered up racers, theyr'e there to watch a sport that brings them joy, just like anyone else.

And it isn't harming anyone is it? watch the race, watch the thirst traps, watch the media posts. it's okay, calm down. just like insane male fan-boys, girls are allowed in this space.

Fans have always, and will always make up this industry, and trying to remove more than 40% of fans that are women. Is really just shooting yourself in the foot, isn't it? stay respectful, and you're welcome here. [stay respectful being a main point, if you're being a creep and being hateful, i don't think you should be here.]

For female workers in the entire F1 industry- The whole christian horner incident is despicable, it is one of the worst handled breaches of rights that i have ever seen. And i've been in a k-pop fandom. Trust that i know. The transparency is spotty, it's breeding chaos, its creating an unnsafe environment for all women. Chr*stian H*rnshit needs to fucking sit down, cause everytime he denies something, there is 500 tonnes of evidence against him. That isn't behaviour of a innocent man. That's behaviour of a mysoginist who's created a horrible environment.

The whole ssituation has blown up, for no reason, and now, the poor victim [it still hasn't been officially confirmed yet. but i believe he's guilty] has been cut off from her job. A real woman, with a real livelihood and a real life to support, has been blacked out and excluded from a main pillar in her life. it's not funny. it's damaging.

And mind you, if this was a man, in the paddock, a mechanic. hell just a male there wouldv'e been riots. pitchforks, fire, flare guns, strikes. Lord knows.

And finally, the drivers-

i.am.remourseful.

I am worried. I am scared.

It is worrying, frankly, how many drivers abstain from commenting, when they have some of the biggest platforms here and when they do, it's called "distracting"? That all they want to do, "is drive"?

I'm sorry, you don't just drive you are influential, you are role models, you are internet sensations and personalities.

Don't insulult the 38% of women in the workforce of your fucking job, and that statistic is just of management in the official formula one sector, totalled, it's more than half. So for men like, daniel ricciardo and valterri bottas to say such dismissive and hurtful things, it's really showing that we're going one step forward and 3 steps back.

And now- because of the blatant disregard, "blame game" playing and ignorance, that has occured. Every.single.woman who has been and will be involed with this sport is cautious, petrified and on gaurd for her livelihood; her job.

And if any man, or any person has any issue with what i have said. Please. you're invited to calmly state your reasons [which i might not answer or delete if they are stupid] and we can finally, fucking finally, have a singular, opoen conversation which has one goal in mind. The support and protection of women in formula one.

[poopraven]

"I'm not good at social media" - A story by me.

While I'm sitting here ruminating on my life (as I am wont to do), my thoughts drifted to the story I have told myself for at least ten years but absolutely longer than that:

I am not good at social media.

And, you know, It's kind of true, in so many ways. But it turns out I was very wrong, in so many other ways. So I thought I'd spill those thoughts out onto the internet to maybe help you if you find it while thinking "God, I'm so bad at social media".

First thing's first: If you're good at social, you're probably also good at social media. Despite the clue being in the name, it took me far too long to realise this. Do you find it easy to communicate with other people, to start conversations with strangers? Great! You might also find it pretty easy to use social media!

But if you're not good at social, social media can be daunting, even isolating. You post things, nobody answers, you feel like you're yelling into the uncaring void. And, really, you kind of are.

You see, people are more likely to be social with people they have a connection to - whether you're friends, or attend the same venue / event, or share a hobby / interest, or are famous enough that fans want to speak to you - they're much more likely to interact if they've got that link. It's like a cheat code for hopping over that first hurdle.

But if you're a private person (and I spent ages being very private due to various pain points in my life), hopping that first hurdle is like trying to leap a chasm. You have that human urge to find some sort of camaraderie with other human beings (even if you're an introvert, even if you're neurodiverse, sooner or later loneliness really bites us in the arse), but whenever you try, you're holding all your cards close to your chest while hoping to get a peek at other people's.

That's just not going to work very often. I say very often because sometimes you'll bump into another lil tortle and slowly but surely peel cards away from your chest to show one-another and it could become an amazing friendship. Great!

I'll tell you what does work, though.

You're probably going to hate it.

I fucking loathed it.

The answer is to let extroverts do their thing.

You see, extroverts actually love introverts. They fucking ADORE us! Every extrovert out there loves to have a whole pack of introverts, because we are fun, and interesting, and we know the weirdest shit, and they love helping us come out of our shells and have fun in life.

But we can find extroverts a bit weird, right? A bit scary? A bit intense? They wanna peek at our hand of cards?

Spoiler: They wanna peek at our hand of cards because they've peeked at a lot of hands of cards, and they have a whole mental catalogue of who holds what cards, and they YEARN to put us in touch with other people who might share some of those cards.

Extroverts get joy from helping us make friends.

And all we have to do is let them.

So how does this make you "better" at "social media"?

Well, at its heart, social media is great for talking to people you know. Keeping in touch with acquaintances and friends. Making new ones? Yeah, you can do that, it's not impossible, but chatting with ones you already have? Yeah, that's where it really excels. Forget all that guff about going viral, or getting likes or views or followers. Really what it's good for is chatting to people you met, or share interests with, or are friends with.

And if you let an extrovert lift you over that first hurdle, you are suddenly flying.

I often feel like I have nothing to say, or that nobody would be interested in hearing it, or that I will 100% be misunderstood (yeah hello previously-undiagnosed autism)... And it's actually just not true. I'd just convinced myself that it was true because I'd been hurt, I was holding my cards too close to my chest, I wasn't neurotypical (hello also to previously-undiagnosed ADHD), I was any number of things that somehow made me less worth interacting with.

I still often think I have nothing to say, despite chatting to friends for hours about the things I have to say, and despite writing books that feature all the things I have to say. And I think often that ADHD makes me think I've already said a thing, who wants to hear it again, or rephrased, or in a different format?

So I let the extroverts who approach me peek at my cards. I allow them to do what comes naturally to them. And, wouldn't you know it, I get to talk to people on social media now. I've been introduced to fellow introverts who love the things I love. My extroverts take good care of me when I go to conventions. I am doing that thing which we all know is horribly hard: making new friends as an adult.

I think "I'm not good at social media" was both true and an artificial roadblock at the same time. It prevented me from accepting the help that was being freely and honestly offered, it held me back from reaching out and making meaningful connections, and it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

If you're not good at social media, why not give "letting extroverts into your life" a go? Yes, scary! Yes, a lil bit invasive-feeling! But we do know the things we're good at, right? So we just need to take a breath, and let other people do the things they're good at, too. 'Cause 99% of the time, they really just want everyone to have a good time.

I love you all!

[russburlingame]

9 Years.

Apparently, yesterday was my 9-year Tumblr anniversary. I only noticed because, my sheer coincidence, I logged in to post today. Happy birthday!

Last week, I released the first new episode of the Emerald City Video Podcast in a long while. Zach Roberts and I have actually recorded a few that never made their way to the internet, since it takes an act of God to make me actually do any editing. I’ll be working on that.

For anyone who hasn’t listened to it before, the Emerald City Video Podcast is named after a video store (which no longer exists) in Syracuse, New York. I worked there in college, and loved it. There, I learned to love movies I never would otherwise have given a chance, and also fell in love with the idea of collecting movie props. We had them everywhere, and I came to realize how cool it is to have an actual, tangible piece of something you love. I have worked on this podcast for more than 7 years, primarily with Zach but occasionally with other guest hosts who worked at Emerald City or other video stores.

You can listen to the new episode here, which is a review of John Wick Chapter 4. It���s a “New Release Wall” episode, which is video store speak for “we went to the movies and recorded our reaction in the car after.” We’re fancy, I know. I didn’t send this episode out as an email blast, because we have another episode coming this week, which I think is a much, much better introduction to ECV for anybody who is just finding us on Substack now, where I'm putting the show so I don't have to pay for hosting.

What have I been up to?

Earlier this month (as I alluded to in my introductory post), I finished the crowdfunding campaign for Time To Be Heroes, my second full book. It’s an oral history of DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, featuring interviews with the cast and crew. A lot of what I expect to be posting to Substack will be behind-the-scenes goodness from creating that book, as well as a little ebook companion that I’m planning on putting together that features conversations with comic book creators, fan fiction writers, and other folks who are a big part of the Legends community but likely will not feature prominently in an oral history of the show itself.

I will also be sharing some other side projects. For over a decade now, I have been doing a “director’s commentary”-style column for each issue of Savage Dragon. It has followed me between three different websites, and the first two no longer host any of the old content. So I have a book coming out soon that will collect the first 24 issues of my commentaries, with new introductions to each by Savage Dragon superfan and editor Gavin Higginbotham.

I have had great success with my first two books on crowdfunding platforms, and am currently trying to decide whether to launch a campaign for this — it’s almost completely finished, and my only real expenses will be layout and printing — or just sell it on my online store. It seems the ticking clock of crowdfunding really serves as an incentive to folks, but it feels strange to do another crowdfunding campaign so soon after the Legends one.

My first book, an oral history of the 2001 movie Josie and the Pussycats, is something I’m still very proud of, and it made enough money that I was able to publish The Gold Exchange, a collection of old interviews and columns that serves as an unoffiical companion to Booster Gold comics from 2006 until 2022. The Josie book, The Gold Exchange, and some other stuff is available at JosieBook.com, and Time To Be Heroes will be available in February of next year.

Anyway, that feels like enough for now. I do have some big stuff I want to yell into the void about soon. But…not tonight. Soon.

[autobot-scout-riella]

I really want to like your interactions and follow but they feel a bit too reliant on angst and really fleeting moments of happiness that seem to exist only to make the sad even more sad. Even the ship you have going with Blackout seems like they cling a bit too tightly to them and only smile when they are around. Again I really want to like Riella but it just feels pointless to attempt an interaction when she shoots down any potential for a meaningful thread with her distrust. :(

(So, I’ve been looking at this for about forty minutes now and I’m honestly not even sure how to answer, anon, because everything you point out is...pretty much done on purpose? I mean, I’m sorry you feel like there’s no point in approaching, and if you’d like to discuss some less-prickly plot options or something off anon I’d be happy to talk to you about it, but you’re objecting to some pretty fundamental elements of my muse, my characterization, and my writing, and the answer might be that this just isn’t the blog for you. Also, since you’re anonymous, it just feels pointless to attempt a discussion when the lack of a name shoots down any potential for a meaningful conversation.)

(I’m going to try anyway, because if there’s one thing I’m bad at it’s shutting up.)

(Frankly, this about the fluffiest my blog has ever been--there’s a more-or-less healthy ship in progress, Riella’s starting hesitantly and awkwardly toward some positive character development, and just about every drabble I’ve posted recently has had a reasonably happy (or at least, not outright angsty) ending. Riella’s a deeply traumatized war veteran with some seriously dark history, trying to survive in a world she’s not really equipped for with a support system she’s only just now rebuilding; happy fluffy stories would be OOC for her and for her world. Also, I like angst and I’m good at it. I completely understand if that’s not your cup of tea--this is escapism for all of us, and it’s your right to avoid things you’re uncomfortable with or just don’t like--but I don’t appreciate what feels like guilting me for the story I’ve chosen to tell and the way I’ve chosen to tell it. Especially when done anonymously, this reads more like an attempt at guilt-trolling me into writing what you want, and I don’t like it at all. If this, the happiest my blog has been in quite a while, is too angsty for you, then you probably don’t want to stick around for the upcoming backstory drabbles I’m hoping to write once I’m not sick and swamped with homework.)

(As for the clinginess and distrust, yes she is, and that is the point. It’s the first thing in my rules, described on the about page, and expounded on at length in this post here. Abandonment issues and paranoia are pretty well-established elements of her character. They’re supposed to be there. Again, I understand if those are flaws you don’t want to deal with, and to a certain extent I can probably accommodate that with some OOC plotting beforehand, but they were intentionally written into the character. It was on purpose. They’re not particularly glamorous flaws to have, admittedly, but not everyone can have pretty, easily worked-through issues. Sometimes people are messy and relationships are messy and trauma has lasting effects, and as a writer, I want to explore that. It’s okay if you don’t want to, but it’s not okay to tell me I can’t.)

[gffa]

i love you for all you do for the jedi discourse

I've been thinking about this lately, the fraught tension of the discourse around the Jedi, how contentious it can sometimes get, how I know I'm not always the most patient I could be, and sometimes I regret that. But other times I don't. Because there are times I feel like I'm screaming into the void about how, every single day, there is some new bad faith response on one of my posts, some new unsettlingly "hyper invested in a stranger on the internet's opinions about made up space wizards" comment in the tags I browse, and that I'm just really exhausted at feeling like it's always up to Jedi fans to be saints, but if we show the slightest bit of snapping at yet another person putting a bad faith take on our posts, oh, we just ~can't handle anyone not babying our faves~. And honestly I don't know where to go from here, because I do enjoy good faith discussion, but I'm also just so worn out of five years of this, never knowing when someone is being reasonable or when they're going to blow up on me, never knowing when a comment is serious or a joke, the lack of structure of discussions, are we talking on a Doylist level or a Watsonian one?, etc. Five years of playing defense against people coming into the space I've created for myself, I don't know how much I can really even contribute to the discourse anymore, because it's just been so many times piled on so many times that this has happened. And the majority of the time they're pretty mild, but after a certain point you're just tired of having the same thing thrown at you, so you play defense and try to cut things off at the pass, try to predict the nonsense comments you're going to get, and that becomes woven into your meta, rather than being able to relax and just talk about what you want in the way you want. I'm not upset about this so much as just kind of navel-gazing and I do kind of loathe some of the behavior of fandom, as well as I wanted to talk about why some of us may seem pretty prickly and I hope that I can project that, yeah, I have my scraped raw nerve points in some places, but that I'm working to let go of it, and if you wonder why I've checked out from a lot of these conversations, that's why. There's little to be gained by it, I've thought about these topics for five years, I've given it all a ton of critical thought, and I'm settled where I'm settled. I'm exhausted, so I'm just going to be over here, in my own corner, trying to turn back to the things I love talking about, because that's the kind of corner of fandom I want. That seems like such a downer answer for a sweet ask, apologies!  I’m just annoyed at fandom today (what else is new) and wanted to go, you know, there’s a reason some of us seem like we’re in a bad mood at times. That said, the kind comments are appreciated and I will endeavor to get back to being more fun about Star Wars and the psychic space wizards even more than I already am.  (To be fair, I shitpost a good amount, too, okay.  XD)

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

How could one enter the new season with little to no expectations? Granted we would be lucky if we got ST4 by the end of the year but I've really been thinking about my hopes and fear regarding the future story and how I would feel if those weren't met. I fear I could potentially miss out and be responsible for my own disappointment and dissatisfaction despite anticipating the new season for over a year just because the theories I'm rooting for didn't come to fruition.

I hate to say it, but there’s literally no way to go into season 4 with no expectations short of going back in time and stopping yourself from watching in the first place. Even if you didn’t engage with the internet fan community, you’d still have your own personal theories and expectations. You do bring up a good point when it comes to how long it’s taking, though.

Even in a more typical offseason, fans can be expected to break down every little detail to try and predict what will come next. To an extent, many showrunners expect and count on that. I swear the WandaVision writers knew what they were doing by adding in little details to get fans paying attention to red herrings. That allowed the actual story to still be impactful even if it wasn’t what was expected. Now, Stranger Things doesn’t have the existing source material that the Marvel Cinematic Universe does, so it’s harder to assume what fans will pick up on. Still, the writers know what they are doing. They want us to be coming up with our theories because it helps keep fans engaged and interested between seasons.

The fact that this offseason is so much longer, though, could be a problem. The theories are even more meticulously crafted, every little detail is analyzed over and over, and every interview broken down with the care of a comparative literature essay. Take notice of how the social media accounts have died out. There’s absolutely nothing they are able or willing to share with us anymore. This only draws more attention to the fandom to fill that void. We are all having our expectations shaped by unofficial sources, really. My own treasured followers are almost certainly influenced by my posts to some extent. I have to be ready to be wrong about some things, and possibly have some people upset with me because of it.

In the end, we will only be disappointed if the show we get doesn’t meet the quality we expect. I personally only really have one non-negotiable (gay baiting is unacceptable to me). I’ve made a lot of theories for season 4, and I’m sure many of them will be wrong. I will still enjoy the show as long as what I get is good, which has proven to be the case so far. For example, I want Will to have powers, but I can accept a good story where he doesn’t. Conversely, I wouldn’t like a bad story where he does have them.

Let your theories and expectations drive your excitement, but don’t let them be why you do or don’t like a show. You like this show because of what the writers, actors, set designers, and others have given us so far. Trust them to continue to do so.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Five

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Four

View chapter on wattpad here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Happy birthday to Nikki Sixx who is aging like wine. I'm so proud of how far he has come and here's to another 61 years and an eternity more🖤

Warning(s): Explicit language, Mentions of drug abuse, Abuse

Tag List: @girlnight-terror @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor @triplehaitches @emmaelizabeth2014 @meetthesixxter @sixxsixxsexx @sublimeprincesswasteland @arianareirg

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"Alright, assholes, shut up and listen for two minutes." Doc tells us in the airport we wait in line at customs. "We're gonna be here in Japan for a week. Japan is not like it is back home. You can't act like you don't have any sense. They will lock your asses up in a heart beat. Do you understand?" He warns Tommy, Nikki, Vince and Mick. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Daddy." Nikki sarcastically lets out, smacking his gum.

"Hey, wise ass, I don't need your comments, alright? I'm being serious, guys." Doc tells them.

"We got it, Doc. You don't have to worry about anything, bud." Tommy assures him, sincerely.

It was our first time in Japan and I've got to say, it's personally my favorite place ever.

The fans were extremely polite, and all of them had enthusiastic, wide smiles...my favorite part was that the girls actually respected the fact that Nikki's wife was with him, and didn't try to screw him in front of me like audacious rats in other places tried to.

They would just smile shyly and introduce themselves to us, and then get a picture with the guys.

If I had a dime for every time Fred has had to keep me from assaulting someone for grabbing Nikki's crotch in front of me, trying to shove their tongues down his throat, give them hotel room numbers to meet them in, etc. I would have been rich enough to afford Nikki's $3,500 a day on heroin.

Groupies were insane.

And I don't mean I saw these girls attempt this stuff from a distance.

I mean, I'd be standing right next to him, the girls would introduce themselves to me, then go on to grope Nikki before he could say a word about how it was nice to meet them.

In the midst of trying to get me on the ground before I could throw a punch, the girls would run off, and Nikki would always say "sorry, babe" and mean it.

He stopped apologizing when he stopped caring.

"...And we need blow." Tommy says to Sparkie, who's about to go on the hunt for a drug dealer in town for the guys, and I roll my eyes.

"Doc told you guys to behave because they don't tolerate bull crap here." I remind him and he and Sparkie look at me, and Nikki's grabbing at my waist and pulling me to sit on his leg before taking a swig of Jack, his striped outfit and bright, over the top makeup is the complete opposite of their Shout at the Devil era.

"What Doc doesn't know won't hurt him, Viv." Tommy says it like it's common sense. "Hey, Vinny, what do you want from a dealer?" Tommy asks him, a sharpness to his voice, and Nikki laughs.

I don't find their bullshit funny.

Vince just rolls his eyes and drinks his water with no reply.

Vince was on court mandated sobriety. And was being tortured by Nikki and even Tommy. They would offer him things they knew he couldn't have and then would play it off like they forgot.

They would have him pass them their drugs, pour them their drinks and count out how many pills they had left.

It ticked me off seeing Tommy go that fucking low all because he and Nikki were so close.

He even started being a little disrespectful to me whenever Nikki was.

Nikki's leg is shaking a little, despite him throwing back alcohol and I look over my shoulder at him.

"Are you okay?" I mouth so the others won't hear it, and Nikki nods, but I know he's full of it.

"On in five, guys, c'mon!" Doc calls out from the other side of the door and I pat Nikki's other leg and stand up, grabbing his hand and pulling him up.

We step out and head to the stage, and Nikki's turning to give me one last kiss before going on.

When he pulls away, my hands are quickly taking my crucifix off and reaching up to fasten it around his neck and it ironically overlaps with his pentagram necklace.

"For good luck." I explain and he gives me a little closed mouth smile and gives me a quick peck on the lips before following Tommy, Vince and Mick.

By the time they got off stage, Nikki was growing pale, and sweating, and not just because he was running around on stage.

Nikki had gone over 48 hours without heroin. Alcohol could keep his tremors to mere, barely noticeable shakes, but didn't do very much for his sweating and sickness.

The guys didn't know he was that deep into heroin, yet, so he didn't want to tell them it was making him that ill without it or they would realize he was further down the hole than they expected.

So, what did I do? I covered for him.

"He thinks he might have food poisoning." I explain to Tommy and Vince as they stand outside of mine and Nikki's room.

"Well, is he alright?" Tommy asks me.

"He'll be okay. He just doesn't feel like going out." I assure him.

"Alright, we gotta go." Vince nudges him.

"Tell him I hope he feels better." Tommy says.

"I will. You guys be careful."

"We will, goodnight."

"Goodnight." I reply and shut the door, hearing Nikki groaning in the bathroom.

The door's locked, and I sigh out in frustration.

"Nikki, open the door." I tell him calmly.

"Fuck off, Viv." He tells me for the hundredth time tonight.

"Open the door or I'm telling Doc." I threaten him, even though it's a complete lie.

"Tell him I want a divorce while you're at it." He snaps.

I don't say anything for a moment, and hear him sigh out, before he unlocks the door.

I step in, seeing him soaked in sweat, pale, the smell of vomit is potent and I try to keep a calm demeanor as he grips the side of the tub to help himself stand up. 

He nearly falls, tremors spazzing through his body, but I'm quick to nestle under his arm and help him stay up.

"I just need some Jack." He tells me. "It'll help."

He doesn't sound like Nikki.

He sounds like a defeated child.

"Nikki, I don't think—"

"Okay, Viv, now isn't the time for your bullshit. Get me some Jack." He orders desperately, nearly pleading.

I get him on the bed, starting to tug his boots off, before pulling his shirt over his head, and unbuckling his belt.

"Never thought...I'd ever say this...but the last thing...on my mind right...now is...fucking around." He takes heavy breaths, squeezing his eyes closed and groaning when I get his pants off.

"Yes, because seeing my husband in so much pain really turns me on." I sarcastically let out.

"I'm cold." He tells me, his hand gripping mine.

I pull the bed covers over his naked body, glancing at my necklace he's still wearing.

"I'll get you some Jack." I say, stepping to the phone on the bedside table and ordering his necessity.

I turn back to face him once I'm done, and he's curled up and shivering, and he's kicked the blankets off of him.

"Nikki?" I ask, furrowing my brows.

"I'm hot." He cracks out, shot eyes looking at me, teeth chattering together despite his tight jaw and wet, black hair clings to his soaked skin that seems to be turning transparent.

That moment I realized I was married to a junkie, and Nikki realized he had become the very thing he had been in denial of becoming.

Neither of us said a word to one another about our revelations.

The alcohol and pills they managed to score kept Nikki's roaring withdrawals at bay and allowed him to play his illness off as the flu throughout the rest of the Japan tour, and the second we got home, he was phoning every dealer he could get a hold of.

One I had never met before, Jason, was the first one to come to his aid and it didn't take me long to come to the conclusion I would inevitably have to kill that motherfucker to keep him away from my husband.

He just wanted our money, laying out an elaborate display of everything from cheap tar to clean China White, cocaine, and a pharmacy of prescription pills.

I always left to "go to the store" anytime Jason came over.

Once I was practically having a full on emotional affair, I would go find Duff but before any feelings for him emerged, I would just drive my car around the corner of the street going by the house, pull into the driveway of a half-way burnt down house, and cry. 

My husband, my Nikki, was destroying himself from the inside out, and the more I tried to do help him get better, the worse he got.

Every time I prayed for him, his demons would hold tighter to his legs and keep him shackled in place with a needle and lies that weighed him down and made him feel the need to do the only thing that made him happy, even if only temporarily.

By the end of '87, I was exhausted. I had been screaming, crying, pleading, for years for someone to do something, for someone to threaten the band, threaten them individually, get them off the road, at least try to start a conversation addressing their obvious addictions...

But they were making everyone above them money. That's all that mattered.

I was screaming into a void, and nobody could hear me. Well, they could...they were just ignoring me which was even worse.

I don't know how the hell I managed to face the same thing with Duff and his band years later.

I step into the house once Jason is gone, seeing Nikki by the fireplace, laying on the carpet, and I go to lay beside him.

We've been back from Japan a few days, and they're suppose to be preparing for their U.S. tour starting in a couple weeks.

Nikki's been in heroin land ever since we have gotten home.

And I've been in my own personal hell, being that I just added a third picture to my dead baby drawer as of yesterday.

I would go to a doctor to see if there's something wrong with me to prompt not ever making it past week twelve, but Nikki would find out somehow, someway. I've already risked enough as it is by going to the obstetrician.

"Babe," I nudge him and he opens his eyes just enough to show his pinpointed pupils, and he hums a little. "I gotta go get Tansy from the airport."

"Mmkay." He mumbles, and I force myself not to cry, remembering how miserable he was in Japan, and now we've gotten back and he's back to square one. 

Was it really square one if he never wanted to move to square two in the first place?

Tansy gets into my car, wearing what I'm assuming she wore when they taped her interview with David Letterman hours ago, while a security guard puts her stuff in the trunk.

"Well." I say, looking at her as she lays her head against the back of her seat and looks at me from behind her sunglasses. "How did the interview go?" I ask and she tugs off her heels.

"I don't know." She tells me and I furrow my brows. "The bits and pieces I remember were great." She sounds like she's about to cry.

"Were you...?" I trail off and she moves her fingers under the blacked out lenses and sniffles. "Babe, it's not anything to cry about."

I grab at her hand as she starts crying even more.

"I bombed it, Viv." She says with certainty.

"Tansy, if you don't even remember it, how do you know for sure you did a bad job?"

"You know how I act when I'm fucked up."

"I also know, by the grace of God, somehow, someway, you manage to differentiate between a setting you need to be more composed in, and a setting you can be wild in. Even when you are stoned out of your mind. I have seen you do it." I assure her. "It's really freaking creepy."

My comment has her chuckling a little and she wipes at her tears again. 

"It will be okay. I am sure you did great. And if you didn't you can just do what I do when I'm not acting normal and blame it on Mötley Crüe." 

None of us, not even Tansy herself, knew why or how she scored an interview with David Letterman, but we were all proud of her nonetheless, even if she couldn't remember much of it.

"Sparkie said Japan went good." Tansy says after we're driving for a couple minutes.

"Yeah."

"Thank you for letting him go. I know you aren't the biggest fan of him." She adds.

"I didn't let him go. The guys insisted he went because they needed someone to find them drugs." I state.

"Point is, he went. And he had fun. So thank you." She replies.

"I only tolerate him because I love you." I tell her.

"I know, and I—" she presses a quick kiss to the back of my hand. "—love you, too."

I rub my lips together and get an idea.

"Would you be up for a girl's night?" I ask.

"What do you have in mind?" She asks and I raise my brows. 

In hindsight, it was probably a bad decision to introduce Tansy to Guns N' Roses while she was still addicted to drugs and alcohol, because all it did was create toxic friendships that thrived on the struggles of everyone involved.

Tansy was very easily influenced by other people, but I figured if she had survived that long being friends with Nikki, Tommy and Vince, she would be just fine around Duff, Axl, Izzy, Steven and Slash.

Tansy and I make our way through the crowd, hand in hand, lacing through people and eager groupies.

She's heard me talk about them every now and then but now she has the opportunity to see what the hype is about.

The Troubadour is packed out, and a sense of pride swells in my chest.

"They must be good." Tansy comments, glancing around. 

Normally at least one person would have already asked for her autograph or a picture of her, but everyone is too distracted by the anticipation of the band that's been tearing up and down the strip ever since Nikki, Tommy, Vince and Mick set the bar so high. 

They're not even onstage yet, before all lights in the place shut down, and  Axl let's out one of his infamous screams that somehow mimics a melodic siren. 

The crowd goes quiet for a split second before realizing it's him, then they start screaming, clapping, stomping their feet. 

The lights come back on to reveal Axl, Duff, Izzy, Slash and Steven, picking up into the fast paced rhythm of "Anything Goes." 

With teased hair, heavy glam-rock influenced outfits and makeup, mixed with their sound, it's safe to say there isn't one dry vagina around...including Tansy, who's eyes don't leave the singing red head for the rest of the night.

Back stage is crowded, but Tansy and I manage to be the first females in their dressing room by the time their set is completely finished.

She's already broken into their Jack and Vodka stash, guzzling from both bottles simultaneously, and I look at her like she's crazy because I know it's got to hurt her throat.

"What?" She asks me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You are a crazy person." I state just as the door opens, revealing Slash and Steven first, girls under each arm.

"Hey, Viv!" Steven pipes, smiling widely and Slash looks confused for a moment before realizing the blur standing before him is indeed Vivian.

"Hey, Viv." He repeats what Steven said.

Steven does a double-take really quick, seeing Tansy, his hand patting at Slash as he stands, starstruck. It's a domino effect.

First Steven, second Slash, third Duff, then Izzy and lastly, Axl.

Except Steven, Slash, Duff and Axl are frozen because Tansy Lyn is standing before them. I'm sure Izzy appreciates her beauty and participation in Playboy for the last four years, but he's more worried about her breaking into their alcohol. 

"Man, that's Tansy Lyn." Steven states.

"Drinking our booze." Izzy adds and Tansy guiltily puts it back where she got it, smiling.

"Hi." She says to them, and they immediately pretend they weren't just remembering what her naked body looks like.

Steven, as always, is the first to make himself known to a beautiful girl, extending his hand to her. 

"I'm Steven." He tells her.

Slash is shyly hiding behind his curly hair the best he can as Steven puts an arm around him.

"This is Slash." He adds. 

"The grubby fingered alcoholic is Izzy." I tell her as he lights a cigarette. 

"Read this grubby finger, Viv." Izzy states blankly, flipping me off and I hold back a laugh.

"I'm Duff." Duff introduces himself next, and Tansy has to look up so high, her head is tipped completely back before shaking his hand.

Axl doesn't introduce himself, he just stands and stares at her for a moment, black sunglasses blocking our eyes from his.

"Axl." Is all he says before grabbing the bottle of Jack, grabbing one of the girls Steven and Slash walked in with, and leaving.

"He's not an asshole seventy-five percent of the time." I try to defend him against her as she looks like her feelings have been hurt slightly. 

"But when he is an asshole, just avoid him for a few hours and stay out of his way." Duff scoffs out, grabbing the bottle of vodka.

They all knew that piece of advice too well.

Not entirely sure how we ended up back at mine and Nikki's house, but Nikki wasn't home, and probably wasn't going to be home until early morning, so Duff, Steven and Tansy were all in my house.

"If you break a mirror, you buy it!" I call out to Steven and Tansy as Duff and I have our legs dangling in the pool water, hearing something breaking inside the house through the open french doors that lead into the kitchen.

Duff blows smoke out of his nose, laughing at Tansy and Steven calling back, "We didn't!" 

"Jesus." I mumble, grinning to myself and Duff joins in with me, laughing harder at me as "Get Down Tonight" starts blaring through the speakers in the house.

Tansy has officially met her match. 

"I'm glad they get along." Duff says smoothly.

"They both like weed and the same music taste. Seems like a beautiful friendship to me." I shrug and he smiles. 

There's a pause in the air, and he keeps looking at me. 

"What?"

"There's dancing trophies in your house." He tells me and I raise my brows, remembering the day Nikki had demanded my hard earned proof of years dedicated to such a difficult art form, be put on display on a shelf right next to his awards for Gold and Platinum records.

"Yeah? I told you I use to be a dancer." I reply.

"I thought you meant you were a stripper." He confesses and I widen my eyes, elbowing him gently.

"No!" 

"Well, I'm sorry! You're married to a rock guy, you said you use to be a dancer, rockers and strippers go hand-in-hand. It's, like, written in stone or whatever." He tells me. 

"Oh my gosh, Duff." I rub my face and he finishes his cigarette before pulling out another one. 

"So, why don't you do it anymore?" He asks and I think for a second and lick my lips.

"It just wasn't really..." I trail off and he furrows his brows. "...I guess after over a decade of dancing, after graduating, it just  wasn't my thing anymore. I just moved onto bigger and better stuff." 

"What's your thing now, then?" It's obvious he doesn't buy my explanation.

"Being Nikki Sixx's wife." I admit and an odd silence falls over us. 

"You gave up school--Julliard--and dance, only to be known as somebody's wife?" 

"Well, damn, Duff, when you say it like that..." I try not to be hurt because I know he doesn't mean any ill will from it and he immediately starts apologizing. 

"I didn't mean it like that." He tells me. "It's just a waste of talent if you never utilize it anymore. You can't just be dependent on being Nikki's wife, Viv. You need your own thing." 

I wanted to tell him I couldn't afford to be anything but Nikki's wife, or else I'd lose everything.

Nikki's home sooner than I expect as I get ready for bed.

Steven, Tansy and Duff are all asleep on the living room floor, and Nikki comes into our bathroom to splash water on his face.

"The fuck is in our house?" He asks me and I raise my brows.

"Why're you home this early?"

"Jason's coming over." He tells me. "And he's bringing his girlfriend."

"Umm, baby, it would be nice for my friends not to wake up and be met with a drug dealer naming off poisons like an auctioneer."

"Tell them to fuck off." He mumbles, digging through his pockets of the clothes he was wearing yesterday. "Have you seen the check?" He asks me and I raise my brows.

"The check from the label for the Japan tour?" I ask and he nods. "You asked me to cash it yesterday and I did."

"Okay, so where did you put it?"

I step to my top drawer and hand him the stack of cash and he starts thumbing through it, his brows furrowing when he stops halfway through.

"The check was for $150,000, Viv. Where's the rest?" He snaps and I cross my arms.

"You said put 20% in savings and told me I could give 10% to tithes." I remind him, and he looks like he is going to murder me.

"You gave fifteen fucking thousand dollars to a church?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!" He seeths, his face twisting angrily.

"You told me I could Nikki." I try not to get upset. "I asked you and you said—"

"—I said 'yes' because I was fucked up and wasn't thinking, Viv!" He yells, throwing the pile of cash across the room, causing bills to fly everywhere. "And that's exactly why you waited until you knew I couldn't pay attention to care enough about what you were saying because you knew I would laugh in your face if I were sober!" He accuses me.

"Is it so bad if your money goes to something other than drugs?" I stupidly ask him.

He's lunging at me, grabbing my wrists, and pinning me to the bed while screaming in my face.

"That's my fucking money! Mine! How I want to spend it is my fucking business, Vivian!" He shakes me, and I can no longer hold back tears. "You're gonna go tomorrow to that fucking shit hole and tell those fallacious bastards you need that $15,000 back!"

"Nikki, I already told them it was their's." I try to explain, shaking my head a little, sobbing so thickly I'm not even sure he can understand me.

"You'll get my fucking money back or I'll give you something to fucking whine about." He threatens darkly.

He shoves himself off of me and storms out of the house, slamming the front door.

I go to make sure he didn't wake Tans, Stevie, or Duff up, but to my horror, Tansy and Steven are sound asleep while I hear the door slam a second time and realize Duff followed Nikki out.