#but i've seen some very cool izzy fans out there talking down their friends

[suffersinfandom]

I feel for the Izzy fans, I really do. It sucks to have your favorite character killed off, especially when you feel like their death serves no narrative purpose. It genuinely hurts to lose a character that you identify closely with, and it's okay to be sad and grieve. The character might not be real, but the grief is. Let people mourn. Don't be rude to the ones who are just being sad in their little corners of the internet, yeah?

That said.

Some of the stuff I've seen in the OFMD fandom today? Worst shit I've seen in a fandom that I love and care about, and grief is no excuse. I know I'm a no one in this fandom and I'm mostly typing into a void, but I've got to get some things out:

The show doesn't deserve to be canceled. None of the creators, producers, or writers deserve to be canceled. Nothing queerphobic, homophobic, or ableist happened.

Izzy's death was not an insult or a cruelty or a targeted attack.

David Jenkins and the rest of the writers did not gaslight and abuse anyone (yeah, those are take I've seen).

It wasn't "objectively" a cheap or meaningless or badly-written death. You can hate it and that's okay, but that's still subjective!

Izzy was not the main character or the "heart" of the show. The heart of the show -- the show itself -- is Ed and Stede's relationship. We have been told as much.

"Ed hasn't faced any consequences for his actions." He has though? He didn't gaslight girlboss his way back into everyone's hearts. Izzy is not Ed's hapless and helpless victim. He was almost beaten to death and ran around in a penitence onesie with a catbell on; I think those were consequences.

"How do you feel when gay characters are randomly killed off to help a straight couple progress their narrative? Not good, huh? That's how disabled fans feel." It's okay to feel that way, but don't make any sweeping assumptions about disabled fans. I'm disabled and I'm gonna say that's not what happened here.

"How dare you kill off this character who's abused, flawed, suicidal, disabled, and queer!" Ed is still right over there, yeah? Check, check, check, check, and check. (Little note: I've seen a lot of "he's not disabled!" Even if you don't buy the kneebrace ((Ed Teach with bad joints is so important to me, shhh)), what about invisible disabilities? What about mental health issues? I'm not here to diagnose a fictional character, but it's clear to me that Ed has mental health problems that dramatically impact his life.)

"It's sick that Izzy died in the arms of his abuser apologizing to him." I don't even know where to start with this one, but I get the feeling that some parts of the fandom only consider physical abuse valid. Mental, verbal, and emotional abuse are pretty fucking damaging and I think it's sick that some folks think they aren't actually abuse.

People who enjoyed the last episode of season two aren't media illiterate. People who love Gentlebeard aren't abusive narcissists.

I just.

I really, truly feel for Izzy fans for I too have lost a blorbo. I'm giving a huge hug to the Izzy enjoyers who aren't out there making threats and calling everyone abusers and being outright hostile to anyone who had the nerve to enjoy this season. Like, I genuinely hope you guys are doing okay, and if you need an ear, I'm game.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Six

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Five

Read on wattpad here.

Word count: 3.3k

Warning(s): Explicit language, drug abuse, explicit sexual situations

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"If you weren't such an asshole, he wouldn't have to take up for me!" I bark at Nikki as he tipsily stumbles around, ranting at me about my "fucking friend not minding his own god damn business" nearly a week ago, as the guys and Doc just look on, not knowing what the hell either of us are talking about.

"I'm an asshole?! Like you don't get me riled up and then play victim?!" He throws at me.

"Like it takes very much to get your tweaked-out ass riled up!" I point at him.

"Bitch!" He sneers out.

"Fuck up!" I hiss back.

Duff wasn't even out of line with Nikki. He had kept calm and advised Nikki to cool down and then come back and talk to me instead of getting himself and me upset.

Nikki hadn't let on if he minded Duff's intervening to defend me, until a week later, because he was taking it as Duff trying to tell him how to be married to me as if he knew me better than Nikki did, which wasn't at all Duff's intention.

Compared to the number I've seen Duff do on guys during a fist fight, Nikki was lucky he didn't lay him out in the driveway. However, he would eventually know what it felt like to be punched in the face by Duff during the "Girls" tour.

Duff was good at keeping his cool until the people he cared about became involved, and if he had been drinking a lot--which, towards the early 90s, that was the case--his temper could surpass mine, and he worried less about legalities and just started decking people as hard as he could.

I knew he struggled with the band, they weren't as close, Steven had been replaced by Matt Sorum, Izzy got sober and began distancing himself to stay sober, and to top off the disconnect from each other, Axl had become God in his own mind, which caused the fans, the band, and the people around him to suffer.

Once I realized his drinking and drug use became so overzealous, our agreement which was arranged out of court, that each of us have two weeks with Monroe a piece, became an arrangement that I had sole custody but took Monroe to visit his father for a few days out of the month. Duff was struggling so badly to keep it together with his mental health, addiction, and ailing of his band, that he didn't really notice I had our son more than he did.

If he had been a baby and wouldn't remember his father throwing back Solo cup after Solo cup of vodka, putting cocaine in the end of his cigarette and smoking it, and not acting like himself, I would have just left Monroe in the care of Tansy (since she was fully sober then) and let him stay around for two weeks.

But he was four when Duff started speeding down hill, and he was picking up on when his dad wasn't talking right and when he was acting weird, everything he saw that no one knew he was paying attention to...then he'd come back to me and Nikki after visiting and tell us about everything he had absorbed like a sponge: uncle Izzy traveling separately from the band, Dad being really cold and shivering until he got some water, uncle Axl not singing until a lot of people went home...that's when I decided to cut back time spent with his father and accompany him through his visits.

At first I thought I would be fine staying the two weeks out of the month with Monroe, but Axl and I couldn't quit fighting a majority of the time (because he was a jackass) and I came to the conclusion that Duff had enough on his plate and didn't need me to add to it by trying to punch Axl every chance I got for two weeks straight. So I cut it back to about five days out the month while they were on tour. When they weren't touring and I didn't have to be around Axl, Monroe and I would stay with Duff for about a week and a half.

Being that Nikki was more conscious than Duff, he took up where Duff had left off in the fathering department from '92-'94. This isn't me bashing the dad of my first child, either. Duff is and always will be a phenomenal father, but he stumbled for a few years, leaving Nikki to become the father Duff was supposed to be until Duff got his shit together, like Duff became the man for me that Nikki was suppose to be until Nikki got his shit together.

"Um..." Vince says, causing the both of us to glare at him. "...Can we rehearse now?"

He, Tommy, Mick and Doc were all patiently waiting for Nikki and I to finish our quarrel.

"Yeah." I sigh out. "Have a good rehearsal. I'll be at Tansy's." I head to the door.

"I hope you crash." Nikki gets one last jab in.

"I hope you OD." I leave them with the slamming of the studio door and step to my car.

Of course I didn't actually want him to OD, I just wanted to hurt him. And I did.

By the time it was time for the U.S. tour of Theater of Pain, our hands were being pinned behind our backs, and Doc was giving us a "get along or there's no Vivian Sixx on the tour" promise.

Although we were in the middle of a small battle and wanted nothing more than for the other person to wave their white flag and beg for forgiveness, Nikki didn't want to imagine going months without seeing me, and I was scared if I wasn't on tour to keep an eye on him, he would take his issues too far.

So we made up for the sake of each other's sanity, but again, never discussed what exactly happened to make us fight to begin with, and just harbored resentment we didn't realize we were holding onto until we started taking it out on each other later on.

The tour starts in upstate New York, then to Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and all went great...until Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Nikki's coming to the side of the stage where me and his tech are standing, and I think he's reaching for some water while Tommy plays his drum solo, but before I can reach down and grab a bottle from the cooler behind me, Nikki's saying words I always dread hearing.

"Help me, dude." He tells his tech, starting to pull his arm out of his navy and white polka-dotted costume.

"What?" I ask Nikki, before my face pales, seeing him pull a needle out of his boot, and a spoon before handing the lump of tar to him. "You cannot be fucking serious?" I spout over the booming of Tommy's playing.

"Nobody out there can fucking see me, Viv, chill out." He tells me as a piece of tar is melted down with a lighter underneath the spoon.

The fact that it's so casual for him to do this in front of me, is startling.

"Nikki, this can't wait?" I try to reason with him as the spoon is discarded to the floor once the gold is sucked up through the needle.

The syringe is handed back to him, and Tommy's solo is nearly over.

I have to squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head as Nikki plunges the needle into his skin, throws up, then stumbles back on stage, nearly missing his cue.

When the drugs started to override his need for a great performance, I knew he was gone.

I get out of the shower, ringing my hair out and running my fingers through it, hearing the phone in the hotel room ring.

When I go to answer it, Nikki and Tommy are grabbing at it, shewing me away.

"Hello?" They both obnoxiously say and I roll my eyes.

The person on the other side of the phone says something.

"Oh, hey, Duff." Nikki smirks, glancing at me and I give him a "you better be fucking nice" look.

"Hey, Buddy." Tommy adds.

"Viv? Yeah, she's here." Nikki tells him and I step to them, reaching my hand out to grab the phone, thinking he's going to give it to me. "Well, she can't really talk right now with my dick down her throat."

My eyes bug out of my head as I tackle Nikki and yank the phone from him while he and Tommy laugh loudly.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Hey, s-sorry to interrupt but I was just gonna call and check how it's been going." Duff replies.

"It's great." I assure him, leaving out the heavy drinking and drug binge Nikki and Tommy have been on.

"How's Nikki been? Is he still pissed at me?"

"No, no, he's been..." I think of what to say. Shooting heroin on stage? Coked out and shooting Jack Daniels with Tommy? "...great." I finally say, seeing Nikki and Tommy biting each others ankles like dogs.

"I'm sorry again if I overstepped, Viv. I didn't mean to, I just got a little pissed." He tells me.

"Duff, he's fine, I promise." I state, seeing Tommy and Nikki start wrestling, completely oblivious to my conversation. "It's fine. I'm use to his tantrums."

"I don't think that's healthy, Viv." He tells me calmly and I let out a breath.

"He's just stressed out, they all are. It'll get better once this tour is done."

"And what happens next tour?" He asks me.

Nikki's affair is outed on television, I try to kill him, your band comes on tour with them, and you get me knocked up...

"I'm hoping he'll be over this hellion phase by then." I admit, Tommy and Nikki each have handfuls of each other's hair, yanking on it, still not paying me any attention.

"Maybe it's not my place, but from outside looking in, I'm worried about you, Viv."

"I know, I know, but there's no need to." I reassure him.

He let's out a breath, knowing he can't win, and gives up for now.

"I feel like the fucking brick wall you argue with." He tells me and I smile, rubbing my lips together, before seeing Nikki and Tommy finish their play fighting, standing up, looking like they're about to leave.

"Hey, I gotta go but I'll call you when we get to the next city, alright?" I tell him.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds good." He replies. "Goodnight, love you."

"Love you, too." I reply before hanging up just as Nikki and Tommy sneak to the door. "Where do you two think you're going?" I ask and they freeze.

"Uh, well..." Tommy stutters to come up with an excuse, but Nikki just doesn't give a shit.

"Score some stuff." He tells me and I cross my arms over my towel.

"Nikki--"

"Tommy, can you give us a second?" Nikki says it like the answer can't be "no."

Tommy just raises his brows a little and nods.

"Sure, man, I'll be in my room when you're ready." He tells him, stepping out.

Nikki shuts the door behind him and I wait for him to start a fight, my brow raised, an expression of "can't wait to hear what audacious bullshit comes out of your mouth this time" is plastered all over my face when he turns around.

As far as I can tell, he hasn't snorted, shot up or smoked anything in the past hour and a half, which means I'm not facing the absolute devil that goes by the name "Sikki" and is Nikki's evil, drug loaded, irritable, mean, scary, abusive, demonic, sadistic, cruel, vindictive, disgusting alter-ego.

Nikki rolls his jaw a little with each step to me, but I don't cower back, waiting for him to say whatever it is he is going to say.

His hands bunch at my towel, pulling me against him.

He doesn't say a word, and I keep my arms crossed until he holds back the inkling of a smirk, leaning down to press a small kiss where my shoulder and neck meet.

I know what he's doing, because I do it to him all the time: using sex to get what he wants.

I bite my tongue to keep from moaning when we realizes I'm not budging and ups the anti, the tip of his tongue making slow, figure-eights in the same spot.

I feel like someone's knocked the back of my knees loose with a baseball bat, and I have to uncross my arms and hold tightly to him to keep from falling down.

He completely engulfs me in his arms at the sound of me letting out a whimper, my fingers grabbing at his hair, my legs rubbing themselves together to aid some relief.

His hands pull at my towel, discarding it to the floor, pressing his lips along my chest, over my breast, running his tongue around my nipple skillfully.

Hands run themselves between my legs while teeth carnally tug and bruise my skin, sending a wave of heat from my chest to my dripping core.

His mouth moves to my other nipple, but my real undoing is when his teeth trail down to the rib below my right breast, and bite down.

I gasp out, arching into him, my head tips back as he adds a bruise to the skin there that's already scarred with his teeth imprints collected over the years.

He smooths his tongue over the bite before trailing down my stomach, pressing to my pubic bone.

He pulls one of my legs over his shoulder as he gets on his knees, pressing gentle kisses down my inner thigh.

My chest is heaving with loss of breath as he looks me in the eyes and runs tongue from my entrance to my clit.

I dig my nails into his hands that hold steady at my waist as the slick sound and euphoric feeling of his tongue lacing back and forth and side to side against the sensitive nerve endings.

He pulls away for a moment, only to spit between my legs and suck it off my pussy, making my one standing leg go numb at the sensation.

Shallow pants leave my mouth as I start moving in rhythm with him, one of my hands reaching for his hair, pulling at it.

He takes one of his hands from me before rubbing it against my folds, getting his fingers wet, and sliding them into me.

The thick, fullness has my walls tightening around the two digits, eager to please myself as his tongue massages my clit, and my fingers come up to play with my own nipples.

"Nikki." I let out shakily, his fingers curling inside of me, pulling back out, pushing back in only to repeat. "Fuck, you do it so good." I praise hoarsely, one of my hands going back to his hair.

His tongue picks up it's pace, sending my heart rate into overdrive as his fingers keep up with the pace.

He knows exactly what he's doing, smirking up at me when his fingers hit the spot, my throat unable to contain the loud but curt moan that the people in the room next to us can probably hear as I milk his fingers as if they're his cock and my orgasm gets closer and closer.

He pulls his mouth away, licking his lips, before using the pad of his thumb from his other hand to rapidly rub at my swollen flesh.

I grip around his fingers so tightly it falters his ability to move them as well, and he lets out a little groan.

"I wish I could be three places at one time." He comments.

If he could be three places in me at one time I would be wrapped around him 24/7.

"C'mon, Viv, I'm getting really thirsty here." He says gruffly, that fucking smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth, as I throw my head back, letting out another loud moan, so close to my end I can taste it.

His hazel eyes looking up at me in adoration as I curl my toes and come so hard I see black dots.

He's taking his fingers out of me, grabbing at my ass with both hands, pulling me into him and licking every last drop of cum from me before I collapse on top of him, the both of us landing on the floor.

He let's out a laugh as I try to catch my breath, my chest pressed against his, my hands holding at his biceps.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, proudly, and I nod.

"I just need a minute..." I can barely get out in a rasp.

After about five minutes, I'm getting off of him and pulling myself onto the foot of the bed.

He stands up, too, stepping to my suitcase, tossing me one of his shirts he gave to me.

"Thank you." I say to him quietly and pull it on and when he pulls his jacket on, I know he's about to go out to get some more smack.

This terrifies me and tears come to my eyes.

"I'll be back in..." He stops talking, furrowing his brows, looking at me. "...Viv?"

I shake my head a little, waving him off.

"I'm fine, babe." I try to tell him.

"Vivian, why're crying." He asks me.

"I-I think I'm about to start my period." I lie, sniffling. "I'm just being over-emotional."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"I'll be back in a couple hours, alright?"

I nod again.

"Alright, I'll see you later." He tells me, wiping my tears with his thumb before pressing his lips to mine for a few seconds, and walking out the door.

When I envisioned my life when I was little, getting married at nineteen, having three miscarriages by the time I was twenty-one, having an addict husband, and spending a majority of my nights sleeping alone—which is one thing I absolutely hated to do—was not at all how I dreamt of my life being when I grew up.

But there I was.

Night after night.

City after city.

Alone.

In pain.

Broken.

Silent.

With not a single soul knowing about it.

It's been four hours and Nikki still isn't back.

Restless, I turn over to read the digital alarm clock.

4:02a.m.

Sighing out, I get out of the bed and go to my suitcase to grab a pair of panties and slip them on, before grabbing one of Nikki's shirts from his bag that smells like him.

I leave the hotel room and head next door to Vince's room, knocking on the door.

After several attempts, the door opens to reveal a very confused, half asleep, blonde girl that isn't Sharise—who's baby is due any day now.

"Hi." I say, hushly, pushing past her. "Did you guys do anything in the bed?" I ask her once I'm standing by the bed and she rubs her eyes, still in a haze.

She mumbles something that sounds like "the shower" and I hold out my room key to her.

"You can go sleep in my bed. Room 223." I say.

She doesn't ask questions, she just wants to go back to sleep.

Once she shuts the door, I'm patting around the mattress to avoid laying on Vince.

I slip in where she was, Vince's back to me.

I seperate his naked body from me by laying on top of the sheet, just letting the comforter guard me from the cool air from the vent, and actually snuggle closer to him, my forehead pressing against his back as I hold Nikki's shirt close to me like it's my sacred baby blanket, and drift off.