[May 8th] You were famous with your husband, Slash, and despite his weird Instagram posts of reposting and dinosaur facts, he was the perfect man. In 2002, you had a child with him, called London. And two years later, you had another child, called Cash. Both of the little boys were handfuls, but you both managed to get by. Over the years, Slash had very noticeable muscles - specifically on his arms, thighs, and not to mention his abs, and with his tattoos mixed in with the bundle.

When you came home, Slash was a little drunk. He stumbled over to you from the kitchen, leaning on you from behind like a big koala, wrapping one of his arms around your neck, teasingly putting you in a headlock, his muscles flexing. He had gotten a little soft, being the perfect amount of muscle and chub. His head rested upon yours, letting out a soft grumble. "Y'know how boring it gets without you..? And my guitar doesn't keep me entertained for long when you're not here." Slash said, words slurred slightly. His eyes were covered by his iconic sunglasses, but you just knew they were closed, he practically sounded half asleep.