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My body, his choice

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𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩, 𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘪𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯' 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥

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My body, his choice

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why does the cool rockstars got to be nazi💔

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Kim Carlsson, from Lifelover

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Children's Book Gifs. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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somebody used my fic to create a character on cai lmao

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Izzy Stradlin Headcanons i have.

- Izzy moans on sex

- he is secretly a master of disguise, often using his skills to blend in with the crowd and observe people without being noticed.

- He has a deep connection with nature and often finds solace in the great outdoors, where he can escape the pressures of fame and the city life.

- he is a princess pillow

-izzy is a skilled painter and uses his artistic talents to express himself when he's not playing music.

- He has a soft spot for animals and is known to have rescued several stray cats and dogs over the years.

-Izzy is a bit of a tech geek and enjoys tinkering with gadgets and electronic devices in his spare time.

-He has a unique sense of humor and is known for his witty and sarcastic remarks, which often catch people off guard.

-Izzy is fiercely independent and values his privacy, which is why he tends to keep his personal life under wraps.

-He has a deep appreciation for classic literature and often quotes from his favorite books in conversation.

- Izzy is a bit of a thrill-seeker and enjoys extreme sports and activities, such as skydiving and bungee jumping.

- He has a complicated relationship with fame and often struggles with the expectations that come with being a rock star.

-Izzy is a perfectionist when it comes to his music and can be quite critical of his own work, often spending hours perfecting a single song.

-He has a strong sense of loyalty and will go to great lengths to protect his friends and loved ones.

-Izzy is a bit of a recluse and prefers the company of a small circle of close friends to large social gatherings.

-He has a fascination with ancient civilizations and often incorporates elements of their culture into his music and artwork.

-Izzy is a deeply spiritual person and believes in the power of meditation and mindfulness to achieve inner peace and enlightenment.

-Izzy is a talented cook and enjoys experimenting with different cuisines in his kitchen.

-He has a soft spot for children and often volunteers his time to mentor and support young musicians.

-Izzy is a bit of a conspiracy theorist and enjoys discussing the mysteries of the universe and the paranormal.

-He has a strong work ethic and is known for his dedication to his craft, often spending long hours in the studio perfecting his music.

-izzy is a bit of a loner and prefers the company of his guitar to that of people.

-He has a unique vocal style that is often described as gritty and raw, which adds to the intensity of his music.

-Izzy is a bit of a prankster and enjoys playing harmless practical jokes on his bandmates and friends.

-He has a deep respect for his fellow musicians and often collaborates with them on various projects.

-Izzy is a true artist and believes that music is a form of expression that should be shared with the world.

-He has a strong sense of justice and is known for his activism on behalf of various social and environmental causes.

-Izzy is a bit of a risk-taker and often pushes the boundaries of what is considered acceptable in his music and art.

-He has a unique sense of humor and is known for his witty and sarcastic remarks, which often catch people off guard.

-Izzy is a bit of a recluse and prefers the company of a small circle of close friends to large social gatherings.

-He has a deep appreciation for the beauty of the natural world and often incorporates elements of nature into his music and artwork.

-He can get a bit violent after drinking

-he never lets anyone in

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Dessert Themed Gifs / Dividers 𐂐◯٩(ˊᗜ` *)و ‎

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(: kidcore pixels :)

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requests open!!!

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ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠ

     : •̩̩͙ ໋  cute  symbols   •̩̩͙ ໋:

ㅤ┈֯⠀ ͚֯ 𝅘ྀི𝅥ㅤ   ㅤ  ့ ◌๋ ✿ ˚ㅤ   ㅤ ぱ 𔓘 ͚𝆬 𝃞

ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠ

ㅤ♡𓈒 ཾ 𓈒ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ᡣ 𓈒⋅ ⩊ ⋅𓈒ྀིა ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ♡ ྀི༘͏

ㅤ ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠ

ㅤ𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ𓈒༷♪˚.✧ㅤㅤㅤ ཾ ど 𓈒♡︎

ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠ

ㅤ ೃ❀𓈒𓏶ྀིㅤㅤ ㅤ ꒰ ᥩ ᪲ ․ ۜ ̫․ ꒱𝆬 𓈒ㅤ   ㅤ 𓂂 𓏴 ཾ

ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠ

ㅤ𔓘 𓈒♡͙ೃ࿔ ͙ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ੯𑁦ྀི༘𓈒𝆬 ✧ㅤㅤ ㅤ ெ♡ ༚

ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠ

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Dear Y/N,

PT.2

Izzy Stradlin X Reader

warnings: *fluffy* *sad*

.

After sealing the letter, Izzy sat with it in his hands for a long time, just staring at his own handwriting. The words felt too little, too late, but they were all he had. He could have called, but something about hearing Y/N’s voice—whether it was soft with forgiveness or cold with indifference—felt unbearable. A letter was safer.

He finally stood up, slipping on his leather jacket, and left his motel room. The night air was thick with the smell of rain, the streets damp under the flickering glow of streetlights. He found a mailbox a few blocks away, his hands tightening around the envelope before he finally dropped it in.

For a moment, he felt like he could breathe. And then, almost immediately, the weight in his chest returned.

Would she read it? Would she even care? Or would she just throw it away, like he probably deserved?

Izzy walked back to his room, lit a cigarette, and sat by the window, watching the smoke curl against the glass. He told himself it didn’t matter what happened next. That he had done what he could.

But when he finally lay down that night, his mind wouldn’t quiet. He thought about Y/N’s eyes, the way she used to look at him like she saw something good in him—something even he couldn’t see. He thought about the life they might have had if he hadn’t ruined everything.

And somewhere, miles away, in a quiet apartment, Y/N stood by her mailbox, staring at an envelope with his name on it, her heart pounding in her chest.

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she turned the envelope over, tracing the familiar handwriting. She hadn’t seen Izzy’s name in years—hadn’t heard his voice, hadn’t known if he was even still out there. And now, just like that, he had appeared again. Not in person, not with a phone call, but in ink on paper.

She hesitated before stepping inside her apartment, closing the door behind her as she leaned against it. For a long moment, she just stared at the letter, debating whether to open it or toss it aside. He had disappeared without a word, left her behind like she was nothing. Why should she care now?

And yet, she did.

With a deep breath, she sank onto her couch, carefully tearing the envelope open. As she unfolded the letter, her eyes scanned the words, each one pulling her deeper into a flood of emotions she had tried so hard to bury.

He was sober. He felt lost. He thought about her. He was sorry.

She swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in her eyes. A part of her had convinced herself he never cared. That it had been easy for him to walk away. But these words—raw, uncertain, aching—told a different story.

As she read his words, the room filled with echoes of laughter, shared secrets, and the bittersweet taste of what might have been. Izzy’s confessions of emptiness and regret stirred a storm of conflicting emotions—sorrow for the love lost, anger at the sudden disappearance, and an unexpected tenderness for a soul that still, somehow, reached out from the shadows of the past.

She read the letter again. And again. And again.

Then, before she could stop herself, she reached for the phone.

Her fingers hovered over the numbers she still knew by heart. She told herself to put it down, to let it go. But deep inside, a voice whispered: * “call him”

she called it

it ringed

she put it down

and went lay down

anxiously

regretting calling

but wishing have the courage to do that again

soon

For days afterward, Y/N found herself caught in a silent dialogue with those memories. The letter was both a reopening of old wounds and an invitation to healing. Every evening, as dusk settled and the world turned quieter, she replayed his words in her mind. She wondered what had driven him to disappear without explanation, what demons he had wrestled with, and whether he had ever truly believed they might find their way back to each other.

Meanwhile, far from her small apartment, Izzy sat alone in his sparse motel room. The act of mailing the letter had been a leap of faith—a desperate attempt to break the cycle of isolation he’d built around himself. In the quiet moments before sleep, his thoughts drifted repeatedly to her eyes and the warmth they once held. The letter, now released into the world, was his way of confessing that beneath his hardened exterior, he was still searching for something real, something that had slipped away with the passing of time.

One rainy evening, as the memory of that fateful night lingered in both their hearts, Y/N finally made a decision. She picked up her phone, her hand steadying as she dialed a number she both dreaded and hoped to hear. On the other end, after what felt like an interminable pause, Izzy’s voice answered—soft, tentative, and laced with the weight of all the words he’d never managed to say.

Their conversation began haltingly, each word measured and laced with vulnerability. They spoke of lost time, of the fear that had driven him away, and of the silent promises left unfulfilled. There was no easy magic in their exchange—only the fragile, honest attempt to bridge the gulf that had formed between them. For a brief moment, the distance of months and memories dissolved, replaced by the raw, painful hope that healing was possible.

The call ended without resolution, no grand declarations or immediate answers, but it marked the beginning of a new chapter. Both knew that the past could not be rewritten and that scars might never fully disappear. Yet, in that tentative dialogue, there was a shared understanding: forgiveness and understanding were steps toward mending hearts, even if the process was slow and fraught with uncertainty.

As the night deepened, Y/N set her phone aside and let silence settle around her like a familiar friend. Across town, Izzy stared at the dark window, contemplating the fragile line between regret and redemption. In the quiet spaces between their thoughts, both found a small measure of peace—an acknowledgment that while the past might always echo in their lives, it didn’t have to define the future.

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Our little secret. PT.2

Izzy Stradlin X Reader

warnings: *pregnancy* *fluffy* *sad*

.

Izzy hadn’t fucking moved. He was still crouched by the crib, still staring at Violet like she might disappear if he blinked. His cigarette, forgotten in his other hand, had burned down to the filter.

You didn’t know what the hell was going through his mind, and that scared you more than anything. Izzy was unpredictable as fuck—one second calm, the next a goddamn storm.

And right now? He looked like both.

“She looks like you,” he finally muttered, voice rough.

Your throat felt tight. “She’s got your eyes.”

Izzy scoffed, shaking his head. “Poor kid.”

A choked laugh left you, even though none of this was funny. It was fucking terrifying.

“She have a middle name?” he asked, still not looking at you.

“Jane.”

His lips pressed together, and you swore you saw the ghost of a smile before it disappeared. “My mom’s name.”

You nodded. “I wanted her to have something from you.”

That did something to him. His shoulders tensed, his breath hitched just a little. Then, slowly, he let go of Violet’s tiny hand and stood up. His gaze finally met yours, and fuck, it was like looking at a hurricane—wild, furious, exhausted.

“You should’ve fucking told me.”

The guilt had been eating you alive for months, but hearing him say it out loud made it worse. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling like the worst person on the planet. “I know.”

Izzy ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know how to be a dad, Y/N.” His voice cracked, just a little. “I never wanted to be one because I knew I’d fuck it up.”

Your heart clenched.

“Izzy—”

“I can’t be some picture-perfect father,” he cut you off, pacing the small apartment like he was trying to escape his own goddamn thoughts. “I don’t know how to do this shit. I’m gone more than I’m here. I’m a fucking disaster.” He gestured at himself like he was stating the obvious. “And now there’s a kid involved?” He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Jesus Christ.”

You took a step forward, stomach twisting. “I didn’t expect you to come back and suddenly be a father, Izzy. I just—” You swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Izzy stopped pacing. Just stood there, staring at you like you’d just fucking wrecked him.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally—

“You didn’t lose me.”

Your breath caught.

Izzy let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Fuck, if anything, I think I just lost myself in all this.” His dark eyes flicked toward Violet, who was still staring up at him from her crib, completely oblivious to the weight of the situation. “Shit,” he muttered again.

You took another cautious step toward him, unsure if he was about to bolt or break down. Maybe both.

“Izzy… you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” you said softly. “I know this is a lot. But if you want to be in her life, you can be. We’ll figure it out.”

He scoffed. “And if I don’t?”

Your chest ached.

“Then I’ll raise her on my own.”

Izzy flinched, like the thought of that physically hurt him.

A long silence stretched between you.

Then—

“Fuck.” He raked a hand through his hair, looking at you like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. “I can’t promise I won’t fuck this up.”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. “Then don’t. Just… be here.”

Izzy’s jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, he nodded once.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Okay.”

And just like that, your whole fucking world shifted.

Izzy was still in your apartment.

You had half expected him to storm out after hearing the truth, but he was still fucking here. Standing in the middle of the room, looking like his entire world had just been thrown into a blender.

Violet yawned in her crib, stretching her tiny fingers, completely unaware that her dad was going through a full-blown existential crisis three feet away.

Izzy dragged a hand down his face. “I need a drink.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, well, I need a goddamn time machine, but we’re both shit out of luck.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. “Jesus, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m serious, Izzy. If you’re gonna stay, you can’t just drown yourself in a bottle every time shit gets hard. That’s not how this works.”

Izzy’s eyes darkened, like he wanted to snap at you, but then he glanced at Violet. Whatever words had been on his tongue, he swallowed them down.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice quieter this time.

“I know.” You softened a little, stepping closer. “Neither do I. But I’ve been doing it. And you can too, if you want to.”

Izzy was silent. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for something—a cigarette, a drink, maybe just something to hold onto. But there was nothing but you and the weight of what you’d just thrown at him.

Finally, he spoke.

“What if I’m not good at it?”

Your chest ached.

“Izzy…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Nobody’s good at it. Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing. But you get up, and you try.”

He let out a slow breath and looked at Violet again. She had dozed off, her tiny chest rising and falling in soft, steady breaths. Izzy’s face did something unreadable, something almost… vulnerable.

You watched as he hesitated, then took a slow step toward the crib. His long fingers hovered over the edge like he was afraid to get too close.

“She’s so small,” he muttered.

“She won’t be forever.”

Izzy swallowed hard. Then, in the most careful fucking movement you’d ever seen, he reached down and picked her up.

You held your breath, half expecting him to freeze up or panic, but he didn’t. He just stood there, holding his daughter for the first time, looking more lost than you’d ever seen him.

And then—

“She’s warm.” His voice cracked, just a little.

You blinked back tears. “Yeah. She is.”

Izzy looked at you, something breaking in his dark eyes. “Fuck, Y/N.”

“I know.”

His hold on Violet tightened, like maybe he was afraid to let go. And for the first time since he’d walked through that door, you saw it—

The moment Izzy Stradlin realized he was a father.

And he wasn’t fucking running.

Not this time.