@buttercupbabyyy - Tumblr Blog

hi i’m vi, and my only goal in life is to bite noah’s bicep nice to meet you🤝🏻

26yr, she/her

formerly @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning

asks are always open, i love chatting and making new friends so please feel free to talk/ ask/ send things!

i don’t condone bullying or hate of any kind so please just be respectful and kind; otherwise it’s an immediate block

this blog is not intended for minors, so if you’re under the age of 18 please stay away🤺

also!! i made a pretty extensive fic rec list for anyone who’s interested! fyi its almost entirely smut bc i’m a whore but its all neatly organized!

updated fic rec list

#pinned post #vi rambles #vi reads #vi writes #vi’s cats #vi’s nails #me

paradiiddle

seven years pt. 3: maybe tonight [ex-boyfriend!noah]

Noah finally musters the courage to try, hoping it’s not yet too late to get you back.

Ex-Boyfriend!Noah x F!reader

Content warning: yearning, angst maybe, smut (penetrative sex: p in v)

Word count: 5.2k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: Here's the overdue 3rd part. Apologies that (1) this took 2 months to finish, (2) I prioritized this over the other one (had a hard time finding the motivation so yeah✌🏼), and (3) this might not be what you expected. Thanks for reading! :D

Disclaimer: This story has the same premise as the wonderful @mid-omens' Blister. Any similarities or resemblances you might find in the scenes, character portrayals, etc. are purely coincidental.

'right here, now, no second chances, maybe we'll finally get it right' / The Summer Set

caffeinatedomens

oncce-againn

u know ur fucked when u skip every song

thatbutler

𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐄...! 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋!

english-fucker

ngl down hard for noah sebastian today

takeme1st

POV: you’re dating shoulder length-ish hair Noah and this is your camera roll. 🤎✨

httpconcrete

ECHOES OF NIGHT - PART 2 - CHAPTER NINE

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x reader

author's note: I'm emotional with this one

word count: 2379

masterlist

Months had passed in the quiet way months do when life is full.

The European tour dates were already locked in. Posters had started circulating online. Noah had spent long afternoons in the studio with the guys going over set lists and travel logistics, and the house had slowly filled with the low-level preparation that always came before a long stretch of shows. You had taken on more of the merch side again this cycle, sorting inventory spreadsheets and checking sample runs of new designs between school drop-offs and the ordinary rhythm of days with Kara.

You had been careful not to say anything yet.

The symptoms had started small. A heaviness in the mornings that felt different from ordinary tiredness. A faint, persistent queasiness that came and went without pattern. The way certain smells suddenly sat wrong in your stomach. You told yourself it could be stress. The tour planning. The way your body sometimes reacted when the seasons shifted. You told yourself a dozen reasonable things because the alternative felt too big to name out loud before you were sure.

You did not want to hand Noah hope only to take it back.

So you kept it to yourself, moving through the days with the same careful smile, the same routines, while the quiet possibility lived under your skin like a second heartbeat you were not ready to acknowledge.

That afternoon the house was warm with late light. Kara sat cross-legged on the living room floor beside the low table you were using for merch work, a spread of markers and paper around her. She was drawing what she had confidently declared would be the new tour poster, complete with a very large bee wearing sunglasses and holding a tiny microphone. You sat on the couch above her with your laptop open, scrolling through product mockups and noting sizes that needed reordering. The soft scratch of her markers mixed with the distant, muffled sound of Noah’s guitar from the home studio down the hall.

“Mommy, look,” Kara said, holding up the paper. “The bee is the lead singer now. Daddy can be the backup bee.”

You smiled, the expression automatic even as another slow wave of nausea rolled through your stomach. “He’s going to love that. Very accurate casting.”

She grinned and bent back over the page, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. You tried to refocus on the screen. The numbers blurred for a second. The smell of the permanent markers suddenly felt sharper than it should have. You swallowed, breathing carefully through your nose, and reached for the water bottle on the side table.

The nausea did not pass.

It deepened instead, rising fast and mean, turning the edges of your vision slightly soft. Your mouth watered in that warning way you remembered too well from years ago. You set the laptop aside too quickly. The movement made the room tilt.

“Mommy?” Kara’s voice sounded farther away than it should have.

You stood. The floor felt uncertain under your feet. You took one step toward the hallway and then another, one hand reaching for the wall as the sickness surged harder. Your shoulder caught the edge of a small side table. The vase on it wobbled, tipped, and crashed to the floor in a bright, ugly shatter of ceramic and water. Flowers scattered across the hardwood.

You barely registered the sound. The bathroom was only a few more steps. You made it through the door, dropped to your knees, and lost the fight with your stomach in a hard, shaking heave.

Behind you, footsteps came fast down the hall.

“Y/N?” Noah’s voice, sharp with alarm. “Hey—what happened?”

You heard him stop in the doorway, heard the soft curse when he saw the broken vase, then the quicker steps as he came into the bathroom. His hand landed gently between your shoulder blades, warm and steady.

“I’ve got you,” he said, quieter now. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

You stayed folded over the toilet for another moment, eyes watering, one arm braced against the seat. The worst of it eased in small degrees. Noah reached past you to tear off a few sheets of toilet paper and pressed them into your hand without comment. You wiped your mouth, flushed, and sat back on your heels, still trembling faintly.

When you finally looked up at him, he was crouched beside you, close enough that his knee touched yours. His eyes moved over your face with careful intensity, taking in the pallor, the way you were still breathing too carefully, the faint sheen of sweat at your hairline.

Neither of you spoke at first.

The possibility sat between you in the small bathroom like a third presence. Months of quiet trying. The hope he had carried so carefully. The symptoms you had been hiding. The way your body had just betrayed every attempt at secrecy.

Noah’s voice, when it came, was low and rough around the edges.

“How long?”

You swallowed. Your throat felt scraped. “A little while. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew.”

His hand came up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. He looked like he was holding himself very still.

“You should have told me,” he said, but there was no real anger in it. Only worry, and something deeper, brighter, barely contained. “Even if you weren’t sure.”

“I know.” Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. “I just… I didn’t want to give you something that might not be real yet.”

Noah let out a slow breath and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. His eyes had gone bright.

“It might be real,” he whispered.

Behind you both, small footsteps approached and then stopped near the broken vase.

“Mommy?” Kara’s voice was small. “The flowers fell down. Are you sick?”

Noah pulled back just enough to look toward the doorway, his hand still steady on you. “Mommy’s okay, bug. She just felt a little bad for a minute. Can you go get Bee and wait for us in the living room? We’ll clean this up and come find you.”

There was a short pause, then the sound of Kara’s feet retreating, followed by her voice calling for Bee in the other room.

Noah turned back to you. His free hand found yours and held on.

“We’ll take a test,” he said quietly. “Whenever you’re ready. Today, tomorrow, whenever. But I’m here. Whatever it says.”

You nodded, eyes stinging. The nausea had eased into a dull, unsettled residue, but the weight in your chest had shifted into something sharper. Hope. Fear. The sudden, overwhelming sense that the months of quiet trying might already have become something more.

Noah helped you to your feet carefully, one arm steady around your waist. In the hallway the broken vase still lay in pieces, water darkening the wood. He guided you past it toward the living room, where Kara was already explaining the situation to Bee in serious tones.

The possibility followed you down the hall, no longer hidden.

It lived in the space between your bodies now, acknowledged and breathing, waiting for the moment you would finally give it a name.

You sat on the edge of the couch for a few minutes while Noah quietly cleaned up the shattered ceramic and wiped the water from the floor. Kara hovered nearby with Bee under one arm, watching both of you with the sharp attention of a child who knew something important was happening even if she did not fully understand what. When Noah came back, he crouched in front of you, hands resting lightly on your knees.

“Do you want to take one now?” he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear. “We still have a couple in the bathroom cabinet from last month.”

Your stomach was still unsettled, but the worst of the nausea had passed. What remained was a thinner, sharper feeling: fear braided tightly with the kind of hope you had been trying not to feed too openly. You looked at him for a long second, taking in the careful way he was holding himself, the brightness already gathering at the edges of his eyes.

“Yes,” you said. “I want to know.”

He nodded once. He did not smile yet. He simply stood and offered you his hand.

In the bathroom, the air still carried the faint leftover scent of sickness. Noah opened the cabinet, found the small box, and set it on the counter without ceremony. You took the test out with hands that were not entirely steady. Neither of you spoke while you followed the instructions. The quiet between you felt thick, almost ceremonial. When you capped the test and laid it flat on the counter, Noah’s fingers found yours immediately, lacing through them and holding on.

Three minutes had never felt so long.

You stood side by side at the sink, shoulders touching, watching the small plastic window like it might change its mind if you looked away. Noah’s thumb moved slowly back and forth across your knuckles. His breathing had gone shallow. You could feel the tension running through him as clearly as you felt it in yourself.

At first the window stayed blank.

Then, slowly, the lines began to appear.

Two of them.

Clear. Dark. Unmistakable.

For a second neither of you moved. The reality of it seemed to arrive in pieces rather than all at once. You felt Noah’s hand tighten hard around yours. When you finally looked up at him, his eyes were already wet.

“Yeah?” he whispered, as if he needed to hear it confirmed out loud.

You nodded, the motion small and stunned. “Yeah.”

The sound he made was quiet and broken at the edges, half laugh and half something closer to a sob. He pulled you into him without another word, arms wrapping tightly around you, face burying in the curve of your neck. You held on just as hard, fists curling into the back of his shirt, the test still lying on the counter behind you like evidence of a future that had suddenly become real.

“I love you,” he said against your skin, the words rough. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you managed, voice shaking. Tears had already started slipping down your face. “We’re really doing this. It’s real.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, both hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed the tears away even as his own continued to fall. Then he kissed you, deep and full of everything the last months of quiet trying had carried. You kissed him back, smiling against his mouth through the tears, the relief and the joy and the residual fear all tangled together into something almost too large for the small bathroom to hold.

When you finally broke apart, Noah rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Kara,” he said softly. “We should tell her.”

You nodded. “Together.”

You found her in the living room still sitting on the floor with her drawing, Bee propped carefully beside the paper. She looked up the moment the two of you appeared, eyes narrowing slightly at the unmistakable evidence that both of her parents had been crying.

“Why are your faces wet?” she asked bluntly.

Noah let out a watery laugh and sat down on the rug in front of her. You followed, lowering yourself carefully beside him. He reached out and tugged her gently into the space between your knees so the three of you formed a small, uneven circle on the floor.

“We have something to tell you, bug,” he said. His voice was still thick, but steady. “Something important.”

Kara looked between the two of you, sensing the weight of the moment. “Did someone break another vase?”

“No,” you said, smiling through the fresh sting of tears. You brushed a curl back from her face. “Do you remember when we talked about the possibility of a little sibling? About you being a big sister?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

Noah took her small hand in both of his. “It’s happening. Mommy’s going to have a baby. You’re going to be a big sister.”

For a second Kara simply stared. The information seemed to need time to land. Then her whole face lit up in stages, the realization blooming across her features until she was grinning so widely it looked like it might hurt.

“For real?” she demanded. “A real baby? Not just a maybe?”

“For real,” Noah confirmed, laughing even as another tear slipped free. “A real baby.”

Kara launched herself forward, throwing her arms around both of your necks at once with so much force that the three of you nearly toppled sideways onto the rug. You and Noah caught her between you, holding on tightly as she wriggled with pure, unfiltered excitement.

“I’m going to be the boss big sister,” she announced against your shoulder, already breathless with plans. “I can show them the pool and Sir Stomp and the bee song and how to make Daddy do the raspberry kisses. And they can have the space in my toy circle. I already left it open. I knew it. I knew it.”

Noah pressed a long kiss to the top of her head, then another to your temple, his arm still locked around both of you. You closed your eyes and held on, the living room full of the sound of Kara’s happy chatter and Noah’s quiet, disbelieving laughter and the steady thrum of your own heartbeat.

The test still lay on the bathroom counter down the hall.

The European tour dates still waited on the calendar.

But right now, on the living room floor, the three of you were already becoming four, tangled together in a messy, tear-streaked, joyful knot of arms and declarations and future plans spoken too fast for anyone to fully keep up with.

Noah looked at you over the top of Kara’s head, eyes shining, and mouthed the words again without sound.

I love you.

You mouthed them back.

And for the first time in months, the hope no longer felt fragile.

It felt alive.

dress-a-blade-up-in-red

Favors (Noah Sebastian)

Bestfriend! Noah Sebastian x Reader

Summary: Bestfriend! Noah gripping your thighs, fucking you on the bathroom counter at a party because you both get horny when you drink and it “solves the problem”

Content Warning: Drinking/Intoxication (both parties consent), p in v penetration, creampie

Masterlist Taglist

18+ MDNI

httpconcrete

ECHOES OF NIGHT - PART 2 - CHAPTER EIGHT

Pairing: dad! Noah Sebastian x reader

author's note: none

word count: 2275

masterlist

The studio smelled like old coffee, cable plastic, and the faint metallic tang of overworked amps. The air was warm from hours of running equipment, and the low hum of the monitors mixed with the occasional soft click of a cooling fan.

Noah sat on the worn leather couch in the control room, elbows on his knees, a half-empty water bottle dangling from one hand. The leather had cracked in places from years of use, and he could feel the uneven texture under his palms whenever he shifted. Through the thick glass he could see the live room still lit, the drum kit gleaming under the overheads, Jolly’s guitar resting against a stand where he had left it after the last take. A cable snaked across the floor near the bass amp. They had been at it for hours, tightening a bridge section that kept losing its punch, arguing over a vocal harmony that still felt slightly off no matter how many times they layered it. Eventually the energy in the room had shifted into that late-session quiet where the music temporarily took a back seat to everything else.

Jolly was the first to drop into the chair across from him, spinning it once before settling with a soft creak of the wheels. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back, watching Noah with open curiosity. Folio followed a moment later, dropping onto the other end of the couch with a low groan. His drumsticks were still tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, and he pulled them out only to tap them lightly against his thigh out of habit. Ruffilo leaned against the edge of the console, arms crossed loosely, one ankle hooked over the other. He had that calm, steady look he got when he already sensed something was sitting heavier than usual on Noah’s shoulders.

“You’ve been somewhere else all day,” Jolly said eventually, his voice not unkind. “Even when the takes were good. You’d nail a part and then just stare at the wall for a second like you weren’t fully in the room. What’s going on?”

Noah let out a slow breath and dragged a hand down his face. The stubble on his jaw scraped against his palm. For a moment he considered brushing it off, saying he was just tired, that the song wasn’t sitting right yet, that his head was simply foggy from too many hours under fluorescent lights. But the weight under his ribs had been building for days, quiet and persistent, and these were the three people who had watched him grow up inside this band. They had seen him at his most reckless and his most broken. If he could not say it here, he was not sure where he could.

“Y/N and I are trying,” he said quietly.

The room went still in a different way. The ordinary background noise of the studio seemed to fade for a second.

Folio’s eyebrows lifted. Ruffilo’s expression softened almost immediately, the corners of his mouth turning down in quiet understanding. Jolly leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, giving Noah his full attention.

“Trying as in… another baby?” Jolly asked, careful with the words.

Noah nodded once. “Yeah. We decided a little while ago. We went to the doctor, ran some tests, everything looks good on paper. So we’re trying.”

A beat of silence passed. It felt warm rather than awkward, the kind of quiet that comes when people are giving space instead of filling it too quickly.

“That’s big,” Folio said, his voice low. He turned slightly on the couch so he was facing Noah more directly. “How are you feeling about it?”

Noah stared at the water bottle in his hands, turning it slowly between his palms. Condensation had left a faint ring on the knee of his jeans. “Hopeful. Scared. Both at the same time, constantly. I keep catching myself thinking about it in the middle of random shit. Making coffee in the morning. Driving Kara to school. Sitting here trying to write a bridge that refuses to cooperate. It’s just there. Under everything. Like a second pulse.”

He swallowed, then kept going. Once the first words were out, the rest came easier, as if some internal valve had finally loosened.

“I missed so much with Kara. All the early stuff. The first real smile, the first steps. The nights Y/N was up alone when she was sick or teething or just wouldn’t sleep no matter what. I got the stories. I got the videos. I got the secondhand versions of everything, and I held onto them like they could somehow make up for the absence. But I wasn’t there. I didn’t get to feel her weight on my chest those first weeks. I didn’t get to panic over a fever or learn the exact sound of her cry. And some days that still sits on me harder than I know how to explain. It lives under my ribs and doesn’t move. So the idea of getting to do it from the beginning this time, of being there for all of it, feels huge. Like something I honestly did not think I would ever get the chance at.”

Ruffilo nodded slowly, his arms still crossed but his posture less rigid. “That makes sense. You’ve talked about that before, in pieces. I can see why this would hit deep.”

“But,” Noah added, looking up at them now, needing them to hear the next part clearly, “even if it doesn’t happen, they’re enough. Y/N and Kara. They’re more than enough. I need you guys to know that, this isn’t about fixing anything or filling some hole I think exists. I love the life we have. I love being Kara’s dad. I love walking through the door and having her run at me like I’ve been gone for years even if it’s only been a few hours. I love the way Y/N looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. If another baby never comes, I still get to keep what I’ve already got, and that is everything. I’m just allowing myself to hope for more. That’s all. Hope feels dangerous sometimes, but I’m doing it anyway.”

Jolly was quiet for a moment, then offered a small, crooked smile that reached his eyes. “You’re allowed to hope, man. You’ve earned that. After everything it took to get here, you’re allowed.”

Noah huffed a soft, almost self-conscious breath. “Yeah. Still feels fragile as hell. Like if I look at it too hard it might disappear.”

Folio shifted on the couch, the drumsticks tapping a slow, absent rhythm against his knee. “How’s Y/N handling it?”

Noah’s expression softened further. “Better than me, I think. Or at least differently. She’s scared too. She went through the early part alone once already, and that kind of memory doesn’t just leave. But she’s in it with me. We’re doing this together, on purpose. That part feels solid in a way a lot of other things never have. She’s the reason I even get to want this. If she hadn’t let me back in, if she hadn’t trusted me with Kara after everything, none of this would exist. Not the house, not the mornings with pancakes, not the chance to try again. I don’t take that lightly. I don’t think I ever will.”

The three of them let that sit for a few seconds. The studio lights hummed softly overhead. Somewhere in the live room a piece of gear clicked as it cooled.

Then Ruffilo spoke, his voice even and steady. “So where does that leave the band?”

Noah had known the question was coming. He had been turning it over in his own head for weeks, late at night and in the car and in the quiet moments after Kara fell asleep. He looked down at his hands for a second before answering.

“I want to keep doing this,” he said honestly. “Writing. Touring. Making records with you guys. It’s still a huge part of who I am. I’m not looking to walk away from it. The music still matters. You three still matter. But I also don’t want to miss things again. Not with Kara, and not if we do end up with another kid. I want to be present. I want to be the dad who shows up for the school stuff and the sick days and the random Tuesday afternoons when she just wants to talk about butterflies and bees for twenty minutes straight. Not just the one who FaceTimes from a bus between soundcheck and doors.”

He looked between them, needing them to hear the full shape of what he was trying to say.

“I’m not asking for anything specific right now. I’m not saying we cancel tours or rewrite the whole structure tomorrow. I just need you to know where my head is. The band matters. You guys matter. But my family has to come first in a way it didn’t always before. If that means we get more selective about the runs we do, or we build in longer breaks between cycles, or we figure out ways for me to be home more without the whole machine falling apart, then I want to have those conversations. I don’t want to wake up five years from now and realize I repeated the same mistakes with a different child. I can’t do that again.”

Jolly leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking under him as he considered. His expression was thoughtful rather than resistant. “We’ve all watched you change since Kara came into the picture. It’s not a surprise that this is where your priority is sitting. Honestly, it would be weirder if it wasn’t. You’ve been different in the best way. More grounded. More careful with your time. We noticed.”

Folio nodded, the drumsticks finally still in his hands. “We’ve been doing this long enough to know seasons change. We’ve already adjusted before when things got heavy or when life got complicated. We can do it again. The music doesn’t disappear just because the way we make it shifts a little.”

Ruffilo pushed off the console and uncrossed his arms, letting them fall more loosely at his sides. “You’re not the first person in a band to want both, we’ll figure it out. Just keep talking to us. Don’t go quiet and try to carry the whole thing alone like you used to. That version of you doesn’t work anymore, and we all know it.”

Noah felt something in his chest loosen at that. Not completely. The hope and the fear and the old grief were still there, braided together under his ribs. But the tightness eased enough that he could take a fuller breath. These were the men who had been in vans and shared hotel rooms and fluorescent green rooms with him for years. They had seen the worst versions of the lifestyle and the best ones. They had watched him fall apart and slowly put himself back together. Hearing them meet him without resistance, without defensiveness, meant more than he could cleanly put into words.

“I will,” he said. “I promise. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Jolly tipped his chin toward him, a small, genuine smile on his face. “And for what it’s worth, I hope it happens for you. The baby. You and Y/N deserve that. Kara does too. She’d be a hell of a big sister.”

Folio lifted his water bottle in a small, wordless toast, the plastic crinkling softly. Ruffilo simply nodded once, solid and certain, the kind of nod that carried weight without needing extra speech.

Noah sat back against the couch, letting the quiet settle again around them. Outside the control room glass, the instruments waited under the lights, patient and familiar. Somewhere across the city, Y/N was probably helping Kara with something ordinary. Homework spread across the kitchen table, or a snack negotiated with serious six-year-old logic, or the endless gentle back-and-forth of bedtime. The hope was still there, fragile and persistent under his ribs. So was the love for the family he already had. So was the future of the band, still being written one careful conversation at a time.

For now, that balance felt possible. Not easy. Not simple. But possible.

He reached for his own water bottle, took a long drink, and exhaled slowly. The cold water grounded him a little.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, a tired but genuine smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Enough of my existential crisis for one night. Somebody cue up that last take. I want to hear the harmony again before we all start getting too sentimental.”

Jolly snorted and spun the chair back toward the console, fingers already moving across the trackpad. “There he is. Thought we lost you for a second.”

Folio pushed himself up from the couch with a theatrical groan, drumsticks tapping against his palm. “Sentimentality is only allowed after we fix that bridge. House rules.”

Ruffilo was already reaching for the mouse, a faint smile visible at the edge of his mouth as he pulled the session back up on the main screen. “You heard the man. Harmony. Then we can all go home and pretend we didn’t have feelings in the studio.”

Noah huffed a quiet laugh and leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, eyes on the waveform blooming across the monitor. The session moved forward, the familiar rhythm of listening and adjusting and trying again settling back over the room.

So did everything else.

bought a new foundation that i was skeptical abt (but it had such good reviews so i had to try it) and my skin looks fucking amazing omfg

#vi rambles

lepidopteragirl

too bad it’s not possible to do anything. but at least there’s music

omnz

caffeinatedomens

runningincircl3s

I’m so obsessed with Velvet.. can we get a sneak peak of the next chapter when you have something to share?

of course 🤭 i’m having way too much fun with this next chapter…

heartpeacenquiet

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) / づ♡ I give this to everyone that is feeling bad right now. It’ll be ok.

silent-stories

after watching like 85 noah streams I feel like i know so much random shit about that man

I love random stuff that comes up! Like, "this is my favorite food", "this song/album is my current fav", "I played this sport as a kid" etc.

I have watched a couple of stream here and there but rarely have the patience and even more so to watch whole streams. 🙈 Anything on the top of your head you wanna share? ☺️

these are probably all things you guys already know, but this is what i could think of rn:

• he went to a bmth listening party and really liked amo

• he had an electric scooter, he used it to go to davis' house, but crashed into a sign and returned it

• if he had a dog, he’d name it malice

• he used to do 3D modeling for a living

• he doesn’t like dressing up for halloween; he puts on something slightly fancy and says he’s a waiter at a Japanese restaurant

• he was friends with Gino (ex-dayseeker) and they used to talk every night

• he saw billie eilish but didn’t want to bother her, so he didn’t ask for a picture

• when they come back from tour, they play the shire theme from the lord of the rings in the van

• he has a GED

• he’s watched and is a fan of the vampire diaries

• fans have asked him to sign their boobs, and he refused

• he said klaus from the umbrella academy inspired his fashion

• he can’t write in cursive

• he was interested in learning how to do makeup

• his favorite color is red

• Malice used to be called Vomit

• they were denied a house because apparently the neighbors saw them and decided they didn’t like them

• he doesn’t believe in ghosts but does believe in aliens

• a guy once mistook him for a woman and hit on him

• he vaped on stream and, judging by his reaction, it seemed like it was his first time

• someone asked him if he knew Stain the canvas and he said no (😠)

• when he was 14, he had braces for like a month and then got them taken off

• he wanted to do weekly covers with Jolly and had plans to cover Aurora, but they never ended up doing them

• he wanted to release some songs on his own as a side project but never did

• he once camped in his own backyard in a tent

• he had a crush on yennefer from the witcher

• he said the only reason he’d ever shave his entire head would be if he decided to tattoo it

• he wanted to do streams where he’d read books out loud, but i don’t think he ever actually did them

• he used to talk a lot about having nightmares, especially about his career failing. once he said he dreamed that he went grocery shopping and, when he came out, someone had stolen the van

• he tried to learn swedish for jolly

• Someone stole his shoes at a venue

• he and his friends once tried to stop a guy who was getting violent with his girlfriend, but the guy pulled out a gun

• when he was little, he used to carry around a picture of jackie chan and tell people he was his dad

• he had a few short periods where he was vegetarian. he wasn’t interested in becoming fully vegetarian, he just liked alternating between periods of eating meat and not eating meat

• in a video game, he chased down an npc to beat him up after he said something racist

• he used to light candles with a spaghetti noodle on fire

• one of his first concerts, when he was 14, was bmth, architects, and oh sleeper

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