#levy graham

[romaniangothic]

@possumsunshine pspsppspsps come get ur man

[veeples-archive]

🍒🌻🍇

a valingram mood board feat. @losingface’s aimee lin (red) and @possumgeist’s levy graham (yellow)

[handsomesunshine]

A little aesthetic/moodboard I did for @possumsunshine’s Levy!! He’s such a fun character and I love makin content w him in it

[bosspigeon]

ahfjkdsgh so i wasn’t sure i would be able to do anything for @possumsunshine‘s birthday, bc it is Real Soup Brain Times lately, but i got smacked in the face with this idea earlier and had to slap it out as fast as possible. it is still TECHNICALLY his birthday so uh HAPPY BIRTHDAY JASPER!!!! 🎂🥳🎉have this, uh, weird AU where both our boys are detectives in wayhaven and also??? mason get two boyfriends??? don’t think about it too hard.

A giggle, soppy and drunk, greets Mason the second he and Adam walk into the warehouse.

Mason’s head cocks.

“If you want this to happen, you have to hold still.”

“I’m holding still!”

“See, that lie would be a lot more convincing if my hands weren’t on you. And if I had my eyes closed. And if you’d stop giggling.”

Levy, because of course it’s Levy, giggles again, and tries his best not to. His best is not very good, especially when he’s clearly three sheets (or more) to the wind. “Okay, okay. I’m good. Try again?”

Mason glances sideways at Adam, who simply rubs the bridge of his nose and stalks off towards the kitchen rather than deigning any of what’s happening in the sitting room with more than the bare minimum acknowledgement, and then smirks to himself and slinks down the hall to peek in the doorway.

And, oh, what a sight.

Even without the bottles scattered damningly across the carpet (thankfully all upright--apparently his boys are still coherent enough to know that spilling anything on the carpet would invoke Nate’s wrath) and the reek of alcohol on the air, it’s easy to see that Chase and Levy are both incredibly drunk. Chase hides it a lot better than Levy does, smirking calmly, if a little flushed, but Levy is clamping both hands over his mouth so he doesn’t giggle more, and trying so hard not to squirm he’s trembling with the effort. He’s draped across Chase’s chest, or at least Mason thinks he is, until Chase lifts him into the air, one hand braced on his back between his shoulder blades, and the other on his backside. That might account for his helpless giggling, all things considered.

Chase lifts him once, then twice, arms flexing, expression focused. Levy looks delighted, even behind the cover of his hands, and when Chase lifts him a third time, he gasps.

“How long can you do this?”

Chase chuckles and lifts him again. “How long do you want me to?”

“As long as you can, so long as I get to watch,” Mason interrupts, leaning against the doorway.

And, predictably, his sudden presence makes Levy yelp and lose focus, and he flops across Chase’s chest. Chase laughs, obviously winded but otherwise fine, and pushes up onto his elbows, leveling Mason with a half-hearted glare. “You know, you could have waited until I wasn’t holding him in the air.”

Mason laughs. “I did you a favor,” he teases, raising his eyebrows. “I know how much you love having him on top of you.”

Levy doesn’t take long to regain himself, twisting around so he can sprawl happily across the taller detective’s chest, hands folded and chin propped up on them as he grins crookedly up at Chase in silent but smug agreement with Mason’s assertion.

Chase shrugs and slides his hand down Levy’s back to rest on his ass again, smiling lazily. “What can I say? There are worse positions to be in.”

[veeples-archive]

🎁 a very merry valingram christmas 🎄

SKSKKKSKSKSKSK sometimes you’re compelled to draw something

merry christmas to all my friends and mutuals and esp to @possumgeist and @losingface for creating valingram with me 🎄

[veeples-archive]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DEAR FRIEND @possumsunshine !!!!!! BESITOS!!!! 💖

[veeples-archive]

hi i'm here to show my ass. here's valingram with @losingface's aimee and @possumgeist's levy.

[veeples-archive]

last night away

for @ockissweek prompt: night, though it is a very liberal inspiration with the prompt.

showing my own ass with valingram! featuring my character faustus valentine in his poly relationship with @losingface's aimee lin and @possumgeist's levy graham at some undefined point in their relationship together.

word count: 935.

***

Faustus listens to the music of the night as sleep refuses to find him.

The walls are thin in this hotel. Noises wrap and ribbon around him with nearly undisturbed clarity. It lets him map the movement around him: Cherry's muffled snickering and snorting and poorly concealed guffawing; bunking with Cherry reminds him of just how late they stay up scrolling on their phone, unable to tear themselves away. In the backdrop of Cherry’s laughter, Oliver's steady, rhythmic snoring – a long, low snore that gradually grows louder until it’s interrupted by a louder snort before it settles back into its easy lull.

Distantly, Alin’s restless heavy-footed pacing the hallway and his low growling voice as he carries out some unintelligible argument in Polish Faustus can’t quite pick apart. Something about money; a loan, no, maybe a debt?

Outside, cars. Traffic. Tires and metal rolling in and out like a mockery of the sea, the urban ebb and flow of foot traffic mixing with auto traffic punctuated by blaring car horns and thundering, smeary music as it passes by the open window. People yelling, people laughing.

Sounds that were almost like a facsimile of home to him, once.

That fondness feels far away, faded. A gray memory gone hazy and surreal even if it could have only been three years ago, max.

The home he knows now is nearly a hundred miles away.

If he closes his eyes, if he turns inwards, he can feel the near physical weight of Aimee and Levy's absence weighing on his heart. Dead center, sinking. An ache that feels deep, an ache that gnaws him relentlessly. How can the single bed he's in that can barely fit the length of his body from head to toe feel unnervingly massive?

His body feels exposed without Levy tucked to his stomach and Aimee curled along his back.

Faustus sighs, rolls to his side, shoves his hand underneath the flat pillow. His fingers graze the thin slip of photo paper he stuck there earlier. A sense of safety falls over him just by touch alone; one that brings a small smile to his face as he tugs it out to get a look at its contents. The only light that fills the room is the dim red glow of the neon sign from the bar across the street. Its dreariness fills only half of the room, but half is all that he needs. He can see enough.

Though his face is obscured in the partial shadow, the faces of his partners stare down warmly at him from a four panel photo strip.

In the first, Aimee and Levy smooshed up close together, faces a mockery of wide eyed innocence. Hands folded underneath their chin, lips stuck out in an exaggerated pout.

In the second they look more natural. Faces split wide open in exuberant laughter. The crinkles around Levy’s eyes and the lines bracketing Aimee’s mouths on clear display.

The third little more than an indistinct blur of faces. Aimee had wanted to shuffle around their seated positions at the last minute. The camera managed to capture the suggestion of Levy’s hair, a stray limb, the shape of a hand. Half of Aimee’s body is cut out of frame entirely as she climbs over what he knows to be his own body moving into center focus.

The fourth shows his own face, flanked on the left by Levy and on the right by Aimee.

It shows his own grin the way he never presents it to the outside world. Teeth on full display instead of carefully hidden by practiced smiles. Like this he can see their slight crookedness, their sharpness, the nicotine discoloration he does his best to hide. Too ashamed to ruin what he wants to be his perfect and curated image.

With them the thought of imperfect smiles never once crosses his mind.

He thumbs the edge of the paper, worn soft and feathery. Follows the crease splitting it down the middle, moves his thumb across the planes of the paper. Some spots smooth, some spots still holding on to their last inkling of gloss. Smoother in the areas he knows Levy and Aimee to be on. Glossier on the sides his grainy face occupies.

He thinks about them.

(He’s always thinking about them. Especially now though. Especially when their lack is the most prominent.)

Faustus wonders what they had for dinner, whose lap Cheese has settled on when he's not there. How the bruises from when Aimee swiveled around too fast at work and slammed her hip into a bumper of a car are healing. What color Levy decided to paint his nails this week.

He wonders if his shape haunts them from the swirling of the afternoon clouds to the moisture stains on ceilings the way theirs haunt him.

Faustus touches the photostrip to his lips.

This is his last night away for a while. They’d made enough money to keep them busy in their usual local gigs for a couple of months at least. Soon as morning hits, they’ll be moving on out. Equipment’s already loaded and secure in the tour bus. His suitcases are packed and stand like neat little soldiers in his corner of the room. Morning phone alarm set at the damned hour of seven thirty am.

Two hundred kilometers away.

Two hours to cross that distance.

Faustus lets his eyes shut, feeling no more heavy with sleep and no less thrumming with the anxious energy to get the hell out of this fucking city so he be back home again.

"Be home soon, loves."