━ THE ACE ━ @arthurgraham - Tumblr Blog

━ QUICK FACTS.

Full Name: Arthur Samuel Graham Nickname(s): None Age: Thirty-five D.O.B: December 3rd, 1985 Hometown: London, UK Current Location: Vancouver, Canada (ten years) Residential area: Mount Pleasant

#about #intro #don't hesitate to im me for plots!

amara-washington:

closed starter mutual friend’s party @arthurgraham

Cherry stained lips, flecks of glitter fluttering from her lash extensions, wide, unburdened hues of brown settled on the man before her. His body language speaking volumes, leaning into her with the soft caress of his breath against her ear, Amara was enjoying the attention… maybe a little too much. An old friend from London had invited her, after running into her at a local dive bar; she hadn’t seen him since… well… forever ago. It’d been almost a decade, and last he knew: she was still undeniably in love with he who shall not be named. And now, she was two drinks deep, probably another two from going home with the person currently whispering sweet nothings in her ear. She’d done her mingling, schmoozed with a few new friends, before one took the opportunity to monopolize all of her attention. Was she complaining? God, not at all. Not when they looked like that, and definitely not when the gaze that had traveled the length of the room came to a screeching halt; she had to do a double take, make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

Was that…? It couldn’t be. Her shared moment of intimacy and attraction with the stranger suddenly evaporated — nothing remained. Amara’s hands pushed at his chest, indicating her lack of interest. His confusion and muttered frustrations caused her to roll her eyes, but that was no longer her concern… he was no longer her concern. A tangled web of thoughts occupied her mind, that all-too familiar face flashing across her peripheral, the blazing scorch of her memories torturing her, now. Hands wrung together with unease, her feet pulling her away from the room and out onto the balcony, looking out over downtown Vancouver. Drawing in a deep breath, she gripped tightly onto the railing, watching the street lights twinkle sporadically. Maybe, if she hid out here for the rest of the night, she’d be able to avoid him. It had been ten years. Ten damn years. Yet, here he was. Arthur Graham. The man she imagined she’d get forever with, before it all came crashing down. And he was here. In Van-fucking-couver.

The outside doesn’t reflect what’s going on on the inside - his mother would say he looks good in anything and Arthur came to agree as the years passed, so with minimal effort he’s looking good in clothes he’s picked in a rush to go to a party he’s been invited to by a friend from London. Initially his mind was not there, it was mush and he was merely standing thanks to the power of caffeine, with the kind of week he’s had it was amazing that he’s found the energy to be there and yet he doesn’t regret it a few hours into it. New faces with bright smiles better his mood and suddenly the dark circles don’t even show under bright and deep blue eyes.

Used to these kind of parties since he was old enough to be taken to one by his parents, he knows the etiquette, he knows what to do, how and when to laugh, what to say - part of it all because one of his biggest qualities was most certainly his charm, and it was with that charm that he’d conquered a certain woman’s heart, one he’s suddenly looking at then - and his heart sinks. The party loses its charm and light mood, the air becomes heavier - or was it his heart still sinking onto his stomach? He’s paying special attention to the way she’s dazed by this man that was all over her in this big party - how had it been ten years and yet he feels the urge to approach and wrap his arm around her waist while giving the other the biggest ‘fuck you’ look he could without speaking? He can’t do that anymore, and that realisation tightens the knot now formed in his throat - she’s spotted him too, and she’s trying to run away once again.

His mind doesn’t immediately register that he’s on the move to follow her to the balcony, and for a brief second he ponders whether he wants to do this or not, whether he wants to follow her and face the woman that’s rejected him, that has ran away once before - was he in the right position to face her after ten years since his heartbreak? Should he simply ignore her presence and pretend he doesn’t know her? - What happened between them shouldn’t bother him this much after so long, but ignoring her presence was something he couldn’t do, so he’s there standing behind her at a comfortable yet personal distance, he can’t muster what he’s supposed to say, so he vapidly lets out the first thing that comes to mind. “After all these years that’s your plan? Pretend you didn’t see me?”

#amara-washington #OOP here we go i am NOT ready T.T #he has so much bottled up frustration wow

aspenxhamilton:

@arthurgraham

It was stupid of her to be emotional over something that she had wished for herself. She had been the one to make the choice to leave, recognizing it was better to put an end to things before resentment grew. She would claim, to the ends of the earth, that she had weighed the pros and cons before coming to a decision. After all, rationale and deliberate Aspen would never—could never—do something out of mere impulse. Every decision in her life had been carefully planned, down to the very last detail. And yet looking at the only picture she had left ( one that she thought she had left behind ) filled her with nostalgia for a time that felt far more certain than this one. For a woman that had her entire life planned out, her future looked awfully murky right now.

And she also knew that alcohol was far from the solution to all her problems but that night, it seemed like a great start to finding a more long-term solution. Her heartbreak wouldn’t last long and neither would this lack of clarity in her life. Sooner or later, she would get reports that Henry was responding well to the latest round of treatment and things would all begin to fall right back into place. Not paying much attention to whose drink was being served, she reached over to grab it when another hand went towards the same one. “Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back, trying to catch the attention of the bartender to see who it had been meant for.

He has never been one that drinks to forget, but he was certainly one that worked to forget. It was proven to be one of a hellish week and yet he welcomed it with open arms, the more work the merrier! Talk of a lunatic, he figures it would be best if he went out to clear up his mind - someone as organised as him ought to time everything perfectly in order to finish the day in time to enjoy a night at a bar and still be okay the next day, so he’s there a bit early, but his plan works with and against him simultaneously - he ends up having too much time to drink and the more intoxicated the more time seemed to conceal with everything else around him until it became another thing he couldn’t care less about.

Arthur would reserve the tables for the couples and friends, someone alone like him would easily find a spot by the counter and so he’s there, sitting alone, transparent for a few hours which felt nothing but relaxing. He usually keeps it to himself, and apart from a few peeks from over his shoulder at flashy things that get his attention like mobile phones, he isn’t one to stick his nose in anyone’s business - but a woman sitting next to him is looking at a picture with the same face he’s looked at one of him and Amara, the woman that broke his heart, and even though it was wrong of him to follow that story and wanting to get to know more, he finds the perfect moment to do so when she’s about to grab his drink. “That would be mine, thank you.” A smirk paints his lips but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, still he has a friendly approach. “Let me guess, buried in old memories?”

#aspenxhamilton #tysm this is perfect!

dailyhenry

HENRY CAVILL on the BOSS Eyewear campaign

#━ arthur graham.

with: @gallagherxnolan at: local bar

A flashback to the previous night plays in the back of his mind as he waits, nursing a drink. Athur had been in a similar bar having fun surrounded by people chattering and empty glasses - tonight he saw himself back in a bar but this time the matter was a more serious one, it was work.

Far from the first time he'd be doing business with Nolan, the five years they've known each other for shaped their interaction to a perfect blend between work and friendship, and there was only benefit coming from both, thus Arthur never hesitating to reply to a message from Nolan and meet the same unless he was on call, greeting the other with a more friendly and less business posture. "There you are!" He begins with a smile on his lips and a salient accent. "It's been a while, how have you been?"

#gallagherxnolan #hope this is okay hun!

@evie-desantis

It’s the kind of blistering frustration that climbs up her spine and pushes down on her so heavily that she genuinely feels like she is being ground into the earth. Her hands shake at her sides, balled into a tight fist while this man still doesn’t get it. Everly wants to shake him until whatever prevents him from getting it shakes free, and the lightbulb goes off. Are you fucking kidding me? Everly tries to say it and form the words, but nothing comes out. Her blood is rushing in her ears, and her face is undoubtedly a flush of crimson and anger. If looks could kill- her green hues don’t leave his face. And while Everly can’t find it in her to respond to his crass incredulous response, she does step back- space seems like a good idea. Lots and lots of space between her and this man with who her sister had undoubtedly played her twisted game- a game Eden no doubt was winning. Until she died and passed the aftermath of an unwinnable game to Everly.

“It is depressing.” Everly finally replies after a long seething silence. “It’s the most terrible experience I’ve had in my entire life, and you’re laughing like it’s a game.” She shoots back at him, and Everly isn’t sure why she cares if he believes her or not, but it’s just another mess Eden made that she has to agonize over while making it as right as she possibly can. “I’m assuming you’ve had sex with my sister- right? I mean…” Everly looked him up and down. “She didn’t often have the highest standards, but I’m sure you met her bar.” The words are terse and clipped, and Everly raises a brow, her chest tight and aching. “ She held up her palms, pointing to the scar on her hand.

Eden had a matching one on the opposite hand. "We have the same scar. Only hers is on the opposite hand.” Everly curls her fingers in on it, “One of Eden’s bright ideas. A blood pact for twins, a promise she took literally.” Everly explains and slips out of her dress, leaving only her underwear. She turns slowly, “Eden had tattoos. I’m sure you saw those, right?” She revealed skin free of ink, her palms covering her breasts as she turned. “But that’s easy to cover with makeup, right? I’d go that far for a bit to get out of whatever weird fucked up games we played, right? Because you know me so damn well.” Everly’s voice rose with frustration, and she took a step closer to him, “But you know what Eden had that I do not? The thing you can’t cover up with makeup, a think you saw…because of course you did-” Everly paused, looking him right in the eye when she dropped her hands from her chest, leaving herself almost entirely exposed to him. “She had a birthmark,” Everly whispers and points to where Eden’s cafe au lait spot would have been on the underside of her breasts. “I have one. Only it’s not here.”

Everly didn’t stand in front of him much longer. She moved past him to grab her sweater from her rack of personal things. Pulling it over her head, she tugs on her pants and points an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t know what the fuck Eden told you, but she was never Everly. You never met Everly, and now that you have, I can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”

Arthur wouldn't even try to deny it, the whole situation took him on a rollercoaster of thoughts and assumptions that began the moment he spotted the woman he thought he had at least spend a few nights with. It would take something drastic to change his mind and convince him that this wasn’t one of Everly's games, the type she loved and even tried to play with him once before. He has reason to think this was a whole plotted scheme by an actress who lived her life surrounded by made-up stories and most of them the kind of drama she's described so far, so to assume she put together an active imagination and skill from the job wasn't far fetched, he assumed - this is, until he begins to notice clear signs of distress.

Deep blue eyes study the woman as she progressively becomes more intense and less dismissive. He sees her going from showing an obvious desire to see him gone and the situation cleared out to someone that was actively trying to convince him that what he thought was a bad joke was a true story and that she happened to be the actual twin called Everly. To say this was confusing was an understatement, beginning from the fact that Everly has never mentioned a twin sister - or had it been Eden?

The fact that this wasn’t the first time he’s seen a woman with barely any clothes on and especially when he’s seen ‘Eden’ completely without them a few times before helps the untouched and unfazed expression on his face when she goes as far as to show him the only thing that would convince him, something that he couldn’t deny, something that she couldn’t have made up last minute. He takes a second to react, but when he finally does Arthur’s eyebrows are knitted together. “So.. you’re Everly and the woman I met is your twin Eden.. she’s dead?” The last word bore a different feeling, a mix of shock and disbelief, when did that happen was a question that crossed his mind, but he figured it would’ve been too rude to voice it. “Look you knew your twin better than I did, you can’t really blame me here now can you, but - would you tell me what happened?” Specialised in the biology side of Forensic Science, death was seen in a completely different way, being exposed to it daily made him less sensible to it, though it would always make him look more like an insensible person to those that were not aware.