#atlasshrvgged

[ungvverned]

atlasshrvgged replied to your post: 

frank vc: guess i’ll just. take my wife with me.

andrew vc: she can’t leave. i won’t allow it.

[pulchratormentum]

@atlasshrvgged​ said: “ slurred words ” (x)

two things: 

first, she doesn’t drink all that much. it’s not a thing she does all that often. second, she probably shouldn’t have had a full bottle of scotch after having a baby. here’s the thing, she did both of those things while frank was at work, and frankie was whisked away to spend a couple of days with anna and jasmine. why? because she can. should someone have actively told her not to? probably, but would it have really stopped her? she’s definitely laying on the dining room table when he comes home, and the only greeting he gets is a squint of ocean eyes. that’s not weird at all, dena.  “ has anyone every told you that you’re basically a russian painted egg? but, also, you aren’t. you’re a pretty egg, frank. a pretty greek god egg. from mount egglympus. you won’t change my mind about it. you have hair now, but i know what’s under there. pretty egg man. ” she slurs, still squinting up at him.  please for the love of fuck, get her in bed, frank. she needs to stop.

[compatiissante]

@atlasshrvgged​ bc ilu and we love pain

    she’d accepted the job from andrew ryan. she’d kept tabs on frank fontaine. but the real question always came down to one thing--- was she happy?

      no, of course she wasn’t happy. she was stuck in the middle of a rivalry between two men, all because she was too naive to see the truth anywhere. everyone told her to be wary of fontaine, that he was known to be a liar or master manipulator. but he’d been GOOD to her, so everyone just had to be exaggerating, right?

         finding time to actually cry and let her emotions out - just like frank had told her before - in private was hard enough when she had so much to do for people. but sometimes, she didn’t really have a choice. frank was supposed to be gone for the day, and she had her immediate desk area to herself. enough that she was able to lean against the wood of the desk itself and just--- let it out. she cried hard. sobs that hurt her chest and would surely give her a migraine later in the night. she could hear her blood pounding in her ears, enough so that she couldn’t have heard anyone else walk in, which would explain why she seemed more startled than usual upon turning around and seeing frank again.

               “f-f-frank-- s-sir-- w-what--- i-- i- thought-- t-thought you went h-h-home.”

[fracturedmonster]

@atlasshrvgged​ - for atlas.

dean breathes- probably for the first time in the whole ordeal. meredith is curled into atlas’ chest, shaken when they got to her but okay after a once over; unharmed. they’ve spent the last six hours tracking her down. the man beside him, though? he’s still petting through dark brown curls, and his hands are shaking worse than a dead leaf in a breeze.

clearing his throat, dean grabs the shoulder of the lackey in charge of keeping her from public; making her disappear, or that was the plan. that was the plan before atlas stormed him and told him he was helping for this hunt. he’s trying not to think about his sister, either, trying not to think about the aftermath once dena was done with this poor bastard. 

“ y’wanna take her to her mother, or did y’wanna take him to the warehouse? ” he offers, still not sure letting him live is worth it.

[oxtaiiiled]

atlasshrvgged replied to your post “booker vc:  -looks down @atlasshrvgged; hey shorty.  need a lift?”

frank vc: yeah get down here ya giant bastard

booker vc:  -tosses him over shoulder, caveman-style; be my pleasure to help.

[givemelollies-blog]

@atlasshrvgged comic sans is the only way to go. graphic design is my passion.

i honestly thought about it if i couldn’t find any other font but alas, i found one.

[uncovereliminate]

tagged by!  @sylphim tagging!  @atlasshrvgged,  @toooldforgermany,  @spellfear

( imagemaker. )

[nogodsxrkings]

@atlasshrvgged,  continued from here.

He could still feel cold dread swirling in the pit of his stomach after Atlas had threatened him,  but his reasoning was enough for Jack to convince himself that he had jumped to conclusions.

Jack almost felt bad for even accusing Atlas of doing such a thing,  so after trudging on through the back alley tunnels of Rapture for a while,  he spoke up with a soft  “Sorry,  Atlas ... I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t --  trust you.”

“Because ... I do.”