#potato king

[jjoneechan]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TECHNOBLADE!! 🫡🐷👑🥔

Long live the king, you'll always be remembered and loved 💕

[i-just-want-to-live6789]

"Alright. I'm done testing the weight limit. Try to find your way to open waters. Ill bring my ship into position."

- @lastsurvivorofvulturefrieghter

please... this isn't another trick, right? *simon heads to open waters*

[eternally-anomalous]

*several guards with the potato kingdom insignia start walking towards you rapidly* we have orders from the potato king that a friend of his has been cyber bullied by you and we have been asked to arrest you, come quietly or we will use force. @dapotatoking277 @uibgtva

*EA stares at them, trying to figure out what kind of creature they are, potatoes can't walk or give orders..*

Ive cyberbullied a lot of people.. But never a potato

you have the wrong person

Besides, you have no jurisdiction here as this is, for all intents and purposes, my kingdom, and I am well within my rights to execute some guards of a rival king

*hae smiles, shaking out his fabricator arms, obviously prepared to kill these idiots*

[dapotatoking277]

are you related to the potato blogs?

no, I don't even know what that is. and that isn't me forgetting after being gone for so long, I just genuinely don't know that Tumblr account lol

[kitty-company]

The Gangs All Here

[lunanight2012]

So i realized i never showed ya'll my techno cosplay professional pics, so here are a few

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

From nothing sacred, all things wild (full chapter will be up this week):

When she returned to her chambers, night had fallen. Enith and Clare had already turned down her room, drawing the shades closed, leaving only a single oil lamp burning at the bedside. They’d have fallen asleep, waiting for her to return so they could help her undress, though she had already decided to manage it herself. She had just begun to remove the pins holding the lovely embroidered stomacher in place, when a cough startled her. 

“Sansa—” 

She spun around, and there he stood, a silvered shadow in the moonlight, a hand resting casually against the window frame. Once surprised, in the godswood, was a coincidence. The second time, in his stables, was a concession she was willing to grant. But now, thrice cornered, and in her own chambers, with her own guards outside, was unacceptable. 

“How’d you—I have guards! Ser W—” before she could call out, Jon was on her; a warm hand over her mouth, his other ghosting up her side like he was settling a skittish mount. 

“Shush,” his admonishment was as light as his touch, yet still she froze beneath it. “Have we not called enough attention to ourselves for one day?”    

For one crazed moment she imagined biting into the flesh of his hand, the taste of blood almost real upon her tongue—but then he pulled away, his long, graceful fingers raised in silent supplication. 

“I only came to make amends, Sansa.”

She curled her hands into fists, staring pointedly at the door. “With what now? Another concerto? Are you hiding a horse behind the curtain, a painting, more lemon cakes? Stop plying me with gifts, like my forgiveness can be won with trifles.” 

“I’m not asking you to forgive me.” 

She found his face, but his features were carved in darkness, only his brow, and the bones of his cheeks, and the bridge of his nose, catching the light. Somehow, she kept forgetting he was a dangerous man. When he drew a short blade from the sheath at his side, deftly spinning it until the point faced his chest, she vowed to never mistake quiet for safety again. 

“Take it,” he urged, stepping close once more. 

“Jon,” she warned, shaking her head, but his other hand caught hers, carefully bending each finger around the hilt, adjusting the spacing until the dagger felt right in her palm. 

"To make it swift, aim here," he drew her hand to the side of his neck, just above the protrusion of his throat. "But cut deep enough, or you will not hit the vein." She could feel him swallow beneath the blade, the metal scraping against his skin. He pulled back an inch. "If you want me to die painfully...and slow, aim for my gut, but not too high or you’ll skid against my ribs and may injure yourself. That wouldn’t do at all."

She wrenched her hand from the blade and his grasp. "What game are you playing?"

"I’m not," he pushed the dagger back in her hand; his eyes, dark; his voice deadly. “It’s you, playing at vengeance, with sewing notions. If you want me dead, you need a real weapon in your hand, and an idea of how to use it.”

[eggac]

Boredom strikes again