Current Status: Not Here

Maddest of the Mad, Baddest of the Bad,
Killer of Kings, Destroyer of Worlds.
But hell, you can just call me Gig
[Independent 'Post Game Gig'
(Soul Nomad™) RP Blog]
[Tracking: showmethehotpods]
Gig's Birthday


Space boots vol 2! Need I say more? Compare with our first try. I think these turned out p. nice. Made with Cajahdus, who will henceforth walk in style.

Edit: As this is getting tons of notes (as in literally a thousand during one day) again, have a link to a tutorial thingy we made.


Pfsch. Varia Quality.

Nothing to it, really. 


Imagine you and your favorite character trying to sleep on a hot summer night, but you keep complaining about the heat and don’t let them sleep. Suddenly they move on top of you, press you on the bed and say “if you don’t stop going on about how hot it is, I’m going to give you a reason to feel hot”.

We are Gods, but we are far from Godly.
—Vigilance - Soul Nomad 
franniellusionist sent:

I want the k

((wow could I answer this any later)) 

2: Cheek Kiss

"It’s not like I needed your help." Gig muttered, taking the opportunity to kick one of these apparent mafia jerks in the stomach, although he was pretty much already unconscious. He had to admit, whilst these illusionists creeped the ever loving fuck out of him - they did have their uses. 

"…Thanks." He eventually grumbled, like the word itself caused physical pain to even say. It’s not like she had to help him, needed or not; but who knows what might have happened, what with these new-agey weapons and all, if she hadn’t been around? And for all his faults - let it be said reapers couldn’t show gratitude when it was deserved. Leaning down to the woman’s level, Gig quickly pecked her on the cheek, ruffling her hair a little harder than necessary, and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

“…Next time, you might want to actually leave a few for me to pick off. Hell, I haven’t had a decent fight in months - I could have used the entertainment.” 

…Didn’t realize Master of Death and ShitTrolling came with a badge… 



…. what the fuck is happening on my dash now.

i am afraid.

You’re about to witness the death of a reaper here inna minute if he doesn’t calm the fuck down.

Guess who’s got two thumbs and can’t die.

Hi, name’s Gig, how you doing. 

REBLOG 1 day ago 7
tags: #B )





Maki: he taught himself what does this tell you
 *GAY SPARKLES*: ….he secretly wants to /be/ a stripper
 Maki: lets be real he’d be a DAMN good pole dancer


Playing with fire was something the swordsmen knew all too well. Dying will flames aside, he’d been shot enough times with dense, burning wrath that he’d practically become immune to the sear. A chuckle formed low in his throat as he let the reaper gloat for a moment, taking a step back, placing his metal hand against his jacket for a moment. “No, reaper.” He replied calmly, and rather smoothly.


In one quick motion the Varia coat was flung from the sharks frame, blocking the view between the two of them as it hung in the air. In the split second that it caught the other off guard, Squalo rushed forward once again, not even giving a damn about tearing through that coat, he had plenty more where that came from, as he brought his blade down harshly across the reaper’s shoulder. Ah that wonderful little moment when time practically halted in the midst of battle. He wasn’t sure was distracting, or probably pissing off, the reaper more right now. The blade at his throat again, the battle crazed shark now standing there in a tank top, or his sly little response to the reaper’s cheesy ass line.

"Just me."

What the ever loving actual fuck.

Those six words pretty much summed up the entire thing. Gig was sure his little fire trick would have at least rattled the shark some, maybe gotten some swearing or an angry Voooiii~! for all his trouble. But no, as it always seemed to be, the end result was nothing but a whole fucking truckload of sass, the bastard even slicing up his own freakin’ uniform, all so he could bloody show off and have his blade at the God’s throat once again. Motherfucking damn it, he really thought he was going to get close to beating him this time—! The hell was this mortal even built out of…?!

…And speaking of built—-wait, no. No, no, no, no— 

"Talk about a fucking cheap shot, who the hell even does that?! You gotta hide behind your goddamn clothes to even get a good stab at me?! Fucking christ, they might as well call you Superbi Gotta Take My Clothes Off To Strike Properly Squalo, that is the most out-fucking-rageous thing I’ve ever had to deal with - who even taught you to fight properly, a stripper?! Seriously, if I get close to beaten your ass to the ground, you going to throw your fucking pants at me next?! You know what, don’t answer that - I don’t see how you can call that fair fighting at all, I mean—what is even wrong with you—?!”