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My skype is jubbins3

Hi there, I'm SG, a (terrible) artist/programmer/something doing a B.Sc in computers at university.

I am a fan of transformers and various mecha shows that have appeared over the ages, which is exactly what most of the content of this blog will be. I do sometimes spam artbooks, so watch out for those.

I try to source all of the images I find. If you see and image without a source, tell me about it!

I am also always open for art requests! Lets see how many people read this far. Just throw me a note and I'll see what I can do. :3

Current requests: 3
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ignore me I’m just another bunch of text that doesn’t make sense unless you like reading my dumb shit

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Monkies on my back

Reading an article about how the singularity isn’t coming any time soon has got the gears in the noggin turning.

Specifically, a protagonist who was a successful X in the field of robot cognition prior to a robot-intellect boom (psychologist, programmer, something) reminiscing life prior to said robots while attempting to remain relevant by creating a new field, cyber-psychology (I couldn’t think of anything better than this), where robots go to the protagonist to get their brains fixed or deal with the emotional hubbub.

sg get back to work pls

this is the part where tumblr does something weird to the formatting

“Ah! Joen my good friend, so good to see you after so long!” the small Migrant said. Azly was sent into a bizarre kind of disorientation as the voice seemed to  originate from behind her. She whipped her head back, expecting to see
another Migrant come into the living room, but there was none.

“And you have brought a friend!” It hurridly set the four trays down in the middle of the table, undid the apron and set it on a chair, then made a beeline for Azly in a single, fluid motion. It cupped her hands with a gentleness that snapped her back into reality. “Pleased to meet you…” the Migrant said. Azly could see that the single eye in the middle of its face glowed ever so sightly,

“Uh, Azly. Azly <derp>.” She remembered her manners in time, and broke free of the Migrant’ cupped hands to put a fist to her temple and made a half bow- a gesture that she had practiced among a litany of other introductions that her studies had taught.

“Pleased meet you Azly of Cairth- A lovely name indeed,” it said, stopping for a moment to reply to Azly’s greeting “I am Aruc Pope of Agrega, son of Cal Pope, Scholar of Agrasen, Pupil of Imah, Chosen elect of-”

“Are you going to list _all_ your titles Love, or are you going to let our guests eat while the food is still warm?” Post said. There was an overabundance of playfulness in its chiding.

“Oh hush up you uncultured cur,” Pope said, feigning insult. It moved in close to Azly and Joen and whispered mockingly; “Mind my Love little, Zis pride has been dented since I had outranked him though I am 30 years Zis junior.”

Post snorted. “More my annoyance at your politicking!”

Pope turned and mockingly put its hands on its hips. “And how am I being politicking by my introduction! You shall nop without supping if you keep this up!”

And that, apparently, was the end of the argument. Post muttered something that sounded like “How can I argue with your cooking,” while Pope motioned the two towards their seats at the end of the table.

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