Its A Sci-fi Holiday In These Ed Emshwiller Cover Illustrations For Christmas Issues Of Galaxy Magazine,

It’s a sci-fi holiday in these Ed Emshwiller cover illustrations for Christmas issues of Galaxy magazine, 1951 to 1960. Please note that Santa Claus appears in each one, always with four arms.

DARTH VADER | Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back [1980]

G/T Headcannons Pt. 2

More science/academia g/t headcannons I've been rotisserating in my noggin.

One student sneaks into the lab to sabotage their academic rival's experiment, but they end up shrinking themself by mistake. When their rival finds them, they present no empathy, only a malicious grin. They begin laughing and teasing their new tiny about their deserved fate. Ideally comes with any sort of fearplay or yandere behavior. "I think I had better keep you all to myself. Now that you're byte-sized I can make sure you don't interfere with any more of my work."

Two personality opposites are paired up for a group project. One is a sizeshifter, who is struggling with random bursts of size change, and keeps dodging their group partner's texts and meet-up requests. Finally, the two agree to a late-night study session in a library study room. Just when they really start getting work done, the sizeshifter feels a growth spurt coming on quickly. As they try to leave, their group partner blocks the door and demands that they stay and finish the project ("No way. You're not gonna make me do this all by myself"). The sizeshifter can't hold back any longer, and suddenly they shoot up toward the ceiling, their limbs expanding all around the room. Their head bumps into the plaster ceiling as they beg their group partner to keep the door locked and not scream.

Bonus if it is actually a group of four people, and now these two have to keep the secret from the other two for the rest of the semester.

Bonus bonus, all three of the other group members are struggling with random size changes. The one human in the group gets fed up while they are all at their full size. The human points an accusing finger up at all three of their giant peers. "I don't care what the fuck you people are. I am not doing this project all by myself goddammit!"

A human shows up to a club meeting on campus. After a few minutes, their mouth drops open in awe as they watch the people around them grow and shrink seemingly at will. “Aren’t you a sizeshifter? This is the sizeshifter club…” The human blushes crimson red. “I…didn’t know what club this was I just heard there was free food.”

Instead of the “I used myself as a test subject for my theory,” what about “I used myself as a test subject for my crush's theory?” Out of a research team, the most junior member’s suggestions always get passed over, until a more senior researcher takes a hard look at their work. They realize that the newbie might be on to something, and set up an experiment on their own. Later that night, the newbie hears a knock at their dorm door. When they open up, a now ginormous research assistant squeezes inside, excitedly babbling on about how the newbie was right and their work was exactly what they needed. Meanwhile, the newbie is doubled over having a panic attack because now they have to hide a giant bag of weed AND a giant from their RA.

"Can't you just...shrink down and take my exam for me?" "No, that's cheating." "It's also...being a marvelous friend." "Quit asking and start studying."

A sizeshifter and a human pair up for a hackathon. Whenever one is tired, the other drops them into their pocket for a quick nap.

Yandere!SpotxOC Slow Burn

I pretty much made this blog specifically because I didn’t want to lurk anymore and I wanted to join in on the Spot depravity. So here’s a fic I been working on.  (P.S. I lowkey be working on making this a y/n or x reader but I just happened to write it with an OC.)

WARNINGS: None really. Just meet-cute type of fluff stuff atm. 

Word Count: 3k+

Minors DNI 

Wendy jerked the car door with force, pulling it shut with a definitive slam. As the echo of the slam faded out in the parking lot, she pressed her forehead against the cool surface of the steering wheel, her eyes squeezed shut. She could feel the rapid pulse of her heart, each beat pounding out the rhythm of her dismay. An exhausted sigh escaped her lips. This was her fourth interview in the span of a month.This one a measly part-time internship  that would likely not even cover her rent. An internship! Just weeks ago she was working in a coveted, (full-time!) high level research position at a reputable institute-with benefits! Dreams of a promotion or even a lateral move to Oscorp. seemed realistic, likely even. A promising Senior Researcher position was just on the horizon, and to top it all off she was about to get published. One Spider-Man related accident later, and she was left unemployed and stigmatized in a market that was unforgiving towards theoretical mathematicians and those associated with tarnished corporations. 

Raising her eyes to the windshield, Wendy turned her car key, only to be met with the feeble coughing of her engine. She tried again, urging it to life. The engine clicked again and again, but still would not turn over. She released the key and tossed herself back into her seat. Could this day get any worse? Her hands flew up to her eyes, rubbing them hard. She began to feel a heavy lump in her throat, and her eyes began to well up with tears. If this next try doesn’t work, she decided, I’m going to have a breakdown. After another deep, steadying breath, she turned her key forward again. On this third attempt, the engine finally roared to life, prompting a relieved exclamation from her, “Yes! Thank you!” Shifting gears, she sped out of the parking lot, feeling a wave of small relief. 

The drive through the city was brief but still annoying. Soon enough though, she found herself trudging up to the front of her apartment building. She navigated up several flights of stairs, fatigue evident in every step. After lazily unlocking her door and shutting it tight behind her, Wendy took five very painful lurches forward, then collapsed face-first onto the comfort of her stained, second-hand couch. She smashed her head into a dusty gray throw pillow, pressing her eyes into the fabric to keep herself from crying. 

As the minutes moved by, the exhaustion of the day lulled her into a calmer state. She was on the verge of slipping into a restful sleep when an unsettling sound pulled her to attention — footsteps. Suddenly alert, Wendy's eyes snapped open, but she remained motionless, terrified. The muted murmur of a mumbling voice reached her ears. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see the kitchen, but the voice was undeniably there. Her eyes stared at the TV opposite the couch, her mind racing as she realized that that wall was the only one separating her from a possibly dangerous intruder. 

Straining her ears, she tried to discern the words. “What...say? ...it's... remember me? ...no... believe...” The voice, unmistakably male, seemed to be talking to himself. A flash of recognition crossed her mind. Was it someone she know? Perhaps a neighbor who had entered her apartment by mistake? Her mind turned over, trying to pinpoint that tone, attempting to piece together the identity of the intruder. She heard more mumbling. "Oh the...the spots, yeah. You noticed those? Of course she will, you moron..."

Carefully, silently, Wendy slid herself off the couch and rose to her tip-toes. She lightly stepped to the other side of her living room, hugging the wall that separated her from the kitchen. She stealthily lifted the TV remote, clutching it like an improvised weapon. Treading silently, she edged herself closer to the entrance, each step deliberate and soundless.

“Liquid-oh liquid funk? Yes-oh of course I’ve heard of it, you know I started listening to Rudimental back in 2010? …no come on Johnathan why would she ask you that…”

Summoning every ounce of courage, Wendy lunged into the kitchen, her arm poised above her head menacingly, ready to swing. But as her heels slammed into the ground, her eyes widened in shock. She froze. 

Spot towered over her, he was so tall that Wendy found herself lifting her gaze upward, shifting all the way to the ceiling. He had to duck slightly to fit his gangly frame under the kitchen ceiling. His completely white body was marred with strange, black smudges fluctuating on the surfaces of his arms and chest. But it was the chilling absence of a face that rooted her to the floor, horror clawing at her throat. Her mouth dropped open, and the moment she drew in a sharp breath to scream, the creature moved with startling speed, pinning her against the kitchen doorway. Her remote fell to the floor with a clatter. One of his monstrous hands pressed firmly against her lips, while the other used one finger to gesture for silence at the place where his mouth should've been. Instead of looming ominously over her, he lowered himself to be more at her eye level.

"Shh! Please, listen!" His words tumbled out, a mix of urgency and desperation. "I did not want to do it like this, but you were about to scream, and after people scream they don't hear me out. This is my fifth attempt at this, please shhh."

Wendy writhed, trying to pry his hand off, her muffled screams desperate to reach anyone who might be passing in the corridor.

"Please," he implored, "I'm not going to hurt you. I just need help. Please? It's-I’m Jonathan, Jonathan Ohnn? Do you remember me? Wilma?"

For a moment, the girl stopped squirming underneath his hand. Although her heart pounded in her chest, and adrenaline surged through her veins, she paused. Trying to control her fear, she concentrated her eyes on a back smudge in the middle of his face. 

"Mm-mff," she managed, her voice muffled.

He seemed to understand, removing his hand but keeping it poised near her mouth, ready to silence her again if necessary. Wendy, a bit taken aback by his unexpected trust, attempted to regain some semblance of composure.

"Wendy," she corrected gently, memories slowly bubbling to the surface of her mind. A senior scientist, always nitpicking her work, always calling her by the wrong name. Her expression soured as she remembered him. The douchebag that made her stay late and thought it beneath him to ever learn her name. Oh yes, now she remembered. "It's Wendy, not Wilma…Dr. Ohnn."

A palpable relief washed over Spot as he straightened himself up, inadvertently nudging the ceiling. "Yes, of course. Wendy," he murmured, stepping back to give her space. "I uh…deeply regret that our reunion…started like this."

Despite the fact that she could finally identify him, fear still gripped her, and she found herself instinctively pressing further into the doorframe, trying to create as much distance as possible from the unsettling figure before her.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Spot retreated further into the kitchen, leaning himself against the counter. “Uh, right! I’ve never got this far before...I guess I need assistance, guidance of some sort? Perhaps advice on handling... this?" He motioned to his altered form, the question hanging heavily in the air between them.

Wendy’s eyes darted down to his unsettlingly pale legs, and then back up quickly. Each beat of her heart felt like a cacophonous drum in the confines of her chest. “I know nothing about the collider sir I-I was assigned to the theoretical math team for the Symbiote project.” Her fingers wrapped tightly around the door frame, as if its solid presence could shield her if he attacked her. 

Even without an expression, the weight of the man's disappointment was almost tangible, filling the space between them. If she weren't paralyzed in fear Wendy might have even pitied him. “Ah yes Wendy, I remember reviewing your work. That’s right, it was on the Symbiote project, wasn’t it…” He trailed off as the two stood just a few feet apart. His voice trailed off, leaving the two ensnared in a one-sided tension, mere feet apart. Her breathing, previously rapid and shallow, had slowed to more deliberate and labored breaths. 

Mustering what little courage she had, Wendy managed some politeness as she asked him, “Dr. Ohnn, could you please leave my apartment?” Yet despite her efforts at diplomacy, her voice quivered with a fear she couldn't mask.

Spot instantly straightened, his height surprising even himself as his head thudded against the ceiling. As he crouched to soothe the bump, he stuttered out, “Oh, right, of course. And, um, thanks for not panicking when I took my hand off your face.” He navigated the confined space of the kitchen with all the grace of a newborn deer, his broad frame knocking into cabinets, causing trinkets to teeter dangerously on the edge. “Oh, and sorry I put my hand on your face.” As he reached the exit, he paused at the door’s threshold, glancing back, somehow expressing a hint of remorse. “I genuinely didn't mean to intrude. Have a peaceful evening, Wendy.” With that, he stepped out, gingerly pulling the door closed gently behind him.

Without wasting a moment, Wendy lunged forward, securing the locks and deadbolt with a swift, forceful motion. Leaning heavily against the door, she sank to a crumple on the floor. Her fingers ran through her hair, as she tried to comprehend the surreal encounter. What the hell had the collider done to him? Was that really him or some sort of strange husk his conscience latched on to? Like…a homunculus? She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort.

A fleeting, darker thought nudged its way into her mind, sending a chill down her spine. The temptation to study him... She tried to push it away, but it clung persistently. Maybe he could get me my job back, or at least a foot in the door somewhere. 

Torn between fear and ambition, Wendy rose, her fists clenching and unclenching in indecision. I don’t even know if that's him. And he broke into my house. How does he even know I live here? 

Wendy began pacing around her living room in a circle, her thoughts flying faster and faster. I’m not really doing this am I? She stopped and stared at her apartment door. What do I have to lose? Do I really want to ask myself ‘what if?’ Wendy took a single step forward. I could lose my life, he could kill me! But he didn’t. Wendy lept the final, rushed steps towards the door, gripping the handle and pulling the door open hard. But if I don’t act now I’ll lose the chance!

“Dr. Ohnn!” Her shout echoed down the corridor, but her brief panic that he might have vanished evaporated  was immediately replaced by second-hand embarrassment as her eyes fell on him, sitting on the floor right next to her door. Spot scrambled to his feet at once, a deep gray blush beginning to color the middle of his face. 

“Wendy! Oh, this looks creepy.” he exclaimed, mortified, “I just wanted a place to sit down for a minute, but I’m going, I’m going for real now.” He raised his hands, palms facing her as a sign of harmlessness. However, before he could retreat much further, Wendy found her voice.

“Dr. Ohnn, um…” Her mind raced, trying to conjure some appropriate, normal comment to bridge the awkward divide between them. He remained still, granting her all the time she needed. “Are you…hungry?” 

The tension in his lean form appeared to dissipate at her question. His voice, tinged with both surprise and gratitude, admitted, “Famished.”

There was a pause, the air thick with unsaid words. But then Wendy shifted her weight backward, her posture easing as she took a step back into her apartment. With a slight, inviting motion of her hand, she beckoned him to follow, though her eyes still darted away, unable to fully confront his intimidating presence. He stepped in gracefully, his footfalls silent as he proceeded to her tiny living room.

Spot took a moment to survey the space, absorbing its details. A comfy brown couch draped with plush blankets and an assortment of throw pillows sat nestled beneath a wide window that housed an array of potted plants. The coffee table, crafted from dark wood, was littered with remnants of her daily life: a bong, several unwashed mugs, and a well-worn copy of the latest Cosmopolitan issue. A torn-out recipe page from the magazine lay crumbled on the dingy carpet below. 

His eyes then drifted to a mounted TV on the opposite wall, beneath which rested a gaming console and a Wi-Fi router, both perched on an improvised stand—a repurposed, upside-down plastic storage bin. Glancing further into the apartment, he noted a glimpse of her bedroom and, adjacent to the TV, a compact bathroom. He leaned to the side slightly for a better look, noting the simple setup of just a toilet and shower. Suddenly, the toothbrush he had spotted in her kitchen earlier made complete sense.

In the confines of Wendy's intimate space, Spot felt acutely aware of his imposing size. He began to feel very out-of-place, and a bit claustrophobic, but the last thing he wanted to do was make Wendy uncomfortable again. 

“You're welcome to sit on the couch,” Wendy offered. Her tone was gentle yet firm. She didn't meet his eyes as she moved quickly towards the kitchenette.

Spot obliged and gingerly settled himself on the side of the couch nearest the door. Leaning slightly, he tried to catch glimpses of Wendy as she moved about, the sounds of cabinets opening and closing accompanying her. Lost in thought, he pondered what to say. Or would it be better to say nothing at all? Before he could decide on the best course of action, Wendy reappeared, shyly presenting him with two toasted pop tarts, their warmth radiating from the plate she held out to him.

He gingerly took the plate from her, placing it onto his lap with care. He tried desperately to ignore the intense scrutiny from her curious eyes. Even though his hunger gnawed at him, her unrelenting gaze was too much to bear. "Wendy," he murmured, his voice soft and hesitant, "this is a little embarrassing. Could you..." He left his plea hanging, unable to meet her eyes.

“Oh,” she stammered, “yeah of course.”  Her cheeks flushed with a deep shade of crimson. She gracefully pivoted on her heels, turning her back towards him. She allowed her gaze to rest on her kitchen sink. There, she noticed her displaced toothbrush, clearly moved in the chaos of his earlier exit.

Not even 30 seconds had passed before a gentle throat-clearing from Spot turned her attention back to him. Silently, he extended a now empty plate toward her. Wendy stared at the plate, slowly reconciling the swift disappearance of the pastries. Feelings of horror and disgust crept down her neck. He had no discernible mouth, yet they were gone. The thought of him consuming food through those... she felt a queasy sensation stirring in her stomach as her eyes caught sight of the dark, shifting patches on his roaming across his cold white skin.  Reflexively, her hand shot up to her mouth, stifling an involuntary gag, her complexion turning ashen.

Spot sat still, watching Wendy’s face twist in abject horror. A thick tide of shame and vulnerability welled up within him, making his hands tremble. The weight of Wendy's realization pressed on him: his spots weren't just blemishes, they were voids. He resisted the urge to unravel right there.

Gathering herself, Wendy finally lowered her hand, managing a strained smile. She briskly retrieved the plate from his hands, heading straight for the kitchen sink.

As soon as she passed the kitchen doorway, Spot cradled his head in his hands, grappling with a torrent of emotions. The monstrous reality of his appearance loomed, inescapable.  An engulfing sense of panic threatened to overwhelm him, the bleak notion that this might be his eternal fate. He hadn’t confronted the idea yet that he might be like this forever. His family had abandoned him, he couldn’t get back into his apartment, he had no chance at a normal life or job.

His reverie was broken by Wendy's soft and patient voice. "Dr. Ohnn?" She held out a steaming mug to him. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the space, comforting the both of them. 

"Coffee? I appreciate that," he murmured, wrapping his hands around the warmth of the mug. He could see Wendy observing him from the doorway of her kitchen. Her eyes had shifted from that earlier mix of revulsion and intrigue to a softer, apprehensive friendliness. He sensed her struggling for words, trying to bridge the chasm between them. He tried, “You still at Alchemax?”

She responded with a hint of a smile, the first genuine one he had seen. "Nah. Retail now." She gestured down to a pile of clothes on the floor. Clearly visible was a bright blue polo with a logo for a local tech appliances big-box store. A pair of black slacks lay crumbled underneath it.  "It’s been hard finding research work after..." she trailed off, punctuating the end of her thought with a sip of coffee. 

Spot's eyes darted to her inquisitively, "I assumed you were at that software company today. Were you there for an interview?"

Her heart skipped a beat, a shadow crossing her face. "How did you know about my visit to the software firm today?"

“Oh, right.” Spot shifted uncomfortably, drawing his legs together tightly to make himself as small as possible, trying to diffuse the tension. “Yeah I was in the area, looking for some help. I saw your car in the parking lot and I recognized it, you know, from work. So I walked over and decided I would wait there for you to see if you could help me.” He tilted his head innocently at her. 

Wendy's eyes narrowed, her suspicion evident. “But you didn’t meet me outside.”

He quickly corrected, "Right! I saw you leaving the building, and you were pretty clearly unhappy, I didn't think it was the best moment. So, I…" His voice faltered, and he wrung his hands in anxiety, "... climbed into the back of your car and waited until we drove here.  And then I tried to knock but I ended up in the kitchen."

She took a moment to digest his unexpected narrative, choosing to accept it tentatively. Maintaining her sharp gaze on him, she took another sip of her coffee. "So, where will you go after this?" she queried.

The lanky man let out a sigh. "Honestly? I'm not sure. I already went to my family, they wouldn’t take me.” He tapped his foot nervously, “I guess I could try Stark Industries? I hear he does good work.” 

She shook her head gently, clarifying, "No I meant, like, after your coffee, where will you be heading?"

“Oh.” Spot stared into the dark liquid. “I’ll wait until it’s dark and find a bridge I think.”

"You can't get back to your place?"

He responded with a dejected shake of his head.

As Wendy ruminated, she drummed her fingers on her cup, biting her lip, seemingly conflicted. She finally broke the silence, "Dr. Ohnn... if I were to offer my couch for the night, would you write me a letter of recommendation?"

The man would have blinked in surprise if he could. “A letter of-you want me to be a reference? So you can get a job?” 

She blushed a bit and nodded at him. 

A chuckle emanated from him, “I will if you let me have two nights, and I’ll need a computer.” 

A wave of relief flashed across Wendy's features. "Deal. Two nights and my laptop. I'm genuinely grateful, Dr. O-"

“John.” He interrupted, “You can call me John.”

I couldn’t wait and got a start on this 😅. I was thrift shopping with my boyfriend’s sister yesterday and found a copy of Caves of Steel by Isaac Asimov. It didn’t have a price tag, the lady at the counter gave it to me for $3 (a steal imo).

I read a few articles and an essay about annotating fiction books, here’s the method I’m trying for this book:

I am tabbing pages that have insightful/impactful passages on them, any quotes that I like, clues (it’s a murder mystery so I think it will be fun to keep track of “evidence” as it’s presented in the story), worldbuilding/lore, and tabs for writing style choices that I like that I want to incorporate into my own writing.

I have index cards for main/important characters. For instance the main character is named Lije Baley, so I have an index care with his name on it that I will write details and my own thoughts about him on.

I also have an index card for world building definitions. ~very very minor spoiler, I’m about to talk about a piece of technology that is mentioned briefly in the first 3 pages of the book~ For instance, there is something called a “merc-pool” which seems to be a device that stores information via vibrations. I have that definition written on an index card so that if I forget later I can come back to it.

Anyway, I just got past the introduction, which was fascinating for me because I’m such a dork about sci fi history and early sci fi culture. I’m starting the actual book now, very excited to start this project! I’m hoping that not only will I have a more in-depth and intimate interaction with the novel as a piece of art, but I can also get a better technical idea of science fiction writing to better my own writing.

Ik im not a big account but i hope this gets some traction:

I’d love to start annotating the (mostly fiction) books I read but I have never done it before and I’m not sure how, so I’m looking for ideas. How do you guys annotate your books if you do? Do you put sticky notes? Highlight? Write in the margins? Do you do quotes that you like or parts of the book that made you feel a certain way?

Ik im not a big account but i hope this gets some traction:

I’d love to start annotating the (mostly fiction) books I read but I have never done it before and I’m not sure how, so I’m looking for ideas. How do you guys annotate your books if you do? Do you put sticky notes? Highlight? Write in the margins? Do you do quotes that you like or parts of the book that made you feel a certain way?