#baseball card collector

[latntransys-world]

Just make sure that move you made was worth never having that bond with me again.

[damailbox]

January 1995

[collectingbaseballcards]

#2023BowmanChrome #BaseballCards #Prospects #YoungStars #MLB #Collectors #Investors #ChromeParallels #VibrantDesign #TopRookies #DruwJones #JacksonHolliday #ElijahGreen #DraftPicks #Refractors #PrismaticRefractors #ReleaseDate #ResaleValue #PSA #SGC #Grading #GemMint #Superstars #ModernCards #Collecting #InvestmentOpportunities 

[ppcseo]

#2023BowmanChrome #BaseballCards #Collectors #Investors #Prospects #RookieCards #MLB #Refractors #Parallels #ReleaseDate #HobbyBoxes #TopRookies #PSA #SGC #Grading #Encapsulation #ResaleValue #FutureAllStars #MLBStars #ModernCardReleases 

[mmanahas]

Most Wanted Baseball Cards By Collectors

#Most Wanted Baseball Cards By Collectors how to

This answer will vary depending on what your goals are.įor me, first and foremost, collecting baseball cards is a hobby and it's a lot of fun.

#Most Wanted Baseball Cards By Collectors how to

In this article, I will attempt to help you understand the modern day hobby, how to find the value of your cards, and answer some of the questions that I know I needed some clarification and guidance on when I first got back in to the hobby. You have been seeing all the news reports about the resurgence of the sports card market, but you have no clue if your cards have any value or how to appraise them. You may have a similar story, with boxes of cards sitting in some closet or storage facility that you haven't looked at in years. Then the COVID-19 pandemic happened and I had a life changing moment, when I decided to make a $20 purchase, the first card I had bought since my childhood. I didn't really think about them much, but figured that eventually I would grab them and see if they had any value. They sat there throughout college, and then for years after as I moved around from state to state. The cards that were my carefully protected, top-loaded treasures were stacked in boxes in a closet in my parent's house. The reward for uncovering one of those chase cards felt like millions of dollars to my 8-10 year old self.Īs I became a teenager and then a young adult, I stopped collecting. Upper Deck rookie, a Mark McGwire 1985 Topps USA Baseball Team rookie, or later, a Billy Ripken 1991 Fleer card with a 4-letter-word written on the knob of the bat, was about as much fun as a kid could have. The thrill of the chase, whether I was trying to find a Ken Griffey Jr. Sitting down in my room and tearing open packs was the best part of every birthday. When birthdays were approaching, my parents never asked me what I wanted for my present because they knew what I wanted. When I was growing up in the 1980s, baseball cards were my life.

[mc-cards]

⚾️ #shorty 🍒🍒 2022 Topps s.2 N°453 Kirby Puckett (pv) @twins . . . . . . . . . . . . . #baseball #baseballcards #sportscards #cards #throwback #junkwax #collectors #toppsbaseball #allstar #targetfield #kirby #kirbypuckett #cardcommunity #90sstyle #90s #mccards #mlb #fanatics #minneapolis #twincities #twins #thehobby #boxbreak #hof #worldserieschamps #topps #puckett #shortprint #tradingcards @topps @mlb @mlbpa @mlbpaa @mlbnetwork @fanatics @baseballhall (at Target Field) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChHyfq5udKp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[centrally-unplanned]

Another big stop in Tokyo for me was Jimbocho Book Town! It is a neighborhood of, depending on who you ask, up to 400 generally-secondhand bookstores flanked by some of the major universities in Tokyo. The local government even prints out maps of the stores to help people find them all:

Which, you will note, is not 400 stores, because the process of becoming an "official" Jimbocho Town Bookstore is an intensely political operation run by local stakeholders with tons of fights over what should qualify and what rights that entails - never change humanity!

"Book Towns" used to actually be quite a common thing, and they peaked during the literary boom of the late 19th century. Figuring out "what books existed" was a hard task, and to do serious research you needed to own the books (you weren't making photocopies), so concentrating specialty bookstores in one area made sense to allow someone to go to one place and ask around to find what they need and discover what exists. It was academia's version of Comiket! Modern digital information & distribution networks slowly killed or at least reduced these districts in places like Paris or London, but Jimbocho is one of the few that still survives.

Why it has is multi-causal for sure - half of this story is that Tokyo is YIMBY paradise and has constantly built new buildings to meet demand so rents have been kept down, allowing low-margin, individually-owned operations to continue where they have struggled in places like the US. These stores don't make much money but they don't have to. But as important is that Japan has a very strong 'book collector' culture, it's the original baseball cards for a lot of people. The "organic" demand for a 1960's shoujo magazine or porcelainware picture book is low, but hobbyists building collections is a whole new source of interest. Book-as-art-collection powered Jimbocho through until the 21st century, where - again like Comiket - the 'spectacle' could give it a lift and allow the area to become a tourist attraction and a mecca for the ~cozy book hoarder aesthetic~ to take over. Now it can exist on its vibes, which go so far as to be government-recognized: In 2001 the "scent wafting from the pages of the secondhand bookstore" was added to Japan's Ministry of Environment's List of 100 Fragrance Landscapes.

Of course this transition has changed what it sells; when it first began in the Meiji area, Jimbocho served the growing universities flanking it, and was a hotpot of academic (and political-polemic) texts. Those stores still exist, but as universities built libraries and then digital collections, the hobby world has taken over. Which comes back to me, baby! If you want Old Anime Books Jimbocho is one of the best places to go - the list of "subculture" stores is expansive.

I'll highlight two here: the first store I went to was Kudan Shobo, a 3rd floor walk-up specializing in shoujo manga. And my guys, the ~vibes~ of this store. It has this little sign outside pointing you up the stairs with the cutest book angel logo:

And the stairs:

Real flex of Japan's low crime status btw. Inside is jam-packed shelves and the owner just sitting there eating dinner, so I didn't take any photos inside, but not only did it have a great collection of fully-complete shoujo magazines going back to the 1970's, it had a ton of "meta" books on shoujo & anime, even a doujinshi collection focusing on 'commentary on the otaku scene' style publications. Every Jimbocho store just has their own unique collection, and you can only discover it by visiting. I picked up two books here (will showcase some of the buys in another post).

The other great ~subculture~ store I went to was Yumeno Shoten - and this is the store I would recommend to any otaku visiting, it was a much broader collection while still having a ton of niche stuff. The vibes continued to be immaculate of course:

And they covered every category you could imagine - Newtype-style news magazine, anime cels, artbooks, off-beat serial manga magazines, 1st edition prints, just everything. They had promotional posters from Mushi Pro-era productions like Cleopatra, nothing was out of reach. I got a ton of books here - it was one of the first stores I visited on my second day in Jimobocho, which made me *heavily* weighed down for the subsequent explorations, a rookie mistake for sure. There are adorable book-themed hotels and hostels in Jimbocho, and I absolutely could see a trip where you just shop here for a week and stay nearby so you can drop off your haul as you go.

We went to other great stores - I was on the lookout for some 90's era photography stuff, particularly by youth punk photographer Hiromix (#FLCL database), and I got very close at fashion/photography store Komiyama Shoten but never quite got what I was looking for. Shinsendo Shoten is a bookstore devoted entirely to the "railway and industrial history of Japan" and an extensive map collection, it was my kind of fetish art. My partner @darktypedreams found two old copies of the fashion magazine Gothic & Lolita Bible, uh, somewhere, we checked like five places and I don't remember which finally had it! And we also visited Aratama Shoten, a store collecting vintage pornography with a gigantic section on old BDSM works that was very much up her alley. It had the porn price premium so we didn't buy anything, but it was delightful to look through works on bondage and non-con from as far back as the 1960's, where honestly the line between "this is just for the fetish" and "this is authentic gender politics" was...sometimes very blurry. No photos of this one for very obvious reasons.

Jimbocho absolutely earned its rep, its an extremely stellar example of how history, culture, and uh land use policy can build something in one place that seems impossible in another operating under a different set of those forces. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip.

[popculturelib]

Matchbook Cover Collection

Patented in 1892 by lawyer Joshua Pusey, the matchbook, a seemingly insignificant piece of cardboard enclosing a handful of disposable paper matches, quickly became the staple advertising space at the dawn of the 20th century. Beginning with beer company Pabst and tobacco company Bull Durham, businesses big and small started to purchase printings of books from match companies such as Diamond and Ohio which found their way into millions of coat pockets, hotel rooms, and restaurant ashtrays.

As the butane lighter usurped the match as the portable cigarette light of choice and radio and television became the new frontier of advertising (not to mention the decline in the ubiquity of smoking), matchbooks fell out of favor, now only commercially used as a boutique novelty advertisements for high-end or niche establishments hoping to invoke a sense of the past.

Collectors known as phillumenists (“lovers of light”) still seek out the cardboard rectangles, however, for reasons as diverse as the pictures on their covers. For some, the images on the matchbooks are art in and of themselves; for others, the specific company advertised is of interest, or the category of good and services. Still others attempt to complete sets of novelty books, with the matches themselves printed with or in the shape of such images as bowling pins or ladies’ stockings, or commemorative books, featuring images of historical figures or celebrating such events as a World’s Fair. Whatever the reason, people have come to adore the matchbook in the same way as the baseball card, as a snapshot in history.

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

[wrinkledparchment]

the absence of everything (iii)

Summary: Based on 1x22 | 2x1 - After your trip to Vegas was rudely interrupted by a suspicious manila envelope being delivered to your hotel room, you and Spencer have to cut your vacation short to go back to Quantico. Although you and Spencer try to resume your professional relationship after sharing a bed, Spencer realizes just how much you mean to him, and can finally put a name on what he feels, once and for all.

Word Count: 6,030 words

Author’s Note: So... I’ve been gone for so long but this series is probably the main thing I still receive praise for in my notes. I’m currently focusing more on writing for HL but I’ve had this in my drafts forever and I decided to feed you guys!! I hope you like it... upon rereading it, some of my favorite fluffy lines I’ve ever written are in here. How did I manage that. 

Content Warnings: Your general criminal minds ish, death, stuff like that. Some fluff content for you guys!!

Series Taglist:  @liviasaugusta @l0ve-0f-my-life @imsuperawkward @nxstalgicnxbxdy @marciscaspar @april-14-blog @sweetreid @essenceproxima @sammypotato67 @idkanymore-05 @slep-slop @squirrellover1967 @irjuejjsaa @yomama-umbridge @holybatflapexpert @rosignoelle @ladyravenclaw @yours-truly-r @spenciepoo338 @masieofthevalley @throughparisallthroughrome  @afuckingshituniverse   @ladyravenclaw @irjuejjsaa @danandphilfan6​  @yasminwashere​  @mayempress  @kys-things

the abscence of everything: i | ii | . . . 

“It is me. I am his madness. For years he’s been looking for something to put his madness into. And he found me.” – John Fowles, The Collector

. . .

The coffee table in your Vegas hotel room had cluttered manila envelopes, the key and note given to Spencer, and a piece of missing evidence from your father’s murder scene. Rage bubbled in your stomach, so as Spencer called Gideon on the hotel room phone, quickly putting it on speaker, you paced around, unable to stop seeing your dad’s case files and his dead, mutilated body over and over again.

“Gideon, [Name] and I both got a package, I got a key and a note reading ‘She will die unless you save her, Doctor Reid. Call Gideon. He knows.’ She got two binded pieces of paper from a book her father was binding and repairing when he died.”

Gideon finally let out a sigh, “Yeah, I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963 and a head in a box. Everyone on the team got something, but Elle was hit hard. She was framed for murder in Montego Bay, Hotch and Morgan went down to get her released and bring her back to Quantico.”

You walked closer to the phone and stopped chewing on your nails, rage bubbling inside your chest. “Gideon, whoever the hell this was had access to missing evidence from my father’s murder investigation. Meaning, this son of a bitch is the guy who robbed and killed my father. This is personal.”

“Don’t worry, [Name]. We’re going to find him. Get on the closest flight back here and Garcia will tell you where we are, we’re going to get this guy as soon as we can.” Right after he finished, Gideon hung up, leaving you and Spencer to race to get to the airport in time.

You left your rental car at the airport kiosk, signing it out and rushing after Spencer to get on the flight back home. It was all a blur, blended together to create your perfect disaster. You were stressed, overworked, and ill-prepared. This was the case you’d joined for—to find your father’s murderer and lock the bastard up.

You’d searched and searched and searched, and the criminal found you. Just as you’d eased out of work mode, just as something besides work and murder and blood filled your mind, he stole you away. Because of course he did. Because he was looking.

Spencer was a mess, but not for the same reason. You were obviously under duress, but you were so scattered that he felt like he couldn’t do anything. He did his best, carrying your bags for you, getting you iced chai while waiting for boarding. When you did get on the plane, he immediately lifted the armrest between you back, and pulling out Dante’ Inferno, handing his leather-bound copy over to you.

Your fingers ran over the spine of the book, feeling the indents where the title was, the smooth texture everywhere else. Fine craftsmanship, it must’ve been from a passionate, talented individual bookstore owner with a knowledge of binding. It reminded you of yourself, the care and attention devoted in the craft.

“You’ve got a fine copy here, Spence,” you smiled, as much as you could. “My dad would’ve loved it.”

“Do you think you can still bind books well?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’ll never forget.”

He nodded, smiling something bittersweet, “We’ll find your dad’s old book. And you’re going to fix it.” You smiled again, a little more genuine, and flicked open Spencer’s copy of Dante’s Inferno.

“I’ve got supplies in a closet somewhere,” you recalled, voice soft and quiet in case it suddenly broke. You didn’t want to cry, and you shouldn’t, not here, but it was becoming harder to not be vulnerable with Spencer. “I dream about him every night.”

Reid nods, moving his hand to rest on your knee, moving his thumb gently, allowing you to continue. “I’ve been waiting for a lead, since before I was even in the FBI academy. I’ve been waiting for 8 years and now that I’ve finally got it… just when I was happy, too.” You pause for a minute, letting one tear roll down your face but holding the rest in. “I see his body everywhere I go, can’t stop remembering how the blood felt on my hands, how lifeless he looked. I miss him, even after all this time, and now that I’ve finally got a chance to figure out who did it, I don’t want to.”

Spencer pulled you closer, looking out the small window to see the bright blue sky and all the clouds. Your breathing was still erratic, your heart still broken. And he hated how in the moment you needed him most, he couldn’t figure out what to say. “I’m here,” he murmured, over and over again until he was sure you knew what he meant.

. . .

Even though Garcia’s explanation was rushed, you vaguely understood what was happening. She refused to look you in the eye, too, possibly because Gideon had told the team about what you’d found and how it was connected to you personally. It didn’t matter though, because you’d just pulled up to a possible unsub’s apartment.

The alleyway in which all the cars were parked was also crowded by other FBI members, all unguarded, meaning the unsub wasn’t there. The local police, and an extra car were also there, you assumed some sort of medical examiner, and there was probably a body.

You and Reid were authorized to enter after flashing your badges, and neither of you were asked to put on vests. Walking in, the both of you grabbed gloves, Spencer just holding them while you slid them on and followed him over to the crime scene.

It wasn’t overly graphic, compared to other things you’ve seen, but it was traditional to become emotionally numb in the job. No matter what, someone had died here, an ‘unrepentant bad man’ or not. The bed, and with it, the man named Frank Giles, was lying in the center of the room, a sword plunged into his chest and sticking upright.

Elle, Hotch, Morgan and Gideon all stood in the room, Hotch reading something written on the sword out loud to the rest of the team. “To learn of what should next be done, leave the blade til’ the hour be none.”

Spencer stepped closer, watching as Hotch asked Elle to step back. “The bed’s in the middle of the room,” Hotch began, Morgan interrupting for a second, “And maybe the light from here casts a shadow and points to something.”

Derek quickly began explaining his theory, “Well midnight is 00:00 hours in 24-hour time. Would that be none?” Hotch dismissed this quickly, stating that there would be no shadow at midnight, until Reid finally spoke up.

“3pm.” Everyone turned to him first, then you, then back to him. Obviously, Gideon did tell everyone that this was connected to your father’s death. And surprisingly, you looked very calm for someone about to embark on their quite literal personal case, the one you’d joined for. “Hey guys, Garcia told us where to find you.”

Hotch nodded at you, barely acknowledging how personal of a situation this was for you, but quickly dismissed it, listening to Spencer talk about medieval terms for hours of the day, then asking for lighting equipment so he could replicate the 3pm sun.

While people walked in and out with various standing lights, Gideon finally walked up to you. You turned to him, offering a quick nod and smile before quickly dropping it when he mentioned your dad. “You know you can’t let your past affect this case,” he states, and you nod. “It’s obviously personal, and I know this person is targeting you, but you can’t allow yourself to make mistakes because of your past with the unsub.”

Sighing, you agreed with Gideon, instead moving next to the shadow as Reid adjusted it, and you knocked on the wall until you heard a hollow sound, ripping away the wallpaper without need for Hotch’s command. Underneath all the wallpaper was a box, and you immediately grabbed it.

Reid stopped you, “Are we sure it’s safe?”

Hotch quickly dismissed him and allowed you to examine it. You played with the lock for only a few seconds before looking back up at Reid. “Give me the key.” Without hesitation, he handed it over and you shoved it in, and to nobody’s surprise, it fit perfectly. You lifted the lid, and familiar music had began to play, one that Reid had played for you during the classical music quiz.

“Forellenquintett,” you and Reid murmured in unison, the rest of the team looking up at each other before shrugging it off. Reid reached inside to grab the note from the music box, reading it out loud to the rest of the team.

Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.

Elle scoffed, walking off, “Well, that was worth it.”

Gideon ignored her, speaking right afterwards. “The lid. Little tab right under the lock.”

You quickly fiddled with it, revealing a CD and a lock of hair that nearly perfectly matched yours. You hummed under your breath in disapproval and disgust, Derek and Elle working together to put the lock of hair in an evidence back and grab the CD for review.

After heading back to the table room, you and Reid sat next to each other, which was your usual spot. For some reason the team seemed to eye the both of you, suspicious about what had happened in Vegas and why you two were still together when you should’ve left before that.

You carefully watched the TV after someone slid in the CD. A dimly lit desk with cluttered items all around it, and a very large throne behind it. A man wobbled into frame, clearly injured by something, which the team noted.

“I assure you, you’ll all understand in the end why it must be this way. You might even thank me. You know now you’re on a quest; a young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it. As you can see, she’s quite beautiful . . . and in distress.”

You clenched your fists when you saw the girl come into frame, screaming at the camera, begging for something. You wondered if everyone on the team recognized just how much, even from the little they all saw, how she looked like you.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule, and this rule must be followed. The one rule is only the members of your team may participate in the quest.” He began to list your names, and displayed pictures of each of you in the video, you and Reid in the same frame taken during one of the previous cases. “A quest must be completed in a proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple.

“Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you’ll need to finish the quest. You will find you also need a book which has inspired many an adventure like mine. Believe me when I tell you, I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us, but especially [Name].”

With that, the clip was over and all that was left was static. Reid had tensed after he’d mentioned you by name, and it didn’t fly over the heads of any of your coworkers either. The unsub knows you so well, doesn’t he? Pictures of you and Reid together, knowledge of just how to tick you off, and additionally, he knows what happened to your father the last night he was alive and is plunging that knife of knowledge right into your heart and twisting it. Involving all your coworkers in it, making it clear that all of this, it’s all for you.

You were the subject of madness, the main target of all of this. You were the ‘protagonist’, he was the villain, and everyone else—the dead, your coworkers, the girl he’d kidnapped—were all side characters in the story. But Reid, standing right next to you in the picture while everyone else was photographed individually, that said something to you. He knew about whatever was happening between the two of you, so much so that it was terrifying because he probably knew better than either of you.

Suddenly, the team was active. “This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle exclaims.

Reid fiddled with the pen in his hand, “What do we do now?”

Hotch eyed you, noting how tense you seemed when only just minutes ago, even with a dead body in front of you, you were eerily calm. “The lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” JJ walked out, vowing to figure out who the girl is. Hotch nodded, “Let’s get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.”

Elle immediately objected, “Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?”

Reid sighed, glancing at you for a few moments, “Do we have a choice?”

Everybody stayed silent, Spencer’s words lingering in the air while Gideon and Hotch went to a different room. You began quietly pinning the clues in the evidence bags to the board, not saying a single word to anybody else in the room. Elle found the soft crumple of the evidence bags relaxing, eyes closing softly until Hotch interrupted her nap and sent Anderson to take her home.

Soon enough, yet another piece of evidence, a list of number sets in a strict pattern, though it may not seem like it without a keen eye. Just as Spencer opened his mouth, you beat him to the punch. “Sets of numbers, page number, line number, word number. It’s a cipher based on a book which he expects us to know.”

Derek stares back at you, Spencer’s mouth opening and closing like a fish. Sure, you were quicker sometimes than he was, but you seemed so rigid, it was odd to them. “Yeah but what book?”

“Well, this ‘quest’ is clearly meant to be personal to you, [Name],” Derek proposed, “Meaning this is a book he expects you to know.” Spencer sighed, walking over to grab the ripped pages the unsub had sent you and examines them, reading the words hoping he’d remember reading this book at some point but he doesn’t.

“Dante’s Inferno?” Reid questioned, even though he obviously knew it wasn’t.

“Both of us would recognize it. Whatever book my dad was fixing that night, it was that book. Specifically, a first edition. Let’s see… that was eight years ago. Do you think memory recall would work?”

Elle and Derek simply stood off to the side while you and Reid debated each other, glancing at each other occasionally. Yet, the body language was the same as it always was, and maybe what had changed was the way Elle and Derek read the situation.

“When you got there, the book was gone; how would you know which one he was supposed to be working on?” Spencer rebutted.

“I was closing, I must’ve—” you stammered, “I must’ve known what book he was working on, I have to!” Soon, you were pacing around the room, muttering things underneath your breath and attempting to retrace your steps from 8 years ago that also occurred across the country.

Derek set his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place and stopping your pacing. “Okay, [Name], calm down, we can always try memory recall, and if not, the clues should be in the evidence—this guy is meticulous, I’m sure he’s accounted for this.”

Suddenly, Gideon walked back into the room, looking at the four of you. Spencer was still staring at the evidence board, Hotch leaning back in his chair, and Derek and you standing in the middle of the room. “[Name], you don’t have to relive that memory if it’s not necessary. How would we proceed if we didn’t have all these clues? What’s the first thing we’d look at?”

“Victimology,” you swallowed, both thankful and displeased that Gideon was looking out for your wellbeing. Everybody was watching you so closely, especially because this was a personal case to you, as if they expected you to break down at any moment.

“And we have a victim, Rebecca Bryant. Hotch and I will follow the mailman lead. Derek, take JJ and find out everything you can about Rebecca. Reid, [Name], stay here and find the book. If anybody can do it, it’s you two.”

Everyone else left the room, Reid and you staying. Sure, Gideon didn’t want you to relive the worst moments of your entire life, but you were so close. So you shut the door to the roundtable room and turned back to Reid. “I want to do memory recall.”

. . .

The chair you were sitting on was soft and sturdy, so you let yourself lean back, and you closed your eyes. You breathed, waiting for Reid to begin. You tried to calm yourself, enough to the point where your anger flooded away and all you could do was think. See your memories in a clear light.

“I’m going to try and calm down first, can you guide me?”

Spencer nodded, breathing along with you. “What is your favorite memory?”

You focused in on the word, smiling; favorite. You could hear Spencer’s giddy laugh echoing in your ears, bright city lights clouding your vision. The hood of your black rental car from Vegas reflected them, the smaller model of the Eiffel tower standing tall, neon signs and main strip casino windows. The cool, night breeze in your hair. You could still feel Reid’s lingering presence in the passenger’s seat, the way he looked at you with those doe-y, hazel eyes. His pupils were inflated, shrinking again when he turned away to change the stereo.

You could feel the pain in your toe when you stubbed it on the hotel bedframe, you could feel the newly replaced bedsheets of the hotel against your legs, and you could see Spencer standing over you, smiling so widely when you laughed. The way his warm skin felt against yours, how gentle he was with his arms around you.

You imagined the pool water as he splashed it back at you, the water droplets against his skin and the way he slicked back his wet hair. His laugh and shy smile after you told him he still looked like a rat when he was wet. The understanding look when he listened to your struggles with the BAU, your life story, the interest in your past and your hobbies.

After all the memories you’d made yesterday had flashed through your head in a matter of seconds, you registered what it meant. When you thought of happy, you thought of him. Some of your favorite moments in life were with him, being around him, watching him. Him, him, him. This feeling—it was consuming you, and it felt so delightful. You wanted it to devour you, and you let it.

“Yesterday,” you whispered after a minute of reliving the best day of your life. You didn’t open your eyes, but you could hear Reid shift in his chair and you smiled, assuming he was blushing. Profiler or not, he knew what that meant.

He sighed, “Are you ready to go back?” You nodded. “It was eight years ago. How old were you?”

“I was sixteen, and about to graduate high school.” You still remember how frustrated and overwhelmed you were. The night before you discovered your dad, you had the closing shift along with a massive pile of homework and colleges to apply to. You sat behind the wooden counter, combing through your homework as fast as you could, eager for your father to come and take an overnight shift in working with the books.

“What time was it?”

“It was five minutes until the clock struck 11,” you said, which was the beginning of your father’s shift at the bookstore. You were packing up your homework and college applications back into your bookbag, noting on a stray piece of paper all the leftover homework and applications you had to pour over in the morning. You were so tired, but you wanted to thank your father for taking the shift tonight and letting you rest.

“My father is coming in,” you tell Spencer, reliving the last moment you saw him alive. The door rang, signaling his entrance. His hair and shoulders were wet from the rain outside, something you didn’t remember about the scene until now. He smiled, asking you how your day went.

“Okay, sweetpea,” he had begun, “are you ready to go home?” You nodded to him, but not before helping him with his bags. He looked at you, smiling while you followed him down to the book storage, an icy cold basement.

You watched, setting out his materials for him while he brought out the book, which was partially bound but tattered still, especially the cover, and you had to take a double take, pausing and hearing Reid’s voice. You weren’t listening, but rather going through the evidence in your head.

JJ’s butterfly, Reid’s key, and a lock of hair all on top of a piece of bloodied parchment. You could see the dainty, cursive letters, shocked as to how you’d not remember the cover when you worked at a bookstore. You gasped, nearly crying as you remembered the last thing you’d seen your father doing alive.

You tried to shake it all out of your head, the unsub wanted to get to you. This quest was curated for you and him, a chess game, and you needed to have a level head to win. Sitting straight up, your eyes shot open and you and Reid shared a glance, him smiling proudly. You handled yourself so well.

“The Collector, by John Fawkes,” you stated, rushing over to the board where all the evidence was pinned. You took off the butterfly, the lock of hair, the key and the bloodied paper and set them in front of Reid.

“These are all on the first edition front cover, a bloodied piece of paper as a background, the key, the lock of hair and the butterfly all on top. Not only do they have a personal significance to us, but to the book. I should’ve known sooner,” you berated yourself, explaining quickly before walking off, ready to call the nearest library for their first edition copy of The Collector.

. . .

Reid, Garcia, and you had all stood around, them solving the cipher and writing the message on the board. Elle had been sent home earlier, so you were a team member short, but you were closer than you’d ever been on solving your dad’s murder. So close you could almost imagine him, smiling down at you and telling you that you were doing a good job. That’s all the encouragement you needed.

Hotch had berated Anderson for only dropping Elle off rather than staying at her house, stating that the unsub had all of your personal information. You begged Hotch to let you go to her house and stay, but he said he had needed you too much because of your connection to the case.

Instead, you watched as Reid and Garcia went over the cipher with the librarian. You walked away from the team when Hotch called you. “Yes sir?”

“Elle was shot at her house, I’m at the hospital now, I need you and Reid to keep working on those clues. I’ll update you when she’s out of surgery.”

Your stomach twisted, wondering why in all hell the unsub took Elle. This was your quest, the team were all there to aid you. Why would he hurt Elle instead of you? Instead of your family or someone you were close to? You nearly cried out as you broke into tears—this team, the BAU, is your family. And you’ve brought all of them into danger just by being here.

When you walked back into the room, you’d discovered that Reid had called his mom to be flown into Quantico by the federal agents there, and that you’d be meeting his mom for the first time. She was involved in this case now too, and you wondered if you should stick around after this. If all of this, if Elle’s shooting was your fault.

. . .

You leaned against Reid’s desk as he fiddled with the evidence bag that the poem was in. “Your mom’s safe,” you said, “agents just picked her up and she’s flying over here now. Garcia told me.”

Reid didn’t even dare to meet your gaze, staring at the poem still. “I forgot she always used to read me this poem,” he started. “And I realized that nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me. People tell me their secrets all the time, and I think it’s because they know I don’t have anyone to betray them to… except for my mother. I tell her pretty much everything in my letters. Did you know that I write her everyday?”

You smiled, leaning forward, “I did, Reid. And I know that you feel guilty about not seeing her two days ago. That you write all of those letters to make up for the fact that you think you don’t visit her enough.”

He looked up at you, a clear question in his eyes. How do you know?

“Reid, during my memory recall, when you asked what my favorite memory was… I’ve been alive for twenty-four years, and out of any memory—the ones with my best friend, the good days here, my childhood—I chose Las Vegas. Not because of the beautiful city lights, or the fancy car, but because you were there with me, just us.

“I told you about my father not because you don’t have anyone to betray me to, but because I want you to know. Because I trust you whole-heartedly, and if anybody in this world should know me best, it’s you.”

Spencer finally held his eye contact with you, swallowing hard. You let your words hang in the air before putting your hand on his shoulder and squeezing, allowing it to linger there for a few seconds before walking back to Garcia’s lair, wanting to soak up all the information she might have. 

You heard the signature ‘beep’ of Garcia hanging up on someone, and shut her door gently before striding over to her desk. “What’s going on so far?”

She didn’t lift up her eyes to look at you, typing furiously on her computer, “I’m searching for Rebecca Bryant’s biological family, turns out she was adopted by the Bryant family and her real last name is Garner.”

Penelope filled you in further on the details, actively working to unseal her adoption papers and find out what happened to the original family; after all, the victimology is the first thing you look at. 

Could you consider yourself a victim? He’d been taunting and tormenting you and your entire team, he was most likely the man who had killed your father, or at least knew what happened or was involved somehow. Your father had been murdered prior to Rebecca’s disappearance, and you considered why this man would have been involved with your father’s murder and Rebecca’s disappearance. 

Were you actually a target?

You went to sit back at your desk, looking at your old piece of parchment paper with your favorite canto of Dante’s Inferno written in cursive, the fifth, the canto of Francesca. The most famous line written in bold and in the original Italian, “Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,” or “Love, that excempts no beloved from loving in return.”

The bullpen was a shuffle of people, other agents you didn’t interact with that much, that didn’t come with you on cases, and tons of other people rushing around, going through files, making phone calls. Spencer strided over from the small kitchenette to sit at his desk, which was connected to yours, sitting across from you with a small wall of transparent glass in between. 

He smiled at you, a warm, small smile that frequently was exchanged between the two of you. Sometime in between your talk at his desk and the hour or so you went without seeing each other, there was a microscopic layer of tension between you, beginning right where your desks separated. 

The shuffling of the bullpen dulled the ache of the tension, and so did your eyes slowly closing to rest for just a few minutes as Reid spent his time half-dozing off while reading a printed out version of The Collector. Reid finally broke this silence when your head began to tilt to the side as you fell into a tiny cat nap. He called for you, with no response, so he got out of his chair and poked you in the forearm. 

You wiggled a bit in your sleep, shifting around trying to find some semblance of comfort in your uncomfortable office chair. He takes a moment to stare just for a bit at your face. Looking at your eyes gently closed, your face peaceful even in this painful position, his mind fogged with the soft midnight laughter you traded with each other in the Vegas hotel room. He imagined the weight of your head on his chest, your arm laid over his stomach, your face and warm breath against the crook of his neck. 

He realized quickly the words that came along with the happy memories made along with you. The constricting yet freeing feeling stuck in his throat and squeezed around his heart, the sort of euphoria you associate with the warm feeling of sun on your skin and driving a convertible along the coast. That beautiful, powerful, devouring feeling of knowing that someone has you. You’re theirs, completely and utterly. 

The feeling of pure joy when you stop daydreaming and start remembering memories instead. When the words to describe this feeling escape you because all you can think about is that one, special person who has altered the course of your life forever. When you can no longer write romance because none of the words you put onto a page can do this feeling--this love--justice. 

He was in love with you. He felt it in everywhere he looked, everything he did, and every moment he lived. 

Spencer took a quick look around the office, and gently prodded at your sleeping form again until you open your eyes just a little, squinting against the bright lights of the bullpen. He held out his hand, which you, in your sleepy, half-awake state, took with no hesitation as he guided you into the conference room and turned off most of the lights. 

He showed you to the couch, sitting on the far end, leaving you room to lay down and take the rest of it while the two of you rested and waited for Spencer’s mother to arrive. The crown of your head was just barely touching the side of his thigh, and eventually, moving and wiggling around in your sleep made you lay your head straight in his lap. 

He felt the sudden movement and then the weight, and stared down at your side profile, admiring the way the dim lights highlighted your face perfectly. He brushed hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, and he swear he saw a ghost of a smile on your face. He fell asleep, fingers still intertwined and resting in your hair. 

Spencer dreamt of city lights and midnight laughter and Vegas hotel rooms. He dreamt of walking up behind you while you made pancakes in the morning and piling kisses all along the side of your neck and face, arms wrapped around your waist and the way your body would be decorated in stripes by the morning sun. 

He was woken up by the distribution of weight changing, your head shifting to stare up at him, hair surrounding your face in a pile on his lap. The sleepy smile that graces your face twists his stomach into knots and melts his heart. 

You seem to not mind the fact that your head had wound up in his lap, and instead, you muttered a small, sleepy, single word. “Coffee?”

He almost laughed, just stunned by how natural the domesticity and comfortability between you two felt. Like the wall that had built between you--separating your pinkies from intertwining, separating your fates from inexplicably linking--had suddenly vanished. There was a mutual understanding there--you make me feel safe, you make me happy, you are mine.

He slid out from underneath your head, turning around just before he reached the exit to look at you, splayed across the couch comfortably, the dim 5:00 am moonlight gleaming through the windows, and your eyes, shining even brighter back at him with a giant smile on your face. 

In the small kitchenette, he tidies himself up as much as possible, fussing with his hair while coffee brewed, and just as he finished pouring the both of you a cup, a group of FBI agents gathered around the entrance with a blonde, tall and pale woman that was Spencer’s mother. 

“That’s why you’re so skinny, you know,” Spencer’s mother, Diana Reid stated only a few seconds after walking into the bullpen. Spencer turned his head, setting down the pot of coffee. His mother’s eyes were sunken just a bit, dark circles underneath, worry lines accenting her face. “Too much coffee.”

Her frame was cramped up, shoulders tightened and her body looking even more frail by the minute. Her short pixie cut looked untamed, and Spencer wondered how stressed she had been. He knows that she hates planes, and the government, and basically anything else where somebody might be watching her. 

Schizophrenia tends to do that to a person. Even the smartest people get unlucky, get ill in a time where there isn’t much help or refuse it themselves. Spencer lives every day wondering about his mother’s happiness and well-being, but knows she is taken care of in her facility. He writes her everyday, and thinks about his childhood memories, about his father and mother and how he wanted a relationship that was nearly the opposite of that. 

They loved each other at one point. Enough to have him and raise him together for a few years, and all he can think about is how much he would love and cherish his wife, his children with her, and how no matter what got in the way, he couldn’t see himself ever letting go.

All these thoughts, worry for his mother, himself, his future, his children float through his head and pass by in a few seconds. The next few seconds consist of you, whether his mother would approve of you and just how much she might adore you for seeing you make her son so happy.

Finally coming back to reality, he nodded at the FBI agents who had brought her here. “Thanks a lot guys, I’ve got her.” Walking forward, he looks at the horrified look on his mother’s face, eyebrows raised and hand coming to cover her mouth, glancing around the FBI bullpen, clearly unnerved by where she was.

Once the FBI agents have disappeared around the corner of the hallway into the bullpen and Spencer takes a few more steps towards her, she lets her hand drop from her face. “You know I’m terrified of flying,” she states, shaking her head for emphasis. 

Spencer gives a small, fake smile. “I know mom, I’m sorry.”

Spencer glances over his mom’s shoulder, seeing you come out of the roundtable room and begin walking over to where he and his mom were standing. Still obviously upset, his mom continues, “Well then why did you have those fascists arrest me?”

He can hear your footsteps echoing throughout the mostly quiet bullpen, and he tries to calm his mom down before you arrive here, to introduce yourself. 

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: It's the Most HTGSC Time of Year

Happy 25th Anniversary to this spooky little episode~. To celebrate, I compiled a collection of fics themed right before, during, after, and very after Mulder and Scully's Christmas Eve adventure.

Loose chronolgical order below~

This_ape_writes's So What Were Those Christmas Gifts Anyway?

She had been looking for paperclips. They were usually on top of the desk just free floating but now there weren't any to be found. She'd started digging through drawers with free floating sticks of gum, a sharpie, napkins both new and used, and some unidentified stickyness. She had also pulled out a baseball card that he quickly dove across the office to pull away from her grasp.

Pre-HTGSC Mulder draws parallels between keeping his father's baseball card and Scully's longing for a very expensive kaleidoscope.

@minuete-blog/Minuete's

Last Minute - Chapter 1

Scully hits the jackpot at the toy store as she grabs the last Tickle Me Elmo that, presumably, someone stashed away in a random place in the store behind some puzzle boards.  Another beeline to the checkout counter, resulting in a 10-minute wait as she shuffles the many shopping bags she has from one arm to the next while guarding the Tickle Me Elmo toy with her life.  Across the KB Toy store, she spots a Sam Goody store and knows exactly what to get for Mulder this year. 

Pre-HTGSC Scully is rushing about doing last minute Christmas shopping.

Christmas Offerings - Chapter 1

She hums in defiance, wraps the afghan blanket more securely around her.  

“That won’t do.” She hears Mulder chuckle.  She furrows her eyebrows and manages to crack open her eyes making out a blurry image of Mulder kneeling on the ground, his chin resting on the crook of his right elbow upon the couch, facing her at eye-level.  He smiles softly.  

Post HTGSC Mulder wakes Scully so she can spend Christmas with her family.

@leiascully's (Ao3) Day 25: Wrap

Last Christmas, there was Emily. This year, Scully will smile at her nephew with genuine and deep affection and not a little envy. Mattie is thriving and Emily is gone.

Pre-HTGSC Scully buys Mulder a kaleidoscope while remembering her painful last Christmas.

FridaysAt9's Worse than Rush Hour on the 95

Scully struggled with the bags in her hands as she thought about taking off her jacket to get some relief from the heat that was blasting through the store. The line was at least fifteen people deep, and she was seriously starting to consider ditching the sweater for her sister-in-law in favor of practically anything from a store without a line. 

Pre-HTGSC Scully is managing crowded malls and last second instructions from her mother when Mulder gives her a call.

Erin Blair/Erin M. Blair’s

155 Words - Dear Santa by Fox Mulder

She believes that I'm in love with Diana Fowley. Diana's my ex-partner and it has been over for many years. I don't know why Scully believes this, but I would like to set the record straight.

Pre-HTGSC Mulder asks Santa for advice concerning Scully and Diana.

Christmas 1998

Mulder, you asked me why I decided to come out with you tonight. You wanted to know why I wasn't at my Mom's celebrating Christmas with my family. I had every intention of being there with my family, but somehow my heart wasn't in the holiday spirit. I think you know why.

Post HTGSC Scully is grateful for Mulder's distractions and Melissa's previous words.

is_this_just_fantasy's Insomniac Ghosts

“Again?” Scully asked genuinely.

“Yeah.”

“So, Mulder, your plans were to spend Christmas, and Christmas Eve staking out an old house?”

“With ghosts Scully, don’t forget the ghost.”

AU-- Pre-HTGSC Mulder's apartment is (once again) fumigated; and Scully invites him over. Both really didn't want to be alone.

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls’s merry little christmas 

"Will you really be alone on Christmas, Mulder?”

He’s shrugging at her. “Sure, why not? I’ve spent enough of them alone.” The casualness in his voice isn’t quite as strong as it should be; it’s strained, just a little.

Scully switches off the water, watching him drink his coffee out of the corner of her eye. An idea springs up in her mind, too tantalizing to push away. “You don’t have to spend it alone, Mulder,” she offers, her voice going quiet at the edges.

AU-- Pre-HTGSC Scully drags Mulder out shopping before he drags her out haunted house hunting.

Jennifer Stoy's Christmas in Space

So, yeah, yeah, yeah, they say in DC that Fox Mulder's heart grew three sizes that day. It was an accident! I wasn't all that converted when I retrieved my precious cell phone, grabbed some Chinese at the food court, and went home. I can't explain how I woke up the next morning brimming with Yuletide cheer. It might have been the Elvis; the clock radio was playing "Blue Christmas" when I woke up. But the magic of the season had me in its tinseled, consumerist clutches before I finished my shower.

AU-- Pre-HTGSC Mulder might have wanted to surprise his partner for Christmas, but didn't quite expect Scully to pull a gun on him.

Jennifer Brady's Secret Santa

"Any holiday plans, Scully?" He asks, a little curiosity in his deep timbre.

Well, actually. "Yes, in fact we have a case," Uh oh, where did *that* come from? Was that me?

Mulder's face breaks into a grin, and he walks over to my desk, perching himself on a corner. "A case? I haven't heard anything," He says, his voice taking on a definite teasing tone.

Time for all those improvisational classes I took in high school.

Post FTF, Pre-HTGSC Scully is ready to tread on the wild side, unleashing Dana as she lures Mulder to a Christmas retreat on a bogus case.

Titania de la Mer's Conspirators' Dark Designs

The afterlife wasn’t half as thrilling as it appeared, but on this one night they had always had fun. Their games were perhaps not the most pleasant. Well, not for their guests anyway, but you had to get your kicks where you found them.

HTGSC Maurice and Lyda are more contemplative than bothered.

@wexleresque/hellsteeth's Msr + mistletoe??

She joins him in his gaze upon very old and shrunken mistletoe that hangs above them. It is mostly curled up and decayed to nothing, save for the red ribbon pinning it to the doorframe.

It's old and dusty and beautiful in its own very weird way, just like this house.

AU-- HTGSC Scully and Mulder stumble onto more than just ghosts in the old, haunted mansion.

BarbaraWar's The Ghosts Whose Christmas Was Stolen

"Are you afraid Mulder?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly, although he couldn't tell if it was from the strenuous position or fear of her own.

A gun went off.

At first he didn't notice it'd been his own, but he felt the recoil, saw Scully's eyes widen in surprise, saw her fall back with a whimper, saw a red stain form on her formerly white blouse. But hadn't it been red? He then noticed his own clothes were now blood-stain free . He dropped the gun, ran his hands over his chest, nothing. Oh, no. "Scully!"

AU-- HTGSC Mulder shoots Scully, and watches as she snarks her way into death. The ghosts convince him to finish the deed.

 @allyinthekeyofx’s (Ao3) Bittersweet promise.

Softly, quietly he had asked her what was wrong, his fingers smoothing the sweat-damp hair from her face, a simple act that calmed her hitching breaths almost immediately and which gave encouragement to speak.

"I haven't had my hot chocolate. Mommy makes me my special hot chocolate before I go to sleep."

Post HTGSC Mulder makes Scully the same hot chocolate he'd shared with Emily.

@i-gaze-at-scully/ i_gaze_at_scully's All I Want for Christmas (Ao3)

It didn’t help being sidelined. Long days in the bullpen with as much intellectual stimulation as watching paint dry. Long days knocking on doors, using honey to catch flies while the vinegar bubbled in her throat. 

But she had Mulder.

Post HTGSC Scully is glad that Mulder distracted her from Emily; and he is glad she got him a very hard-to-find Christmas present.

Leyla Harrison's (Alt. Tumblr, Gossamer, Mulders Creek) The Star

She looked just like a little kid.

Her eyes kind of widened and then softened at the edges. Then the blue of her irises danced around. I can't even begin to explain how her mouth turned up. Her whole body language just screamed giddy, and for Scully that's pretty restrained. But hey -- I don't get to see Scully very giddy very often, and it had been a rough night, you know?

Post HTGSC Mulder gifted Scully a star.

stellar_dust's (Gossamer) Fall of Snow, Pacal's Tomb, and Thou, A; or How We Stole Christmas Back From the Ghosts (Ao3)

"Mulder, why don't you come to Mom's house with me in the morning?"

He opened one eye and looked at her for a moment. "All right. I'd like that. I think."

They stared at each other.

"Um," Scully fumbled.

Post HTGSC Mulder sets aside the neglect of his mother to focus on spending the day with Scully-- watching her nap and facing off in a snowball fight.

@slippinmickeys/SlippinMickeys/Slippin' Mickeys's Unnamed

“Pick a key,” Mulder said, setting two keys of similar profiles in front of her.

They were thick and ancient, with a patina that had probably been earned. They looked so old – practically antediluvian – that she thought briefly that if the locks they unbolted survived, the doors they had protected probably had not.

Post HTGSC Mulder has Scully pick between her Christmas gifts for a bonus surprise.

Sheryl Nantus/Sheryl Martin’s (FFN) It Hurts (FFN)

Suddenly he noticed that her arms were tightening around him - not enough to hurt, but in a sudden shift of emotion.

Then he felt it.

The first touches of dampness on his bare skin.

Post HTGSC Scully tearfully relates the pain of Emily's death.

pokeitlikejello's The Drabble Files - Chapter 28

“Scully, what are you doing here?” Mulder leaned against his open apartment door. “I thought you’d be halfway through a warm, cozy Christmas dinner.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about how you’re all alone,” she told him honestly.

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully fails to lure Mulder to her family party... and decides to stay with him, instead.

Nynaeve's Almost Home

"How is work?"

"Work," she had said flatly, sighing. "Let's just say I'm not exactly making that difference I thought I could."

Maggie had covered her daughter's hand with her own. "I'm sorry."

Another smile had twitched at the corner of Scully's mouth. "No, you're not," she told her mother. "You're thrilled I'm doing something safe." There was no malice in Scully's voice, only the recognition that Maggie, like all mothers, was glad her child was in a safe job, at least momentarily.

"All right, yes, I'm glad you're safe," Maggie had agreed with a laugh. "But I *am* sorry you're not satisfied."

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully recalls her childhood-- the cold, sibling truces, and snow fights-- then shares that magic (and more) with Mulder.

@catharsisxf's (Ao3) When We Finally Kiss Goodnight (Ao3)

They sat comfortably for a while, watching little flecks of white dance past his window. He could admit to himself now that this was what he'd wanted all along. To not feel so alone. He'd felt the need to frame it as a case when he'd have been perfectly happy just spending a quiet evening in with her.

AU-- Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully revisit that moment in the FTF hallway.

@lotsoforangesoutside/@lotzzoforangezoutside/lots_of_oranges_outside's Fall Like a Feather (Ao3)

“Look at what we’re wearing, Mulder.”

He’s not following. “We’re wearing what we’re always wearing.”

Scully shakes her head. “It wouldn’t be snowing if we were...” She stops, and tries again, “I’m not even wearing a sweater, Mulder. It can’t be snowing outside. I’m not dressed right, and neither are you. I didn’t feel cold on my way here. Your neighbors are way too quiet... the world feels too quiet.”

AU-- Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully wake to a white Christmas... and the realization they'd both died the night before.

piece_of_the_stars's Christmas Ghosts and Imaginary Mistletoe

Mulder was there when she found it. They’d stopped for gas in the middle of Wyoming and Scully got out to stretch her legs. There was a shop next door selling knick knacks and Mulder walked in the store to find her staring at the necklace, unmoving. He silently made his way to her and only then did she look away from the gold cross in her hands. He lead her to the register where she paid and he did the talking for her, knowing she had nothing to say. When they were back in their rental car, Mulder silently took the hand not holding the necklace and laced their fingers together. They drove silently back to their motel and haven’t said a word about it since.

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully decides to make a decisive overture before leaving for her Christmas obligations.

Ten's (The Salvation Archive) Having a Happy X-mas

By the looks and some quick whispering, rumours had been flying, sailing, driving, sprinting and galloping around for the last few years. The fact that he and Scully were still holding hands only added to it. "Merry Christmas, everyone," he managed, while turning 180 degrees.

150 degrees into the turn he saw Bill glaring at him from over near the fireplace. /Wonderful./

Almost at the end of his turn, his eyes met those of someone over in a corner. The occupant was an old lady in a motorised wheelchair, eating a cookie. She stared at him. Her eyes widened. Mulder inwardly sighed. /Billy boy has done a sterling pre-publicity campaign on me./ Time stopped for a second. Suddenly she coughed and made a choking noise.

AU-- Post HTGSC Mulder is persuaded to Scully's party where both Scully brothers are not allies... and where he meets a familiar face who recognizes him from 1939.

Pattie's Happy Turkey Trot

"I bet you didn't get a turkey this year, did you?"

"Scully, I think you pretty well know how I spend Christmas."

"Well, I have one in my freezer, Mulder, at all times."

"What?"

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully and Mulder get food poisoning together.

@agentwhalesong/sadandangstyagent's (Ao3) Tell Him

“Listen, Scully… there are things I have been wanting to talk to you about and…”

Mulder had no time to complete his sentence. A very loud and very clear word filled the room.

LEAVE!

Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully visit another haunted house; but this ghost helps them just as much as they help her.

Vickie Moseley’s (Ao3, Gossamer) Comfort

OK, so she came over and she forgave me and I got this really neat tie that I can almost tolerate even though it's pretty mundane, but it's 100 percent silk and you really can't go wrong with silk. And I got to give her my present, a nameplate for her desk. A nice one, not like the cheap gold painted metal ones from supply, but a wooden one with her name engraved on it.

Post HTGSC Mulder's snippy POV as he and Scully are badly shot up at a crime scene.

Mystic's Truces

Pulling into the curb in front of her house, she was a little more than shocked to see Mulder sitting at her front step. He looked up at the car and stood, walking towards her.

Scully opened the car door and let a small smile escape her. "Mulder, where have you been?" She tried not to sound amused, or upset, but neutral.

He lowered his head shyly, "I went home."

Post HTGSC Scully calls a truce with Diana while Mulder drops in on his mom (and leaves.)

whatliesabove's ghost ship

Scully blinks, jaw set. As she stares at him, she realizes she’s been hiding from the wrong things this entire time, so scared of the what-ifs that she's refused to even entertain the possibility that they wouldn’t crash and burn.

And maybe they still do. Maybe they end in fire and destruction and broken hearts. Maybe they end up hating each other; no longer lovers, no longer friends, but strangers again. Maybe she becomes someone he’ll always miss, maybe his name becomes something she no longer acknowledges.

But maybe they don’t.

AU-- Tithonus Scully dreams of an alternate timeline with Mulder, from Season 1 to making unpartnerly moves in Detour that are (sort of) resolved in HTGSC to family life with a little girl... and then she wakes up.

petit_chou's from now on our troubles will be out of sight

She loves to hear about their old cases. While most other young children hear fairy tales and nursery rhymes, Annie’s bedtime stories are fantastic tales of her parents chasing real monsters in the dark.

And there’s one such story that’s perfect for today. “How would you like to hear about the time me and your mom went ghost-hunting in a haunted house on Christmas Eve?”

Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully enjoy a post Revival Christmas with Jackson and their little daughter. And what better way to celebrate than competitive snowball fights and spooky ghost stories?

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[collectingbaseballcards]

#1992 #baseballcards #sportingnews #innovative #milestones #collectors #MLB #retiredgreats #BabeRuth #WillieMays #HankAaron #autographs #parallels #nostalgia #turnbacktheclock #recordbreakers #vintage #chasecards #scarcity #comprehensive 

[ppcseo]

#1994Fleer #baseball #cards #vintage #collector #valuable #investing #KennyLofton #DarrenDaulton #KenGriffeyJr #DonMattingly #MoisesAlou #GarySheffield #MikePiazza #ChipperJones #rookiecards #1990s #hobby #collecting #investments

[extinctionstories]

There are many different factors that go into the destruction of a species. One of the most frustrating is the business of collection: the killing and taking of animals from the wild.

Before the advent of photography and film, the collection of specimens was an indispensable tool in the natural history arsenal, enabling in-depth study of elusive species. Preservation through taxidermy further enabled animals to be put on display in museums and educational exhibitions—or a place of pride in the homes of zoological hobbyists.

As in other forms of collecting, from baseball cards to Beanie Babies, the most sought-after treasures were those that had the greatest scarcity. When species like the Great Auk grew rarer in the wild, higher and higher prices were offered for skins or eggshells by frenzied collectors, as well as those wishing to “preserve the species for posterity”—an ironic, self-fulfilling prophecy that ultimately contributed to their disappearance.

Of course, not all collection could claim such plausible deniability. At the turn of the 20th century, the fashion industry’s demand for feathers, and even entire taxidermied birds, acted as a devastating pressure on countless species of American bird, the Carolina Parakeet included. Many of these birds were killed for no more noble a purpose than to decorate a hat.

In July, 1918, stirred by the recent lost of species such as the passenger pigeon, the United States and Canada put into law the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, barring the pursuit, capture, killing, collection, or sale of the majority of native birds—living or dead, in part or in whole, including eggs, nests, and feathers. Other countries would soon follow. The MBTA remains one of the most significant pieces of legislation in the history of conservation, helping to bring species like the snowy egret back from the brink, but it came too late for the Carolina Parakeet. Incas, the last parakeet, had died in captivity five months before.

Scientific collection continues to play an important role in the study of animals—thankfully with much greater consideration given to the preservation of living species.

This painting is the second in my Carolina Parakeet series. It is gouache on paper, and measures 18x24 inches. The title is ‘We Trim Our Caps with Stolen Feathers’.

[dekusdarling]

(I’m late. Not too late, but late enough. Sorry.)

“does this place really need to be this bright?” the blonde asked with a sneer, narrowing his eyes at the giant Christmas tree lit up in the dorm room. For a boy with such wealthy parents, you'd think he’d be used to people going above and beyond for Christmas.

he’s not.

“cmon, Bakugo, it’s nice! Doesn’t it look pretty?” Uraraka asked with a grin, clad in a red dress with a fluffy white hem; Santa Claus themed.

“yeah, pretty annoying” he grumbled, earning himself an eye roll, which he took with a quiet snort, scratching at his scar discreetly.

it still hurt. Not physically, that pain had quieted to a dull ache as the war ended, but Katsuki had always been a bit narcissistic. He sniffed a bit, the scent of peppermint tea invading his nostrils, making him more irritated.

“uh, do we really need to put up mistletoe?” A nervous voice rang out, the voice belonging to a certain green haired boy, who stared at the mistletoe Denki was putting up like it was on fire. Denki simply grinned, ignoring Izuku and continuing to put up the mistletoe.

Katsuki sighed, plopping onto the couch and rubbing his temples with a quiet groan.

“hey, Kacchan” a teasing voice rang out, as delicate arms wrapped around him. Y/n, his lover, his friend, his sparring partner, his. His lips quirked up in a small, brief smile before turning down again.

“that’s not my name” he grumbled with a huff, earning himself a brief cheek kiss and a giggle.

“sorry, sorry. Merry Christmas, baby, sugar, honey, sweetie, love, darling, dear-”

“ok, ok, I get it.” He said with a grin, kissing them on the jaw quickly.

mood officially brightened.

“are you gonna open presents or are you gonna sit here like the Grinch?” Y/n asked jokingly, playing with his hair.

“I always liked the Grinch. Never understood why the Whos didn’t just leave him alone.” He joked back, chuckling at their immediate pout, which made him wanna kiss their lips until they were sore. “Kidding, kidding. Why don’t you open yours first, sweet thing?”

Y/n smiled, handing him a gift with Izuku’s name written on the “from” side, the handwriting shaky as if the boy was tired or nervous when writing it; probably both. Y/n themself had a gift in their hands too, a beautifully wrapped one from Momo.

they opened the gifts in silent anticipation, practically cuddled together as Y/n squealed over the manga Momo had picked out specifically for them, and Katsuki pulled out the All Might collector’s edition baseball cap, signed by Toshinori with both “All Might” and his real name.

“little nerd knows how to pick gifts” he grumbled approvingly, pulling on the hat and rolling his eyes at the small squeak of excitement that escaped the green haired boy from across the room, who played it off (or tried to) with a cough.

“you should thank the little nerd” Y/n said with a chuckle, kissing his cheek as he nodded absentmindedly.

“Open my present. The one from me” he demanded, causing them to snicker at his imploring expression. Y/n grabbed the gift so delicately wrapped with Katsuki’s name scrawled out on it, and pulled a gift out from them to him with a sheepish smile.

“it’s not a lot, but I think you’ll like it.” They said nervously, to which he nodded and carefully opened the wrapping.

it was a black box containing a lot. First, a comb from Best Jeanist’s official website. A shirt with Katsuki’s full hero name and stats he found on Etsy some time ago and showed to them. A gift card for a full year of Spotify premium (which was a gift to themselves too, as they shared the account anyways). And a simple gold ring, solid gold with topaz gemstones accenting it; orange like his hero costume, and his favorite color. all the while, Y/n let out a gasp at the gift they got from Katsuki. A watch, a Rolex to be specific, fitted and styled for their body and clothing style, yet keeping to elegance that came with a watch of that kind.

“no, it’s too much. I can’t take this, love. There’s no way my gifts are worth this much!” They exclaimed, but Katsuki ignored that, already slipping off his shirt to yank on the new one, which fit him perfectly.

“you’ll take it, and you’ll take it with a smile, sugar. It’s for you.” He said with a smirk, chuckling as they pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheeks fervently.

this was a pretty great Christmas, to be fair.

it got better when it ended and the class had started to wind down for the evening, Katsuki walking Y/n to their room, always the gentleman. When he stopped at their door, they grinned and pointed upward. Ah, yes.

a green snap of mistletoe hung above her door, a tag that read “from Denki. MERRY CHRISTMAS BAKUGO.” protruding from the plant.

he groaned, leaning in expectantly, pretending not to enjoy the moment, anticipating their lips pressing in a brief kiss.

this kiss was not brief.

this kiss was a flame of need, silent proof that y/n had been holding out on Katsuki.

they kissed him silly, biting his bottom lip and their lips never once left his for a full minute, before they broke apart.

“well. Goodnight, Katsuki” they said, brushing off their outfit with a breathless sigh and slipping into their room.

cue Katsuki: 【*ﾟдﾟ*】

“oh no you don’t…” he growled, slipping into their room with a grin, shutting the door behind him.

that sure as hell was a Merry Christmas

[mc-cards]

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