saturday-mornings

Saturday morning sketches! Featuring an au version of Jack Darby, his twin son and daughter up to some kind of mischief (because when are they not up to mischief),
Finn with the Skywalker Lightsaber, and an original character from a short story of mine. Her name is Ana Castell, and she is Really Tired of semi-supernatural shenanigans at work.

So one of the joys of being a morning person is that you occasionally wake up super early on Saturday mornings and instead of wanting to lie in bed you can suddenly tackle taking extra sticky stickers off your new ramekins and you might as well do the dishes and oh you guess you can clean off that really dirty aloe vera pot someone gave you months ago and look there’s a new Pokémon just outside your door and you might as well get it while it’s still there.

Mistletoe’s Overrated Anyway

I started writing this last Christmas. And then suddenly it was January so I decided to wait to do anything with it until this Christmas. I found it on Saturday night and forgot I hadn’t finished it. So here, have a Christmas fic! On… Boxing Day.

At least it’s not January?

Happy (belated) Christmas/Season’s Greetings, all!

Edit: Now on AO3!

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Derek glances up when he hears the front door open and close, and frowns when Laura doesn’t immediately announce herself. He wipes his hands on the dish towel hanging from his belt loop and goes to investigate, finding his sister in the entryway with a stranger.

  Laura’s face lights up and she drops all of her bags, launching at him. “Derek!”

  Despite the surprise of an unannounced guest, Derek smiles and squeezes her, pressing his nose into her hair. “I didn’t think you were bringing anyone,” Derek says when they finally part.

  “I wasn’t,” Laura says. “I was lucky to even get here. All of the flights out are cancelled for the foreseeable future because of the weather, and I ran into Stiles, of all people. You remember Stiles Stilinski, right? From Cora’s class?”

  Derek remembers a hyperactive eleven year old with a buzzcut and an irritating habit of getting underfoot - his memory doesn’t lend to the lean, doe eyed brunet in his hallway; he’s talking on his phone and scowling something fierce but Derek’s mouth goes dry at the way Stiles runs long fingers through his hair.

  “Coffee?” Derek asks abruptly, turning to look at Laura. “There’s a fresh pot. Cora’s gone out on a last minute supply run - is, uh, Stiles staying?”

  “I offered your wonderful hospitality until he can find a flight to take him home,” Laura says, following him back into the kitchen and leaving Stiles in the hall. “I know you have the space, and it seemed a shame to leave him stranded. Nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

  “It’s not Christmas yet,” Derek points out. “How did you even recognise him? We haven’t seen him in ten years.”

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