The saga continues!!
In 2023 Jensen was rumored to be attending 2 different UK cons. It was pretty much less rumor and more 'he's going to be announced in the next few weeks.'
Right up until they both announced Jared Padalecki as a guest.
Misha and Jackles attended neither. Misha went on to go to Crossroads 8, a completely different con, and Jackles just didn't do either.
Instead Misha and Jackles both attended the Monopoly Liverpool con, literally only like two weeks after the London Winter con, and both said they'd go back in 2024.
Well. Monopoly announced Misha for their Scotland venue last week, said to 'expect another big SPN guest' for Scotland, then announced Jared Padalecki for Liverpool.
And said Jared was going to be the only big SPN guest for Liverpool in 2024.
As in. Jared is going to Liverpool.... So Misha and Jensen signed up for the Scotland venue instead 👀
anon this is you
and i love it absbshz thank you for your service, i really hope you're right
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I feel like Harris Burdick with all these plot ideas that I have to get around to actually, you know, writing in full
Anyway this one's got a tentative title of "Gonna Get Up Out The Ground," inspired in part by this post (and my rumination that there really SHOULD be some undead Hardy AUs out there).
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The first time Ellie met Hardy was in a dream.
They'd been in Florida just a few days; she'd already gotten horribly sunburnt on her shoulders and Tom was one great tomato, but fortunately a sympathetic hotel worker had brought them a great big bottle of aloe vera and now they were enjoying some truly brain-rotting television while Joe and Fred were tramping about on the beach, responsibly sun-screened.
At some point she must have nodded off because she woke up on quite a different beach — a beach she knew as well as her own heart, with the same sure rhythm. There was no one about but she wasn't lonely, or even alone; somewhere nearby, she knew, was the person she was looking for.
She wandered slowly up the Lesser Cliff Trail up to the old campsite, long since abandoned except for a half-dozen old campfire rings, lined with stones and forgotten. She walked to the edge and breathed in, the salt and cold filling her lungs with their familiar, comfortable sting. Along the edge, thousands of sea thrift blossoms nodded dreamily in the wind, pink and white against the green and blue.
"Took your time," said a voice behind her; she turned and squinted against the sun (the sun? it never shone from that direction, not like that, dull and heavy against the hills). He was a young man, late twenties, all gangling limbs with a flop of red-brown hair falling into his eyes and a ready smile. "But then I could never get the hang of time zones."
"You're five hours ahead," she told him, with that vague confidence you always have when you're dreaming. "It's only…" She tried to concentrate, but the numbers slipped like eels out of her grasp.
"Never mind," said the man. "It's still early, anyway — might not happen. And you're not the one, I'm sure of that at least." His smile took out whatever sting there might've been in the words. He had freckles along his cheeks and soft brown eyes, the sort she'd thought of as kind. "Don't be too angry at me, Miller. A bit is fine, though." And with another smile, he pushed her gently off the cliff.
She woke up with a start; Joe snorted in his sleep and rolled away from her, and she blinked away the dazzle of the sun in the shifting darkness of the hotel room. She shifted onto her other side, glancing over at the boys sleeping in the other bed and the crib, and was about to close her eyes again when something poked her in the neck.
It was a sprig of sea-thrift, still cold and damp.
-
The next time she met him was a shock — even over the horrified grief over seeing poor Danny, beautiful little man that he'd been, flung down like so much rubbish. At first she hardly registered, but when he held out his hand and gave his name, she looked at him — really looked.
"I know," she said, meaning to make some cutting remark about how he'd stolen her promotion. But instead what came out was, "You were five hours ahead."
He dropped his hand, looking tired. Looking more than tired; he resembled a corpse as much as the frail little body at their feet. Gone was the cheerful youth; he was old, even older than DI Charlford, with sick-pale skin and bruises under his eyes. His clothes hung off of him as though hiding nothing more than a skeleton underneath. "Do you want to do that here?" he asked, as though it made no difference to him.
"No," she decided. "But — later."
"Aye, fine," he sighed, just as Ellie heard, with the sinking remains of her heart, the shouted demands of Beth, growing closer.
-
Much later, he told her he'd been as shocked to see her that morning as she'd been to see him. "You'd been in my dreams a long time," he told her, spitting dirt and gravel out onto the grass. "I'd given up on you being real."
It was just gone seven in the morning — apparently all that nonsense about needing to wait until midnight on a new moon was just that — and Ellie'd been waiting for almost two hours, bundled up in a blanket from her car boot and sitting on a nearby tombstone. Hardy's grave, less than a day old, was marked by nothing more than the mound of dirt and a few sea-thrift flowers, which annoyed Hardy every time but which was, objectively, hilarious.
"How was I in your dreams and I only saw you the once before we met?" she demanded, handing him a water bottle. He took it and took a draught, spitting it out as well. Ellie made a face; this was the third time she'd watched this and it hadn't got less disgusting. He caught her expression and scowled.
"I didn't ask you to come," he reminded her, pouring some of the water into his palm and wiping at his face.
"No, you didn't. Are you going to answer the question?"
He took another drink, this time swallowing. "We'd better push on," he said, shaking the dirt from his trouser cuffs, and headed toward the carpark.
Rolling her eyes, Ellie chased after him. "Just don't get in before I put a tarp down or something," she said. "And by the way, not to say I told you so—"
"You're about to say 'I told you so,' I sense—"
"But I did warn you about Cooper and his temper."
"You didn't warn me he'd stab me with garden shears," Hardy grumped as he opened the gate for her.
"No, that bit surprised me," she admitted. "I did arrest him, but I'll be honest, I'm not sure what to charge him with. Murder seems a bit harsh, considering," and she waved vaguely. "You know."
"Attempted murder?" Hardy offered. "No one's ever tried to kill me before. Don't," he added, as she opened her mouth. "Just drive me home so I can change."
"Resurrection makes you really grumpy, you know that?"
"Maybe I should try coffee, always does wonders for your personality."
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