WHY DOES MY BRAIN DO THESE THINGS?, or: adventures in I Didn’t Mean To Ship It
So today, for reasons unknown, my brain decided to spontaneously generate a new crossover OTP: Jody Mills of Supernatural and Chris Argent of Teen Wolf. I’m calling this ship Jogent and it’s fucking flawless, FIGHT ME.
Narrative reasons this ship is perfect:
- Chris has lost his wife and daughter; Jody has lost her husband and son.
- Both have become surrogate parents to wayward supernatural teens, particularly Isaac (Chris) and Alex (Jody). By a strange quirk of casting, Isaac has the same colouring as Jody’s son (Owen), while Alex has the same colouring as Chris’s daughter (Allison).
- Both of them are total BAMFs who just really deserve something good in their lives.
- Jody respects hunters who follow a code; Chris is a hunter who follows a code. Chris respects badass women leaders; Jody is a badass woman who leads.
- They can bond over loving adorkable blonde sheriffs (that is, Stilinski and Donna) while mutually eyerolling at how they each know two ridiculous brothers and their stubbled, dark-haired companion (who the cocky, loudmothed brother totally wants to bone already) who somehow manage to be the epicentre of everything magically fucked-up and weird in their lives.
Emotional reasons this ship is perfect:
- Chris and Jody are both used to being the adults, meaning: they stow their crap to help everyone younger deal with theirs. But then they run into each other on a case, right? And they start to get along, because they can both appreciate competence when they see it (and the good genes don’t hurt, either). But then Chris damn near has a panic attack when he sees Alex, because she looks so fucking much like Allison, right down to the knives and the attitude, and Jody has no idea why this capable guy suddenly looks like his heart’s being ripped out of his chest except that then hers is, too, because the boy who steps up beside him looks exactly like she’d always imagined Owen would if he’d lived to grow up. And they’re standing there, mute and devastated while their kids try to figure out what’s wrong, but when they look back at each other, they know, because some pain you can only recognise from experience, and just at that moment, they might as well be staring into a mirror.
- So Alex takes Isaac to go meet their resident werewolf, Kate (who knew there were so many kinds of shifter?) while Chris and Jody get a drink at a bar. A silent drink, because neither one of them is much for talking, and this isn’t the kind of commonality you want to boast about. But it’s there, and they solved the case together, and after a couple of scotches, Jody mentions that the booth across the way, over there? That’s where she went on a date with the actual King of Hell. And Chris laughs, says, ‘Why do I get the feeling that’s not a euphemism?’, and tells her about the time a dark druid tried to sacrifice him to a magic tree.
- So of course they start trading stories about all the ridiculous shit that’s happened to them (they theorise the Nemeton is why Beacon Hills was spared the worst of the apocalypse drama six years back; the magic tree might attract monsters, but it still protects its own) and laugh harder at the absurdity of it than either of them has in years, and as they finally start to wind back down, that’s when Jody says, quietly, what happened to her family, and Chris says, equally quietly, what happens to his; how Jody watched her monster-son kill her monster-husband, then killed him in turn; how Chris helped kill his werewolf-wife before she turned, how a nogitsune killed his daughter. And they reflect on the irony of it, that Jody killed a monster-mother to rescue Alex; that Chris’s wife chose to die rather than become a werewolf, and now he’s raising one. They have a toast to found children and second chances.
- It’s not fireworks. It’s callouses steadily wearing soft, and mutual exasperation at the antics of the young, and mutual terror, poorly concealed, at how none of their children are really young any more, not after what they’ve seen. It’s someone you can trust at your back, and comfort when you need it. Silence that gives instead of asking. Something rough and complicated. Something real.
In conclusion: I HAVE WAY TOO MANY FEELINGS AND MY BRAIN IS A TRASHPILE. JOIN ME SO I DON’T HAVE TO SUFFER ALONE.
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I don’t watch either show and you’ve managed to talk me into it.
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