This is one of my OCs, Jet the Husky!
Some info:
He/Him
Bisexual
21 y/o
Husky (As the name implies)
Works as a plumber
Favorite color is pink
A massive himbo
Likes spicy food, even if he can't handle it well
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YOUR MEDIC!READER X JET HAS BREATHED LIFE INTO ME. MAKE THEM HOLD HANDS. I BEG. THE PINING IS INSANE. The atla jet fandom is DRY so you're doing god's work out here 😭 😭 (Or anything tbh! I'm absolutely in love with your writing 😭❤️)
🌾 ・ HAND IN LOVING HAND
summ. Jet comes into a dawning realisation. It starts with a mission gone wrong.
pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader
w.count. 0.7k ( just a blurb! )
a/n. Ask and you shall receive! I’m so glad you love medic!reader as much as I do!
He figures, later, that it might have started with Operation: Creeping Cricket.
Courtesy to Smellerbee for the unique mission name, ofcourse.
That had involved, to date: A handful of Freedom Fighters itching for a fight, an imprisoned pair of orphan twins they’d planned to break out, a couple of dumb Fire Nation spies, and the leaky walls they called the borders of Omashu.
Except, ofcourse, it wouldn’t be a mission without a series of unfortunate events, of which occurred: a storm that changed Sneers’ accurately-predicted course of said Fire Nation spies, which meant their little hostages that they’d come to rescue would be headed down a different path, which also meant their traps lining on the trail towards the borders of Omashu— that The Duke had spent a frustratingly long amount of time setting up— would be rendered useless.
They settled on a brute force ambush instead, much to your disdain; you were, after all, a better healer than you were a fighter.
“This was a terrible—!” You pause to dodge a burst of white hot flames from a Fire Nation soldier. The rain is quick to dampen their efforts, luckily for you. “This was a terrible plan, Jet!”
He strains to hear you underneath the torrent. “Don’t blame me, Pipsqueak started it! Duck!”
You duck. Another spy crumples behind you, thanks to the swing of Jet’s tiger blades, and as the soldier lands on the ground— that’s when you notice it; the quaking rumble of earth, the jumping of stones.
Earth Kingdom Guards have caught wind.
In the distance, Longshot produces a birdcall from high above— shrill and piercing, one that’s rarely ever been used amongst the rebellion— a warning. Retreat. The Freedom Fighters are outnumbered. Scatter.
The ground erupts beneath you, and you scream. You practically sweep Jet off his feet as you snatch his hand and take off to higher ground to avoid the rising tempest. Hot on your heels, both of you can feel the snap and crackle of roots tearing deep underneath as the kingdom guards begin their manhunt.
“Quick!” you urge, as he trips over his footing. You glance at him over your shoulder, giving him a squeeze in your intertwined fingers as you check, “Hey, you hurt?”
“I— uh, no,” he stumbles, for some reason. Nothing but superficial cuts and bruises, anyway. He’ll live. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
It could’ve been minutes or an hour of just running, he isn’t quite sure— he’s too busy noting how your hands fit awfully perfect against his, and how despite the rain and muck, you still managed to look... collected. (Collected, he thinks, because he refused to admit anything unforgivably romantic.) Jet lets himself be led across the maze of woodland and grass, and catches himself wondering whether the hand holding had been a conscious move at all.
At the time, he’d decided it didn’t matter.
It shouldn’t, Jet had reasoned to himself, as you tugged him underneath an overhang and into a hidden crevice. Beyond the roguish charm and borderline flirtatious jokes he liked to play at— both of you were, at the end of the day, amidst an unending war. You were the Rebellions’ resident medic, and he was their token leader. There was no time to entertain fairytales and pipedreams.
“I think we lost them,” you pant, peeking over. “Do you think the others are okay?”
Jet looks at you, fights back the urge to tuck the rain-wet strands of your hair behind your ear so he can see your face better; how the light hits your profile and sets your eyes alight, down to the tip of your nose, and to your mud-stained cheeks. Collected. Capable, he reminds himself. Not pretty. Not pretty. Not—
“What’s wrong?” you ask, when you’d caught his gaze. “Jet?”
“Ah. Uh, nothing,” he blinks away— too fast; too quick to hide the obvious lie. “The others can handle themselves. Let’s, let’s wait for the storm to pass.”
This is simply camaraderie, he’d convinced himself, and stifled down the barb of disappointment that crept in him when you were the first to finally let go.
Right?
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The long awaited(?) 7th round of character profiles!
We looking at the Babylon rogues this time cuz I love the birb fam
Jettison (Jet):
Professional racer and part-time annoying little brother of the group, Jet is the more lively heart of his little flock. Still young and hot-headed, He is quick to anger and never backs down from a challenge. Even at the cost of his health, much to the other's dismay.
Wave:
The only one Jet even sort of listens to, Wave is the brains of the group. She often cares for and trains Jet for his races as his personal coach but loves to tinker with machines in her free time. She's the calmest in messy situations but don't let that trick you into thinking she wont snap a neck if need be.
Storm:
The protective eldest brother of the group. He speaks little and is on guard always after escaping their home city many years ago with his three siblings. Storm is often lost in thoughts and thus appears to never pay attention to many conversations, but he remembers them quite well. He's often the one carrying around Jet's things, being the strongest and all.
Ruin (oc):
Storm's only blood sibling of the flock, Ruin is often in competition with Jet for whatever strikes her fancy in the moment. Crafty and mischievous, most problems for the group are often caused by her but with her quick wit, can eventually get the group out of it. Chaotic, she loves pranks and jokes, but will have to be reigned in when she inevitability goes too far.
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