Bleak meter: Hard bleak; gore.

Timeline: Anywhere after Season 9/Hunted.

JustRandom: Hoho, fancy folks I'm rubbing elbows with here, then!
Well, lemme know if that changes.
Ahhhhhh, not those dragons, this is a different universe. Although to be entirely honest, while HTTYD is easily one of my favorite movies ever, I spent a good bit of it going, "damn, Hiccup sure relaxed fast around this potentially unpredictable wild animal." Like, when they're playing the line-stepping game or when Toothless is being possessive about his fish, if it were me I'd be like, "oh god, he's growling, he's changed his mind about eating me—"
NO. No feelings. Avert your eyes please. :P
Faith says she can't feel special, she has no feelings—You've really gotten under her skin with this one.
How are you gonna blackmail her when the whole village already knows about it? XD
Gah, I feel kind of bad. What are you going to do when you find out he's a horrible person same as the rest of them? X'P
Hahaaaaaa, yes it is. That's the only way I could allow myself to get away with such a lame title.

Orchid: Hai fren! Thanks for the reviews. Prepare yourself for a long reply.
Maybe he should be, but he's literally as far from a chad as you can get. XD
*straight face* Costco.
Heh, nah, I had to invoke Healing Plant for that, it would never happen IRL. But the neuroanatomy does line up, at least.
If you mean the whole "one day I'll be the boss of you" line, that was a self-fulfilling prophecy. She spent the rest of her life trying to make good on that threat.
Yeah, but that's a longer story.
Everyone is so hung up on the pink. XD I dunno what you mean about the green, tho. What would it be if it weren't a coincidence?
I don't think it's a standard dragon thing? Maybe just a more general fantasy animal thing.
If you're implying that Faith and Muzzle is a ship, then no, sorry. No. XD Faith just wants to protecc because he's smol.
Faith's outlook is realistically more conducive to survival, let's put it that way.
Thamk fren.
Yeah, later in the grand scheme of things, Jet Jack settles down and starts dating Arkade steady. She's the only one to have seen him with the armor off.
I do have a hard time being explicitly cruel to my characters, still. I'm going to have to get past that, I have some spirits to break.
It was just a ship fic.
The sad part is, Faith might feel like she's at Jet Jack's throat a lot of the time, but Jet Jack thinks they're friends.

Muzzle was a connoisseur of radio ghosts. It was ironic, because when it came to real ghosts he was easily the worst coward in Dead's End, but their FM counterparts were one of his favorite things. On any drive longer than five minutes he'd be tinkering with the radio, trying to pick up some tinny, staticky strains of music or news. When Faith told him she'd seen the ninja picking up radio signals from Ninjago while they were here, confirming the popular theory that radio ghosts were from other realms, he only become more enthusiastic.

The others didn't complain much. Usually he found some pretty interesting tunes, and the background noise was nice to have while working. There was a superstition that if you heard the same radio ghost more than once it would bring you the same kind of luck each time, so there was often a lot of debate about whether this or that scrap of music was familiar or not.

It was a bit of a tricky catch today. When Muzzle finally found a working frequency, No-Legs looked up and called, "turn that off, I know this one."

Muzzle poked his head out of the cab, chattering in disagreement.

"That one hunt, remember?" said No-Legs. "Shadow dragon? We lost six Hunters?"

"Turn it off," called Jet Jack, overhearing.

Muzzle chirped in dismay and hastily changed the channel. There were some relieved sighs when he picked up another station, and some cheerful notes nobody recognized came tumbling from the radio.

"This one better not become unlucky," said Jet Jack. Faith shrugged—a bit too light for her tastes—but tapped one foot slightly as she sat back polishing her blade. She was flung a little too far back to get up at maximum speed if someone attacked, but then again they wouldn't all be listening to music if they weren't on low alert.

Meanwhile Jet Jack was flopped back on her hands atop the Dieselnaught, her head bobbing. After a moment she cocked her head, then abruptly swooped down from the rig and descended upon Chew Toy. Grabbing his hands, she hauled him to his feet and swung him around, sand spurting around their boots, only the barest hint of synchrony between their bodies and the music.

This happened fairly often; it was kind of their thing. Just a quick swing around, whirl and break apart, always when you least expected it; if there was any kind of standard footwork to it, clearly Chew Toy had never learned. Faith had a sneaking suspicion that getting him to trip was half the point.

He tripped this time, and Jet Jack broke away and whirled onwards, leaving him stumbling.

"Screw you, Jackie," he muttered, casting an irritated glance after her before going back to work.

She never picked on anyone else in that particular way. Maybe she realized nobody else would tolerate it. Nobody else paid much attention to it except to roll their eyes, or in Faith's case be mildly irritated on Chew Toy's behalf.

Nobody except Chew Toy and maybe Redskull knew Jet Jack's real name, but there was a running joke that it must be "Concussion"—that was what people kept saying when she was absent from role call. With her lifestyle, she was particularly injury-prone. Concussions and sometimes much worse.

She had been out of commission since yesterday, after a particularly brutal jetpack malfunction. There were a lot of snarky comments about how much quieter it was all of a sudden; badmouthing Jet Jack behind her back was a blood sport. Faith contributed only noncommittally. She had visited Jet Jack, as she did all sick or injured Hunters, and although she knew she was expected to enjoy the jezebel's absence, the words stuck in her throat. Jet Jack's hut, always an ill-kept mess, had been dark and reeking of blood and charred flesh; Jet Jack herself curled in a corner sopped in her own juices, shivering and crying out softly, lost to the outside world. She'd live, given the Healing Plant she'd choked down, but that didn't preclude hell from giving her a preview.

Chew Toy was a good Hunter. He knew what the expectations were; he gave no outward sign of concern and fulfilled all his duties without faltering. He didn't visit. He worked hard to keep his demeanor unchanged; a good Hunter didn't let his performance suffer out of pity for anyone. Especially Jet Jack.

He only gave himself away one way. Muzzle dug up some radio ghosts that evening, and Faith watched as Chew Toy's head came up, seeming to search for something. After a moment his eyes clouded in realization and he went back to work.

Prompt was "Dance."