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Het Fighters



BDSM! Jet humbly invites you to join his Freedom Fighters:

Tranny!Zuko

Justin-Beiber-Lesbian!Smellerbee

Her girlfriend Metro!Longshot (who's so pretty Bee doesn't know he's a boy)

Pedo!Pipsqueek and the Duke

Now accepting applications at a backwoods discotheque near you!
This is a speculative one shot about how Zuko might handle it if Jet had survived until the end of the series.  For the purposes of this story, rather than being released, Jet was kept at Lake Laogai until Azula conquered Ba Sing Se.  The Freedom Fighters attempt to free him and so she has him and other high level prisoners sent to the Boiling Rock.

I haven't really considered the details of their relationship, but you can assume that it progressed like most Jetko stories.
Allow me to apologize for the complete lack of Jet's personality in this fic also.  There just wasn't much room left between Zuko and Azula. haha.

Enjoy!

Azula Never Lies

The torchlight flickers violent shadows on the folds of his scar and he feels too much like his father, standing tall and shadowed in deep red robes and surrounded by reverberating screams. He feels lost because he’s had a revelation---a slow one that stings as it comes to him over the course of weeks and weeks of visiting this dungeon. He wants to run away, to return to the suffocating distraction of the Palace and subdue this moment one more week, but he can’t. It rings in his ears again and again.

Azula never lies. Azula never lies. Azula never lies.

He spent weeks in denial, scraping through his memories with a fine tooth comb, needing it to be false. But with each memory a sickening certainty arrests him, because the truth, the real truth, is that Azula’s words wouldn't have hurt if they hadn't been true. To Azula, words were weapons and she only settled for the sharpest.

If anything, it was he that always lied---with heated denials and blue colored masks---but worst of all, with silence. It was always he who could not handle the truth, who told himself it was okay to kill a ten year-old in exchange for his father’s love, that it was okay to risk Uncle’s life in exchange for a futureless infatuation with Jet. And it was he who was too much of a coward to accept Azula’s incisive truths for what they were. Azula’s shrieks continued, chains rattling as she became more violent, less restrained, and grew bolder and bolder as her words forced Zuko to hunch deeper and deeper.

“Go ahead, Zuzu! Keep fooling yourself. Oh yes, you’re a hero, you’re a martyr, sacrificing your own desires for the good of the homeland. I mean, what could you possibly gain from freeing the prisoners of the Boiling Rock—the most dangerous enemies of the Fire Nation?”

Her limbs were bound to the back wall, but her meaning was clear as her gaze bored into his, punctuating the sentence with a vulgar rocking of the hips.

“Firelord Zuzu just wants peace! Just wants to make amends with the Earth King! It’s not like there’s any other reason he would want to set the Freedom Fighters free!”

She thrusts her hips again and Zuko visibly flinches. Her voice grows shrill and chilling, bouncing off the walls of the tiny cell as his brain whispers beyond his control.

‘Azula never lies. Azula never lies. Azula never lies.’

On and on she howls, until Zuko shouts and turns and storms out into the hallway. He shouldn’t be here, should never have come, but he knows he’ll be back next week. Azula is his sister, his family, and that means something to him. He wants to help her. But selfishly, he also doesn’t.

Because when he hears news from the Earth Kingdom and sees his ambassador chewing on the stem of a fire lily, it’s only Azula’s harsh, insane laughter that keeps his hands clasped between his sleeves. He is the Firelord and he has to think of the Fire Nation, has to forget the feeling of Earth Kingdom stubble scratching his neck and Earth Kingdom calluses massaging his balls. Because Jet is off limits in so many ways, and that fact alone means that no one else will do. And so he excuses himself to his study, cums fast and hard under his desk, and spends another night wallowing in self loathing.  It hurts, but he can't allow himself to lie anymore.

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the prison’s mental ward. One week, to the hour, and he listens to the doctor rattle off the slight changes in medication, the usual lack of response to any kind of treatment. He barely listens as they walk to her cell door. The mantra is back, if it ever even left.

Azula never lies. Azula never lies. Azula never lies.

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