Prince Ozai's Crazy Solstice Adventure

Ozai had always loved the Solstice. Not that he would ever admit it to Azulon, or Iroh, or Ilah, or anyone with a pulse and a pair of working ears, but there was something about the unbelievable beauty of the lights on the Solstice that captivated him twice each year, without fail. The confluence of the Human and Spirit Worlds brought many wild and strange wonders with it, but the bands of light flickering across the sky never failed to be breathtaking. Ozai was standing on the crest of a hill overlooking the Fire Nation's royal palace, clad only in his gloriously comfortable silk pajama pants.

Silk, he was quick to remind Iroh, that had been harvested from only the most perfect specimens of bumble-worm. They felt damn good. His hair was flowing gently in the wind, to say nothing of his perfectly-manicured beard. Twenty minutes every morning went into perfecting his beard for the day, but for some reason Azulon thought that was 'bizarre' and 'unmanly'. But really, what was more manly than an excellent beard? Nothing, except perhaps to be riding on a dragon while stroking said excellent beard in a most fiendish manner. Fire Lord Sozin, Ozai's grandfather, had apparently mastered the ancient art of fiendish beard-stroking-from-on-top-of-a-dragon.

Truly, an idol for the ages.

Ozai was deep in contemplation and self-congratulation over the living masterpiece that was his beard when he heard a rustling sound in the undergrowth behind him. Mortified that someone might see him acting so unabashedly appreciative of nature's beauty, as well as his magnificent beard, he spun around and quickly launched a blast of fire into the nearby foliage.

There was a thud and Ozai waited tensely, a ball of fire poised in his hand. As the smoke began to clear, he saw a figure limping out of it, holding its side and groaning. He was ready to launch another attack, but when the smoke cleared completely, what Ozai saw made him stop cold in his tracks.

The figure was a woman, and a jaw-droppingly gorgeous one at that. Her body was so flawless Ozai was sure even his fantasies in his younger days hadn't been so amazing, the curves of it drawing his eyes ever upward, until they reached her face. Her eyes were piercing amber, like his; her hair long and black, like his; her mouth, perfectly-shaped, her canine teeth, alluringly fanged, and the furry, pointed white ears on her head—

Wait, what?

A young woman with fangs and furry, pointed white ears? Not to mention, looking at him with a decidedly feral and angry expression on her face?

What was going on?

"What the fuck was that for, human?!" the strange woman-creature-thing snarled, sounding very much angry and in pain. "Do you just randomly incinerate people as they walk past you in the street? Are you drunk? Seriously, explain yourself to me in five seconds or I swear on Koh's smug fucking grinning face I will rip off your nuts and sell them to the talking monkey spirit!"

"Uhh…" Ozai said, thoroughly and completely shocked by the outburst. "I'm sorry? I didn't know you were… you," he finished lamely, and the spirit arched a pair of beautifully incredulous eyebrows.

"You're 'sorry'?" she said, pausing for a moment to clutch her side and hiss. "You're sorry? Do you have any idea how much this fucking hurts? You could've killed me, you ignorant bipedal bastard! I don't care how sorry you are! Fuck, this hurts," she groaned, still clutching her side. "How'd you even do that? Who are you?"

"I—I'm Prince Ozai, second son of Fire Lord Azulon," Ozai said, very much not wanting to get his nuts ripped off and sold to a monkey spirit. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It was an accident."

"That was some pretty good aim for an 'accident', Ozai son of Azulon," the spirit said, still sounding irritated. "And what in the name of the River Kaji are you doing walking around without a shirt on?" she asked, clearly looking for any and all ways to disparage Ozai, from how he was seeing it. "Don't you humans get sick and whine and die in agony if a cold north wind brushes gently over your delicate little heads?"

"No," Ozai replied, taking it upon himself to be offended for the entire collective of the human race. "Have you seen the people who live up in the Northern Water Tribe? Their city is literally made of ice. They love the cold."

"No, I haven't been that far up north," the spirit said, plopping down onto the ground to sit cross-legged and look miserable while she clutched her side some more. "I don't try to come to the Human World at all, usually. But I got tricked into making the trip earlier today by a jackass trickster spirit, who I am absolutely going to roast with some lightning and eat once I get back home later. And then some uncoordinated, bone-headed dullard of a human who will remain nameless for the sake of the rest of his species' pride blasted me with a ball of fire out of fucking nowhere, and now I'm fucking stuck here and this really hurts," she finished with a distraught groan, tears at the corners of her eyes that tugged at something in the corner of Ozai's usually-stoic heart.

"Look, I said I was sorry and I meant it," he told her, walking over and sitting down across from the spirit. "How can I fix this? I don't even know how healing spirits works. My Spirituality teacher in school said that spirits couldn't even be hurt. If you don't tell me how I can help, there isn't much I can do."

"You've already done more than enough, Prince Ozai," the spirit said, frowning at him in a way that was quickly becoming less 'terror-inspiring' and more 'adorably-petulant'. "Unless you can somehow make your own lightning, which is impossible because humans can't even do that, then there's nothing you can do to help me… unless you could convince the clouds to show up and make a thunderstorm for me, I guess."

"I can make lightning," Ozai said simply, confused. "Everyone in the Royal Family can."

The spirit arched her eyebrows again, this time in genuine shock.

"What?"

"I can make lightning," Ozai repeated. "But why would that heal you? We use it to murder people, pretty much every time we want to kill someone and send a very definitive message while doing it."

"Were you drinking Cactus Juice by the barrel in your Spirituality class?" the spirit asked. "I'm a kitsune. A fox spirit. We create the lightning. It's our thing. Koh steals faces, the monkey spirit is a pompous asshole, Tui and La control the Moon and the Ocean, and kitsune create lightning. What I want to know is, how did you ever learn how to do it?"

"My grandfather taught my father, who taught my brother and me," Ozai explained, thinking back while stroking his beard most appropriately. "Sozin said he learned it from… from…" here he trailed off, leading the kitsune to arch an eyebrow again.

"From who?" she prodded. "Come on, you can't just stop right before the best part. That's not fair."

"From a woman he met during the Solstice," Ozai finished, the story from his childhood finally making sense now. "Of course. He must've learned it from another kitsune."

"There's no way that's true," the kitsune said, her eyes wide. "To do that, to give that power to a human… it would've meant banishment at best, or death at worst."

"Look, I'm not lying to you, okay?" Ozai insisted. "My grandmother Orah said she saw the whole thing happen."

"Orah?" the kitsune repeated, still shocked. "Your grandmother's name was Orah? That's impossible."

"You show up, you insult me for five minutes straight, threaten to castrate me and sell my balls to a monkey spirit, and now you're saying I don't know my own family history?" Ozai snapped, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Do you want me to help you or not?"

"… yes," the kitsune said after a moment's silence, sounding almost ashamed. "If you really can make lightning, that should be able to heal me. But if you can't, or if you screw it up somehow, I am going to kill you and eat you for dinner. Just so we're clear," she said as she got shakily to her feet, before groaning and lurching forward, off-balance.

"Easy, easy," Ozai said, stopping her fall and bracing her against him, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that the kitsune was wearing little more than a robe and he was wearing nothing above the waist.

"Can you stand?" he asked, desperate to think about anything other than what he was feeling right now.

"Yes," the kitsune said, lightly pushing Ozai away. He saw a blush fade from her cheeks and had to fight not to grin—there were more important things to worry about, like preventing his otherwise-imminent death and consumption for dinner.

Exhaling and focusing and trying not to dwell on what the kitsune's body had felt like—which was just as damn good as his silk pajama pants, honestly—Ozai focused his chi flow and created a small amount of lightning, moving his arms in the slow, methodical circle his father had taught him.

"Amazing," the kitsune breathed, while Ozai tried to get over his last shred of misgiving.

"Are you sure this won't kill you?" he asked, slowing down the final movement just enough to give the kitsune time to answer.

"And you think I'm the one questioning your expertise?" she asked, snorting with derision before hissing in pain again as her side began to bleed afresh. "Just do it already!"

Ozai released the lightning, cringing internally as he saw it make solid contact with the kitsune. The impact created another cloud of smoke, the smell of burning grass and air almost suffocating. But a few long moments later, he heard the sound of a contented sigh coming from the other side of the smoke.

"Ahhhhh, that's much better," the kitsune said, walking forward with a pleased saunter and noticeably lacking the wound in her side.

Ozai was very quick to notice, however, that she was also missing something else. He turned a shade of red and quickly looked down at his feet, old childhood reflexes of modesty reasserting themselves.

"What is it?" the kitsune asked, seemingly oblivious. "Is something wrong?"

"Clothes." Ozai managed to choke out, trying very, very hard not to look up.

The kitsune paused, looked down, realized what Ozai had meant, and began to laugh.

"You humans are ridiculous," she said, her fanged canine teeth glinting in the light of the aurora. "There was a time when all of you walked around with no clothes on and threw your feces at each other, you know. This isn't that strange."

"Yes it is," Ozai said. "All of this is very strange. And you need to put clothes on. Please."

But the kitsune had a gleam in her amber eyes now, and the smirk on her face was decidedly predatory. She walked forward with slow, deliberate steps, as if daring Ozai to look up with each passing moment.

"For all your bluster, you really are pretty fragile," the kitsune mused, reaching out and caressing one of her hands along Ozai's jawline, and then down to his beard. "What a fascinating contrast. Look at me, Ozai."

He raised his head, the challenging words seeming to have ignited a fire behind his eyes again.

"Perhaps I'm not as fragile as you think," he said, boyish embarrassment gone and replaced with prideful, obstinate strength. There was a thrumming undercurrent to his voice that caught the kitsune's attention, and she smiled wide.

"Perhaps not," she said, opening her mouth just wide enough to let her tongue trail over the tip of one of her fangs, sending a primal shiver down Ozai's spine. "Only one way to know for sure, though."

She leaned in and kissed him, catching Ozai by surprise. It was as electric as the lightning, its raw power threatening to overwhelm Ozai completely. But he did not bend, answering the kitsune's hunger with hunger of his own. Her fang pierced his lower lip, drawing blood, but he did not relent. A few moments later, they finally parted. The kitsune licked her lips with a deliberateness that made Ozai shiver again, an odd light in her eyes.

"Your blood is strong, Prince Ozai," the kitsune said. "I think I'll keep you, after all."

Ozai opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden wooziness overtook him and his words froze on his tongue. The world swam in front of him, darkness swallowing everything except for the kitsune's face, leaving only her sharp amber eyes as the light in the shadow before everything went black.

Ozai awoke with a throbbing headache, the morning sun shining down with insufferable cheeriness as the birds nearby sang with insufferably happy chirping noises.

Ozai wanted to murder them all. Even the sun.

He rose groggily to his feet and stretched the soreness out of his muscles, trying to remember what had happened last night. All he remembered was coming up here to look at the aurora during the Solstice, and then—

Ozai's tongue grazed over a cut in his lower lip and he hissed, cursing. But then, as he calmed back down and slowly examined the wound with his tongue, he realized that it was the sort of cut only left by the piercing of a fang. And then all the memories from the previous night came crashing back into him, and Ozai staggered under their weight.

When the recollection was done, Ozai was left only with the hollow, stricken realization that he would probably never see the kitsune again. And not only that, but he hadn't even gotten her name.

Sighing and kicking an opportunely-placed rock, Ozai walked down from the hill, past the burned tangle of bushes he himself had set on fire, and headed for home.

When he got there, despite his best attempts to sneak back into his room unnoticed so he could prepare for the rest of the day, his brother was quick to find him with a jovial laugh and a wide smile on his face.

"What happened to you last night, Ozai?" Iroh asked, moving to walk beside his brother down the hall as Ozai kept on walking resolutely towards his room. "You look like shit."

"I feel worse," Ozai grumbled. "And I don't even really remember what happened last night."

"Well, someone seems to," Iroh said, a distinctly mischievous note in his voice. "Were you out having fun without me, little brother?"

"What are you even talking about, Iroh?" Ozai asked, glaring at his brother.

"A lovely young woman showed up at the palace this morning, asking after you," Iroh said. "I told her you were out, but that she could wait in your room for you to come back."

"You let some random woman into my private chambers?" Ozai asked, his voice barely above a growl. "Need I remind you what happened the last time you pulled a stunt like that?"

"Relax, relax," Iroh said with a chuckle. "If you'd seen her, you'd be on your knees thanking me right now." He whistled. "Spirits, but was she beautiful. But here we are," Iroh finished, stopping in front of the door to Ozai's private rooms. "You can go in and greet her yourself. Good luck, little brother. Try not to screw this one up, too," Iroh said in parting, grinning and winking before walking down the hallway in the other direction, whistling a tune.

Ozai shook his head, pushing his door open with a sigh.

"Look," he said as he entered, "I don't know who you are, but—"

"Really?" the woman cut him off, her voice grabbing Ozai's attention immediately and snapping his head up to face her. "I think we both know that's a lie, Prince."

"You," Ozai breathed, scarcely believing his eyes as he walked forward, one stunned step at a time. She'd lost her white ears and her fangs, but there was no mistaking the shape of her grin, or the mirthful, mischievous light in her amber eyes.

It was the kitsune.

"You came back," Ozai said as he reached her, bringing his hand up to brush against her decidedly human-looking ear.

"I said I would, didn't I?" she replied, still smiling. "You're mine, Ozai. You owe me for that burn, and I intend to collect on that debt until I'm satisfied."

"Oh?" Ozai said, smiling in kind at the challenge. "And what would it take to make you satisfied, my Lady?"

"A great deal," she replied, leaning forward to breathe against Ozai's ear, her voice dropping to a whisper that set his whole body on edge.

"The appetites of us kitsune are known to be… prodigious."

"I think you'll find we have that in common," Ozai replied, and he could feel her smiling against his ear. "But before we go any further, my Lady," he continued, "I would know your name."

The kitsune chuckled, a beguiling sound that made Ozai want to simultaneously please her, and be pleased by her.

Yes, this was going to be very, very fun, indeed.

"My name," the kitsune answered, "is Ursa."

"Well then, Lady Ursa," Ozai said as he leaned back just enough to look her in the eyes, grinning again, "it's a pleasure to formally meet you."

"Please," Ursa replied with a laugh, "we both know the pleasure will be all mine, Ozai."

The Prince smiled again, and neither of them said much more in the way of words until the sun had gone back down again.

...

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A/N: This was cracky and deliberately zany and hilarious and disregarding of canon for a reason, which was that I needed some laughs in my life. This was not meant to be taken seriously at all, so I hope you were able to enjoy it as such. Also, I'm of the opinion that younger Ozai was just as dorky as Zuko at points before he went full fascist-tyrant, so here we are.

And I think we all know Ursa wears the pants in their relationship, let's be honest.