This is my contribution to Katara Week 2015! I wish I could have done so much more, and maybe I’ll post a few things late, but because of how busy I’ve been lately, this is all I have to offer. Sorry for not being so active as of late! Once my schedule clears a bit, things will definitely be better :)
Rating: T (Some violence/swearing)
Summary: Mainly about Day Threes prompt [strength], but also a mixture of all seven prompts. It’s short and sweet.
“-not our Avatar after all-”
“Nothing but a phony group of-
"You should have stayed dead!”
The words dig beneath their skin from the mouths of the angry crowd, and Zuko feels his fury branding itself in the palms of his hands. From the corner of his eyes he can see the way Aang’s shoulders tense with each insult, the way Toph’s lips curl into a blistering sneer.
“Traitors to progression!”
A gray-haired, middle-aged man shoves to the front of the rioters.
“Maybe Ozai’ll let us fuck that waterbending bitch once he’s through with-”
Sokka’s knuckles crack along the man’s jaw, beating Zuko by only a second.
The crowd jostles around into a crooked ring circling the two men, chanting and cheering. Sokka launches himself at the man, eyes blazing and a furious shout ripping from his throat. They tumble to the ground, each vying for the upper hand. Dust kicks up as Sokka pins the older man with his knees and strikes out over and over and over again until his fist is a mixture of purple and red.
“Don’t-” punch “-fucking-” punch “-talk-” punch “-about-” punch “-my-”
A tendril of water suddenly wraps itself around his wrist and yanks until he is stumbling off of the bleeding man.
Zuko’s heart pounds, sparks from his fingertips betraying the flames soon to come, as he readies himself to help his friend and beat the shit out of these ungrateful peasants.
He whirls around in search of the offender before he sees her standing there, one fist curled around a near-translucent whip, and his brows draw in confusion.
Sokka stands from where Aang has caught him, bewildered. “Katara?”
There is concern etched in every corner of her face, but it is not for her brother.
The crowd watches, holding their breath as she kneels by the man on the floor.
His eyes are swollen, pulped lip dribbling blood down his jaw. He groans through clenched teeth.
“Let me help.” Her slender hands reach out, the water obeying her call and coating her palms. The man’s pained glare follows her movements in suspicion, and when her fingers graze his face, he jerks away from her touch, spitting at her.
Zuko growls low in his throat and his spine goes rigid, but before he can take even one step forward, an iron grip wraps around his arm. Toph tugs him back, bangs swaying before her milky eyes as she shakes her head at him.
Katara patiently bends the spit from her cheek. “Please. I only want to help.”
She tries again, placing her hands at the corner of his mouth, and this time the man lets her. In seconds, there is no trace of the countless bruises that had been scattered over his jaw and nose.
His brown eyes are still suspicious as he raises a hand to his now healed face.
Zuko watches as Katara rises from the ground, dirt smudging the hem of her skirt.
She looks at the crowd, at the people who called her the enemy, who threatened to kill her, and she walks away.
That is the moment where he realizes she is the strongest of them all.