#katara centric

[eajin-inor]

a lot of ATLA college AUs put Katara in a medical course, specifically Nursing, which is cool. But I'd like to put her in Anthropology or Sociology.

Anthropology, specifically Cultural Anthropology, because of her deep appreciation and understanding for other nations' cultures, especially her own.

Sociology because of how well she connects with other people and understands the situations they're in.

maybe im a little biased cuz im majoring in Social Studies but i hope u get the point XD

[jmesther]

What are some of the best Katara centric fan fictions out there?

[whocanbelieve]

Book Review: Katara and the Pirate's Silver

Enjoyable: 10/10

Reread ability: 7/10

Art: 9/10

Story: 10/10

Loved reading about Katara being a bamf. Loved an insight into all the little adventures the Gaang got into that didn't make it into the show.

[northerngoshawk]

How about this:

If you have written and/or read an Aang-centric/Katara-centric fic that you want featured in a masterpost, rb this post with the link to it along with two to three colors you would associate with it (yes, there is a purpose behind the color thing) 👀

[gemgirl28]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“The cure for everything is salt water- sweat, tears, or the sea.” - Isak Dinesen

Another fic completed because of NaNoWriMo! Should be updating every other day, or sooner if I get antsy.

I just love me some Katara healing, don't you?

[liketheshiningmoon]

giving you another one because why not: 5

A N G S T

You asked for it!!!

5. broken.

The rain began crashing into her face as Katara walked to her target and, if she was honest, she didn’t know how to feel about it. Katara had grown up loving the water and feeling a strong con-nection with her that she had never been able to explain. From the tiny snowflake to the most pow-erful wave; any form the water could take had always been the object of her admiration. Being that the reason why she had always loved being a waterbender. Being able to control the element she loved, shaping, and playing with it, being able to feel that connection that excited her.

Since she saw the rain for the first time, Katara had had a soft spot for her, though. Her soft jingle, the nice scent to petrichor, the happiness Katara felt when she saw her.

However, she couldn’t enjoy and appreciate the rain back then. Not when all her emotions were an amalgamate of hate and destruction, a chaos where all of them fought for leading. Not when she could feel her own anger combusting, encouraging any emotion she was feeling, increasing all the hate, and suffering that ruled over her heart.

Her memories accompanied her with each step, and she hated it. She didn’t want to remember that day again, but she couldn’t avoid it. She couldn’t forget the day in which her innocence was stolen, the day in which she saw her family broke.

Her memories became clearer the moment her eyes saw Yon Rha after so many years. The warm black snow that she had grown up hating, all the fear she had felt, the last words her mother used to comfort her, the last time she saw her family together before being destroyed.

But the last straw was discovering her mother had sacrificed for her, knowing that her being a wa-terbender had been the reason why her family had been divided. Knowing that broke her and made her hatred burn with a power she had never seen. Reaching the point in which she even hated being a waterbender for some seconds.

However, even when the loathing was consuming her, something stopped her when she threw her ice spears towards him. Without knowing how, she found herself dealing with a new mix of emo-tions, different to the ones she had been feeling during years. One that mixed fear and doubt, and that stopped her intentions.

The hate inside her was still latent, wishing to reduce everything to ashes, just like the ones she saw when she was still a child. But she knew that she wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt just like Yon Rha did. To live knowing she imitated the monster that lived in her nightmares.

[hereforthehurts]

This was written for a ko-fi request by anon, ty for supporting me !! ^^

...............................................

The word “mom” feels so foreign to him. It felt like a language he was supposed to know but doesn’t. Like the language of his ancestors, the language his grandmother and his father speaks but he doesn’t. He couldn’t remember the last time he knew what it meant. He doesn't know if he ever did know what it meant.

(He’s moving slowly, trying to navigate in the dark, trying not to panic. He couldn’t find the edge of the bed, or the nightstand, or - or Katara, where was Katara? had she left him? Had she gotten tired of him? Had she -)

Of course, if he wanted to try hard enough, he could picture her. Happy ones. Soft smiles, unbottled laughs, rough palms carding his scalp. Then, not so happy. Whispers, raspy voices. Sad smiles.

( His mouth floods with metal-tasting saliva, sharp and bitter and he’s slapping his hand over his mouth, his body convulsing as he scrambles for the edge of the bed, the bucket, where the fuck is it?)

Then, she’s in a room where he couldn’t follow, where nobody would let him in. Then she’s gone altogether.

(He’s finally leaning on the edge of the bed, coughing and spitting into the plastic layered trash can. The nausea wouldn’t seem to let him go even if he begs for it to, and he’s sick and embarrassed and tired, he’s so tired, why wouldn’t it stop? Why wouldn’t it stop?)

And then there was only Katara.

(There’s shifting in the bed. Soft groans, a quiet, alarmed yelp, a hand reaching to gather his hair. A small click, then the night lamp illuminating his room. Shushing, there’s a lot of shushing, gentle touches hoping to comfort him. He wants to cry, wants to call for his mother, but he doesn’t.)

There was only Katara for the rest of the way. For as long as he could remember.

(“Shhh, it’s okay,” she’s shushing him again, pressing small kisses against his bare shoulders, running her hand soothingly along his spine. She doesn’t show affection often, not like this, but she does, now. Sokka doesn’t know whether it’s him being sick or him sobbing like a little child - but it was probably both. Katara always knows when he needs something. This was probably one of those times.)

Isn’t that just horrible? Him pushing his little sister into the role of a mother? Isn’t that just fucking horrible? Shouldn’t she hate him?

(“Sokka, breathe. Breathe.”)

She probably already does.

(He’s choking, vomit dribbling off his chin, splattering into the plastic lining. Katara’s patting his back, her hand supporting the side of his head because he was so weak, he was that weak. He always was.)

He sobs, his words turning into a mess of incoherent mumble. He doesn't know if Katara could figure out what he means, but she probably could. It was all the same words, anyway. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t need to take care of me. I’m a mess. You shouldn’t see this. He’s probably said it a million times already.

(Not that Katara minded. She held her brother back and wiped the vomit off his chin gently, settling him back on the bed. He curls into himself and tries to make himself small, but Katara doesn’t let him, she never does. Instead she wipes away his sweat-plastered bangs and presses her lips against his burning forehead, frowning when she feels it.)

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Katara murmurs softly. “You’re burning up. Can I get dad? Is that okay?”

He nods. There’s another shift in the bed, and then he’s alone again, shivering from the biting cold. He didn’t remember it being so cold. But then again, maybe he doesn’t remember anything at all.

When he woke up again, his father was on his side, frowning at the numbers inside the thermometer - which was weird, because he didn’t remember his temperature being taken at all. He opens his mouth, wanting to tell him he’s sorry, sorry to bother him, sorry for waking him up in the middle of the night - but Katara kissed him once again and told him that it’s okay, and that was that.

“You’ve got to take it easy, kiddo,” his father says softly. “Any higher and we’d have to take you to the ER.”

“Just let him sleep for a while, dad,” Katara spoke over him, but he was too tired to listen to what any of them has to say. He grasps on Katara’s shirt and buries his face in the crook of her shoulders, just like she’s done to him a million times.

(It was probably just one of the little things they’ve picked up from their mother. They didn’t know that, of course, but Hakoda does. He noticed those little things and kept it to himself, because he didn’t know how to ever bring it up. Maybe he will, one day, but not now. Not when his children were hanging onto one another like it's their lifeline.)

“Okay,” Hakoda agrees softly. “Just - if he’s getting worse…”

“I’ll know,” Katara dismisses him once again. “I promise I’d know. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

(He’s heard those exact words come out of Sokka’s mouth on more than one occasion before. It hurts him, yes. But it doesn’t surprise him.)

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He watched his daughter settle back into the bed, adjusting his brother’s body to fit in hers like two pieces of a matching puzzle. He pats Sokka’s back, then Katara’s, and then he leaves. He knows better than to disturb them. It’s sacred, whatever it is they have between them, and he’s not touching it until they let him.

(He wouldn’t blame them if they never do.)

And Katara pulled his brother closer into her. It wasn’t fair that she made him be a mother. That she had to be a mother figure to whatever was left of this broken family her mother left them when she died. It wasn’t Kya’s fault. Maybe partly Hakoda’s. But it wasn’t theirs. Not Katara’s, not Sokka’s. Maybe they made mistakes, forcing one another into a role that they weren’t ready for, a role they weren’t supposed to be. She knows that they’d forever be guilty about that, knows that it eats Sokka up inside. But then again, what were they supposed to do? They were eight and ten. They were just children.

And after all, it wasn’t only her that got forced into the role of a mother. It was Sokka, too, being a dad they both didn’t have when Hakoda left. Sokka who makes sure the doors are locked every night. Sokka who makes sure that nobody’s giving her trouble at school, Sokka who makes sure that she was safe and okay. He was too a dad, whether he admits to it or not. And sometimes, Katara wished he would. It would have been easier.

(Two siblings, curled up against each other on a cold night. One of them too sick to think, the other too sick of thinking. They curl up tighter against the comforting presence of a mother they didn’t have and a father who was too late to have them. But they had each other. They always have.)

 

(And that was enough. It was enough, for tonight.)

[eajin-inor]

"You only ship Zutara cuz you see yourself in Katara."

So what if i do?

As the eldest grandchild of a filipino family, i understood Katara's struggles immediately. The way she had to play the mother role for the sake of her brother. The way her anger was always dismissed. The way she connected to people through shared experiences. The way she cared for everyone, even those of the Fire Nation. The way people misunderstood her...

And I saw myself in her too. Not in her blue eyes, but in her brown skin and wavy hair... that was my hair and my skin color. (no face reveal, just a deer)

It was so rare to have a cartoon character actually physically remind me of myself, so ofc I clung onto her. (that's why representation matters, guys)

I ship them cuz i understood the level of understanding that only THEY can have. I understood that the daughter that had her life revolved around people would've wanted someone who let her do her own thing.

Zuko let her do that, so that's why i ship it.