#with / hakoda.

[wileycap]

I don't think I've seen anybody talk about how absolutely insane The Boiling Rock is from Hakoda's perspective.

Imagine getting captured, and your son tells you that you won't be apart for too long. That's sweet, but obviously your son has no resources to spare for organizing a breakout. You hope that the Avatar can defeat the Fire Lord soon - that's the earliest time you could hope to be rescued.

You get put into a temporary holding facility until the guards can sort out who is who. After a while, they put you on a prisoner transport to the Boiling Rock. Your captors try to intimidate you by telling you that it's the highest security prison in the Fire Nation, probably the whole world. It's far away from the capital.

You arrive at the Boiling Rock. It really is in the middle of a boiling lake. There's only one way in or out, and it's a gondola that takes you above the boiling lake. You meet the warden. They take you to your cell. You settle down to wait for the end of the war.

And 15 minutes later Sokka comes in like "hey dad I'm here I got the prince of the Fire Nation and an Earth Kingdom ninja leader gf ok let's go I'm busting you out"

[bakedbeanchan]

random fire nation diplomat #492 will never understand the complex and fucked up relationship between the water siblings like I do 🙄

[thorcep]

Zuko and Suki had an awakening in the blimp after boiling rock

[chiptrillino]

ID: Katara and sokka in swimgear. in the first image, sokka is searching for something in the water. his hair getting wet. katara leans over to him saying "don't you think, its time for a haircut?" in the second image sokka rose form the water, a dog-shark creature in hand, swinging his hair in Katara face splashing her. smugly he says "no <3". End ID

i know its winter! i know it likley snowed by now on the northern hemilsphere! but... on the southern side is summer time right??? so... its fine.... this is fine!!!

----

!!! please do not use or repost this artwork without permission!!!

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[chiptrillino-art]

(ID in ALT text)

just some kuruk tests

[beelze0-0]

Hakoda

CW: mention of death

(ID: sequential art

image 1: a wide shot of a hill overlooking the fire kingdom, patches of sunlight peek through heavy storm clouds, the small figure of Zuko runs down the hill towards Sokka who kneels further away

image 2: the top of a partial handwritten letter reading “Dearest Sokka, father has died…”

image 3: scene from behind Zuko who is holding an umbrella and has caught up to Sokka who is hunched over on the ground clutching a scrap of paper, the storm in the background has gotten closer consuming the buildings close by

image 4: the bottom of a partial handwritten letter reading “…I need you now [more] than ever. -Katara” the page is crumpled in Sokka’s hand and has wet stains

end ID)

[throngsss]

If Hakoda and Ozai ever interacted in the show, it would probably be something like this

Based on this image:

[demaparbat-hp]

Golden Boy (and Silver Girl) for the Kintsugi AU.

[jayietheriverwarrior]

Okay. Okay. I’m rewatching ATLA and I just hit The Runaway and… new headcanon.

After the war, Toph pulls Aang, Suki, and Zuko aside and explains the whole “Sokka can’t remember what their mom looks like” thing and says she wants to do something about it, for both Sokka and Katara. So they put together a plan. They get Hakoda, Gran Gran, and any other Water Tribe members old enough to remember Kya to give them as detailed a description of her as possible, then with Zuko’s financial help they hire a top-notch portrait maker to put it all together.

Sokka and Katara aren’t suspicious when Zuko approaches them about having them sit for a portrait together - they helped save the world, they have quite a bit of fame and political attention now, makes sense to kind of capture them how they looked when they first defeated the Fire Lord for posterity. But with both of them sitting for the portrait for reference, and with the information from the Water Tribe describing her to work from, the artist is able to put together a damn good recreation of Kya. And when Sokka and Katara finally get to see the finished product r and realize what the artist was really working on, and what their friends did for them… Katara of course bursts into tears, both sad and happy, grief for her mother and joy to see her face so clearly again after so long, and full of love for the friends who went to so much effort to give her this.

But all Sokka can do is stare at the portrait. For so long, his image of his mother has grown murkier and less distinct in his mind. For so long, when he’s tried to picture his mom, all he could see was Katara, because it was Katara who stepped up and took on that role, Katara who made sure everyone stayed together and kept them feeling like a family. But now, he looks at this portrait of his mother, smiling and warm and alive in a way that she hadn’t been in his mind in so long, and instead of Katara in her face, he sees himself.

[candle-scm]

a series of southern water tribe fam shenanigans

[renif]

decided to draw this guy, while listening to the song "bitwa" on repeat, which is a polish sea shanty, let me tell you I was vibing

[bakedbeanchan]

[medulllaossium]

[jasminedragonart]

remember to wish your mother a Happy Mother’s Day

[chiptrillino-art]

Hello! Wellcome to my sort of 2023 recap!

ID in ALT text shockingly i drew more zukos then sokkas this year.... which is weird to me personally? although... i did have a sudden 'i have no clue how to draw zuko?!?!?" moment this year. oh also..uh... i was wondering if i drew egnouth faces to make them 'turn around' and well...

kind of?