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    01 Oct 2026

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    [Time passes oddly. Between one second and the next, Sokka has the Fire Lord pinned to the wall with his hands around the bastard’s throat. Golden eyes (one gold eye, his mind whispers) widen in shock.

    “Sokka?” he chokes out. And then he smiles.

    What the fuck?

    “Sokka, I—”

    Sokka slams his head against the wall, once, twice, and the smile wipes off his face. Good.

    “What,” Sokka bites out, “have you done to my sister?”]

    Or:

    An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage.

    But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.

    Yeah, nah.

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    02 Sep 2026

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    “You,” BJ said aloud, as the hum of the hospital continued around them. There was no adequate end to the sentence. You have to wake up, so I can tell you I need you. BJ felt tears stinging his eyes as they formed, and he blinked them furiously away. He noted that someone had cleared the vomit from Hawkeye’s face, and the blood from his hair.
     
    In another life, maybe, far into the future when the lines began to blur further, he thought he might have been meant to be a nurse, to take care with people who were beloved to someone, to clean their hair and their hands and to dress them in gowns and bedclothes. No more cutting, no more blood. He’d always thought Margaret would have done well in their shoes, but he never thought about taking hers. Or maybe it was all nonsense, and it was only Hawkeye whose troubles he wanted to smooth away.

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    07 Jun 2026