#i would not survive without my beloved ibuprofen

[captainjonnitkessler]

I would not survive as a medieval peasant because the first time I got a headache and couldn't take ibuprofen for it I would simply kill myself

[star-spangledstud]

Like You

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female) Reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish.

Summary: Steve has a really shitty way of saying goodbye. 

A/N: My friend sent me the prompt: “If I knew then what I know now.”. I decided to play around with it and then this happened. 

Warnings: Angst at its finest. Such brief mentions of sex you hardly notice them. Heartbreak. 

You didn’t understand why he didn’t come back to you like he was supposed to. 

It wasn’t like the two of you didn’t have a solid relationship. You complemented each other when you walked into the room, the perfect blend of two different people that had come together as one. You hardly argued, barely even disagreed on matters that concerned the both of you and you never got sick of each other’s company. You were complete, whole when you were with him and he was with you. 

You ate together, trained together, slept together in the same bed night after night. Even as the world burned after the big Snap, you stayed together, thankful every day for the fact that the both of you had made it out alive. You mourned the loss of friends together, tried to overcome the holes in your hearts together. It was an obstacle in the road that paved the way for your lives and you faced it together. When everyone was brought back, you couldn’t have been more grateful, because five years of learning how to rebuild everything had made the two of you stronger, more aware of how much you needed each other to survive. Most importantly, it made you aware of how all you needed to survive was each other. 

A power couple, that’s what they called you. Sun and moon, yin and yang. The perfect balance of work and play, of fun and professionalism. You kept each other moving, kept one another going with words of encouragement and wisdom, forced each other out of bed after half the world had literally vanished in the blink of an eye. It hadn’t been easy, but you expected the strain on your relationship to have been much worse. You got off easy compared to many other people. 

When the two of you first caught wind of the possibility to bring everybody back, of course, you jumped on the bandwagon. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to see your best friends again, for things to go back to the way they were. You knew it would be hard because people had moved on, started new relationships, new careers and had moved house, but you had faith that humanity could overcome it.

You still got chills when you thought of the orange portals that signaled everyone’s return. The distant memory of seeing the people you thought you’d never see again in the flesh for the first time in five years still brought prickly tears to the corners of your eyes, as did the knowledge that Natasha and Tony had given their lives to make it happen. They sacrificed their lives so you could have yours.

You hardly had time to notice the sudden change in Steve’s behavior. You were so busy trying to reintegrate half the population into the current day, that the two of you spent less and less time together. You were in charge of bringing back the positions of SHIELD agents that had vanished and offered your help to them both professionally as well as privately. Some of them had lost their families because they’d moved on and it was very hard on them to realize that five years of life had simply passed them by. 

Steve had been talking about retirement for years. You knew he wanted to finally lay down the shield once and for all and the two of you had been talking about it more and more as time progressed. Finally, he decided to bring the team back to its former glory, to rebuild the facility and to find new possible recruits, before he’d finally call it quits forever. 

Before that could be done, the Infinity Stones had to be returned to their respective timelines. Of course, he was the one to suggest to do it. You’d honestly be surprised if he didn’t offer to do it himself. You told him it was okay because you trusted him and trusted his judgment and if he felt like he could complete the mission successfully, you would stand behind him and support him because that’s what good girlfriends did. 

You remembered the way he gently kissed you before stepping onto that godforsaken platform all too well, the way his hand caressed the side of your face and hair, the squeeze in your shoulder. It was a kiss unlike any of the ones you’d ever shared before, not even the ones he gave you after Tony’s funeral, filled with grief, sadness and need. No, this one was different. You didn’t know it at the time, but you did know it when looking back. 

He was telling you goodbye.

“No,” you cried, “no, no, no!” 

Your arms and legs flailed miserably, chest heaving rapidly up and down in irregular motions. Bucky cringed with how horribly upset and distraught you were, unsure of what the hell he should do about you crying beneath him.

He was sitting on the edge of your bed, rubbing your back in soft, circular motions while you hugged your pillow tight to your chest. Your face was red, tip of your nose glowing and your cheeks were so puffy you looked almost like a clown. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t think words could suffice or make you feel any better. He was probably right. 

“Why?” You choked out, “Why did he leave me?” 

You could hardly breathe without Steve. 

Bucky could hardly understand what you were saying. Every word came out in hiccups, forced to the surface by the tension in your lungs and contracting chest. For a long moment, you stopped breathing. Bucky panicked immediately. His pulse quickened and grip on you tightened. Then, you took a deep, panicked breath of air with a high pitched cry.

All you could think of was Steve, how he glanced at you from his spot in the dead center of the platform. How his lips tightened into a sad line, how his brow creased and his eyes closed just before he disappeared on you forever. You should have fucking known, but how could you? He was everything you ever wanted and you thought you were the same to him. He never even gave you the indication that he was unhappy, that he didn’t love you. That he was going to leave you for her. 

“Shh,” Bucky cooed, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam showed up at the door, which stood slightly ajar. His head peaked in, eyes following your heaving body and Bucky’s slouched form before resting on his face. Bucky shook his head. Sam quietly left. There was nothing he could do to ease the pain one of his best friends had caused you.

“Get some sleep,” he told you quietly after your sobs had silenced.

“Don’t leave me,” you managed to whimper, grabbing hold of his flesh arm and pulling it down with you.

You needed human contact, couldn’t stand the thought of being alone after being left by the love of your life.  

“Of course,” he replied, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, sugar.” 

You slept with Bucky by your side that night, still dressed in the clothes you’d put on while Steve was still lounging in bed that morning. The make-up you’d put on while Steve was in the shower had mostly come off on your sheets and on Bucky’s left shoulder. You clutched his shirt while you dreamt of Steve in short bursts, the desperate need for comfort so dire that you refused to let the man leave when he tried. He was angry too, angry with his best friend for putting the woman he loved so much through such pain. 

You cried as soon as you woke up the next morning, hand sore from fisting Bucky’s shirt all night. Your head hurt terribly, a pressure had built up behind your eyes overnight and it worsened as the day continued. Bucky eventually managed to leave you alone so he could get changed and talked to Steve, who was now an old man instead of the man who’d taken you to Paris on your first anniversary. 

You became indifferent to the saying ‘time heals all wounds’, because it no matter how many days passed you by, it never seized to hurt. Every little thing that reminded you of Steve would send you in a downward spiral. People recognizing you on the street for once being the most beloved Avenger began to walk around you with a wide arch because even they could tell something was terribly wrong with you. Soon enough, they all knew what had happened.

You hardly slept, because images of Steve dancing with Peggy haunted you all night long. Images of him, telling you he’d chosen her instead of you would flood your mind, along with pictures of the two of you when you were happy. You began to question it, all of it and wondered often what would’ve happened if you had been the one to join Tony on his journey back to the 70s instead of him. You wondered if he’d still be here, sleeping soundly next to you with his arms engulfing you in warmth. Now, there was only cold. 

You didn’t have the energy to be productive anymore. Life without Steve was no life and the void of his existence had taken away the importance of everyday tasks for you. Literally, everything you came in contact with reminded you of him, from the cereal you used to eat together to the movies you would watch. You couldn’t go to your favorite coffee place anymore, because that’s where you went to get his morning cup on the weekends. You couldn’t even stand to look your fellow teammates in the eye. They’d become afraid to be around you, walking on eggshells when you ventured out of the depths of your room for food because they were scared of saying the wrong thing. It happened once when Bruce made a comment towards Sam’s shield. His shield. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he watched Bucky carry you back to your room, “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault,” Wanda assured him, “She’s in a lot of pain right now. It could’ve been any of us.”

“Can’t we do something?” Sam asked, hands on his head. 

Wanda shook her head, “We can support her, but she needs time to heal.”

You never knew heartbreak could cause physical pain, but the constant strain on your heart was exhausting. You went through entire boxes of Ibuprofen to ease the constantly looming headaches, but they did very little to ease the dull throbbing of the back of your head. Your eyes were red constantly and your skin didn’t glow anymore. Everything had dulled like Steve had taken your life light with him back to the past, engulfing you in complete darkness.

You’d never find someone like him again because nobody compared to him. 

You often reminisced the good times you experienced with him by your side. The fun you had while sparring in the gym room, climbing on his back as he tried to push you to the floor. You thought back to the many dates you had, fancy candlelit dinners inside of expensive restaurants that involved your favorite flowers at the beginning of the night and passionate sex at the end. You remembered holidays, Tony’s extravagant parties that were mostly just you and him eye-fucking each other in fancy clothing with champagne on your breaths until it was late enough for you to bail so you could fuck for real. 

It was holding his hand, kissing him hard and long on his beautiful mouth before he had to leave for missions that sometimes lasted far too long for both your liking. Placing fingers on his thigh while he was driving and toying with the soft fabric of his jeans higher and higher until he couldn’t take it anymore. It was walking on the beach early enough to see the sunrise and long drives back on the back of his motorcycle, safely hidden away from the world behind tinted helmets.

Now, there was nothing. No hand-holding, no joking around, no fucking each other in the storage closet because you couldn’t wait to get back to your room on the top floor. Nothing but emptiness, cold and dreadful and tiring like a weighted blanket made of snow that refused to thaw under your own body temperature. 

Even when you finally decided to become more active again did the emptiness not leave you. It followed you around like a ghost, always lingering in every corner of every room you entered. Bucky felt sympathy for you, but even he couldn’t help you. You had to pull yourself from the depths of the ocean by yourself, had to swim back to the surface without a life vest or oxygen tank strapped to your back and you constantly felt like you were going to drown. Maybe you already had and this was your purgatory. 

You couldn’t help but regret it sometimes. Getting together with him. It was when that looming darkness engulfed you that you allowed yourself to regret ever getting to meet him. You’d lay in bed at night and pray to the Gods to turn back time just once, allow yourself to make the choice that would’ve prevented you from getting to learn who Steve Rogers was because that choice ultimately led you to fall in love with him.  If only you knew then what you knew now.

You sat by the fireplace alone now, staring at the smoldering embers and the flames that licked slowly burning wood. You watched the trees move in the wind by yourself now, watched the rain drip against the window panes with your knees pulled up to your chest. How could loving Steve Rogers hurt so fucking bad?

“How you holding up, kiddo?” Bucky asked, taking a seat beside you on the couch that directly faced the window. 

“I’m alright,” you responded, voice raspy and dry. 

He offered you a glass of water, which you took gladly. At least someone cared about you despite your efforts to push everyone away.

“I talked to him this morning,” he said finally, “he misses you, I think. Might even regret his decision to leave.” 

Your eyes flicker to Bucky, then fall back on the fireplace, “I miss him too.”

“He asked how you were doing,” he said carefully.

“What did you say?”

Bucky exhaled, “I didn’t lie.”

A comfortable silence fell over you, allowing you to listen to the crackling of the fire and Bucky’s breathing beside you. Sometimes, no words needed to be said for them to be exchanged. You toyed with the shaggy blanket over your lap, twirling the fabric between your fingers. 

“I don’t think he has a lot of time left.” 

You scooted closer to him, allowing your head to rest on top of his torso. He patted your head and drew circles in your hair while you rested your eyes for a moment. You hardly slept the night before and were beginning to feel drowsy. You started napping frequently, finding sleep wherever and whenever you could because your bed was too empty and too large at night. 

“Will you come with me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I will,” he said, nodding although you couldn’t see it, “I’ll come with you.”

“When?” 

Bucky’s shoulders rose, “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll make time.” 

Maybe you should’ve known that he’d go back to her if the opportunity arose. You’d heard stories, of course, Bucky had told you enough. Steve didn’t talk about her much, except for after her funeral, which he attended alone without telling you. You should’ve known it then with how messed up he was after her death. Should have known that he’d never been able to really get over her. You couldn’t even really blame him, either. She’d been ripped from him when he went into the ice and was already on her deathbed by the time he woke up. For her, a lifetime had gone by. To him, it felt like seconds. It’s how Bucky must’ve felt when he came back after the Snap.

Sitting with him on the couch, you weren’t sure if you would’ve changed things. You had a lot of good times with Steve, they largely overshadowed the bad. He’d made you a stronger person, made you appreciate your talents and weaknesses for what they were and he never made you feel less than your worth. He was a good man, you knew it deep down, but accepting that you might not have been good enough for him was a wound that would never heal, not even as you took your last breath.

Still, a small shimmer of hope began to grow somewhere deep within your chest like a seed had been planted. Laying with Bucky in silence, watching the rain pitter-patter against the window, made you think one thought before sleep engulfed you properly for the first time in months.

Maybe things were the way they were meant to be. 

[krakasigurdardottir-blog]

CONUNDRUM

pairing: Ivar/Aud genre: Angst/Romance/Family warnings: Possible major character death, depression, drugs abuse, toxic behavior, parenthood, single motherhood, self-loading, anger issues, disabilities, physical and emotional pain. Words: Prologue- 2660

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365384/chapters/30605166

***

He's a spiteful and vengeful man, an outcast, alone in the labyrinth of his anger and remorse. She's a single mother of a special needs child trying to navigate the brutality of her daily reality, a daydreamer lost in a crowded room, unable to express her true desires not even to herself. He's a savage spirit, She's a kind soul. He's has nothing to lose, and she has nothing to gain.

A conundrum indeed.

***

Prologue:  

S I L L A G E

***

On the day Ragnar returned to me I told him of my vision.

That I was afraid to lay with him, for I had had a dream, and I had seen if we made love on the next three nights I would bear him a monster. I do not know what made me said the things I said to him that day, I spoke them, but it seems now as if our fate was already sealed.

Of course, Ragnar -being Ragnar- chuckled softly, smirked deviously, and teased me to no end about my old hag superstitions, dismissing each and every one of my words. You see? That’s the thing about my husband, he never listens to my advise, and he doesn’t believe in my “gift”.

But right then, neither did I. At least, I didn’t want to. In his embrace, all the fears in my mind and all the sorrows in my heart were banished to oblivion, and as his arms surrounded mine, I found peace again.

My happiness wasn’t meant to last for long anyway.

I sensed this pregnancy was different from the moment it began, but Ragnar reassured me -I was overreacting, the child was fine -he told me- and I just felt anguished and strange because he was sure we where expecting a girl this time around, and surely a daughter took more energy from her mother in order to become strong. He has been hoping for a baby girl for a long time now, for even if he never talked about her anymore, I knew he missed his first daughter terribly, and he seemed so happy and joyful with the prospect of it, I did not dare to contradict him.

You can imagine his disappointment when the doctor told us waving at the black and white screen it was, without a hint of doubt, a boy. “A big, strong, healthy boy, just like his brothers” he promised looking straightly into my face.

But then again, what do the doctors know?

First came the pain… so much pain, and then the unnatural stillness… My baby was so calm back then… but nonetheless I dreaded every doctor appointment, and every time, when they told me all was just fine I plagued them with questions and concerns, I insisted Ragnar endlessly into doing all the tests possibly known. So, when finally the diagnosis was made I’m not sure why it was so much of a shock to me.

Osteogenesis Imperfecta.

Brittle bones disease.

We were absolutely devastated. The new scans showed several fractures in his legs, both of his femurs were crashed, and that was just a small glimpse of all the suffering to come… As we could not determinate the extent of his injuries, and the level of his condition, the specialist sat us down and told us to prepare ourselves for a fatal end before birth, or, being strongly optimistic, on the firsts months of his short and difficult life. From the moment of his arrival to this world our baby would endure incredible pain, and quite possibly, would never be able to walk at all. And if, by some miracle, he survived into adulthood, Terms like “probable dwarfism”, “acquired deafness” and “abnormal development” would be part of our vocabulary on a daily basis.

At this point, he advised us to seriously consider terminating the pregnancy.

It was out of the question for me. I wish I could say the same for Ragnar.

We argued day and night, we cried, we fought, we said hurtful and cruel things to each other, he told me our son would die anyway, “what is the point in pretending otherwise?” and if he survived, he told me, it would be much worse, for he would be weak and deformed, a cripple, and everyone would stare and be cruel to him. “What kind of a life could he live?” he asked me with tears on those beloved blue eyes.

I understood then, my husband was already grieving. And I hated him for it, I hated him with a passion I never knew I had within me. Because even if what he said was true, I didn’t care. That baby was already my son and I loved him just the same.

I wanted him.

I know, what a selfish bitch I am, am I not? Believe me, I’ve been told worse.

Even to Siggy, my dearest and oldest friend among those who I call family now, I couldn’t bear to listen. She told me it would be a mercy to him, but by then I would have rather died than take her advise. I felt my little boy growing inside me. He was alive, and I knew he would be a fighter, a warrior.

I have never been as fierce as my father nor yet as brave as my mother, but I stood firm on my determination, and at the end, I won. At least I felt that way at the moment.

I knew my husband resented me for taking away his choice on the matter, but I was sure, with time, his heart would warm and he could find the love to understand me and even be grateful for my stubbornness.

He did not.

Our son arrived almost one month early in this brutal and vicious world, premature and small, I knew he would need to spend months developing in the safer environment of an incubator, but I craved for a little touch, so the nurse placed the frail creature on my arms as she instructed us to ��handle him with care”. That sentence would hang above our heads as a Damocles sword for the rest of our life.

I neared him to my breast and he opened his eyes, those big and bewitching eyes, and there was so much blue in them even the white surrounding his irises seemed completely cobalt-stained; and yet, they were so similar to Ragnar’s I could swear it was my husband giving me a playful grin just before starting sucking with a demanding need. I took a great comfort in that resemblance, and I wanted to show it to Ragnar, a little -yet precious- renewed joy in my heart.

I handed him the baby, and in doing so the blankets covering his little body felt down revealing a couple of thin and twisted legs. Ragnar’s eyes flew open in surprise, a repressed grimace of pity and disgust showing through his handsome face, he tried to disguise it quickly kissing our baby’s head, caressing and folding him again. But as soon as his hands placed a little too much pressure on him a horrendous and heavy “CRACK” resounded through the room.

The sound of your baby bones smashing to dust hooks to your brain as a spreading stain of oil. From that moment onwards, our lives became a living hell, I could only listen our little boy screaming in pain and fury as they took him immediately to the first of many surgeries to come. I was powerless, nothing I could do would spear him now. And it was my fault entirely.

“After all, your prophecy was right ” Those were Ragnar’s only words to me on the day our son was born, and then he left the room with tears in his blaming eyes.

I had never felt more alone.

“His name is Ivar”- I whispered into the void.

From the diaries of Aslaug Völsunga Lothbrok,

September 1985, Stavanger.

***

He runs into the mists without fear, after all, the mists are just the passage to her, and so, he knows he doesn’t need to be afraid. The Ravens will guide him like they always do. Without hesitation or pain. Without sorrow.

Without shame.

He runs fast and agile as sweat rolls down his skin in thick, salty beads. His strong long legs pushing him far away from everything, he doesn't care about his soared muscles, he pushes harder, always harder, the wild wind blowing against his face, his bare feet feeling the warm sand escaping through his fingers, his heart throbbing inside his chest at full speed. He does not mind. Not a little bit. He is free.

Ivar runs as he always does, in his dreams.

And then, as he always does, he wakes up.

A raspy and wet tongue licking his ear is not like he had imagined it will happen though.

The persistent sound of his alarm punching his sore head as a hammer reminds him is time to start his morning routine…. Gods, He’s getting older, he cannot hold his scotch like he used to. As he silences the fucking iPhone he pats the Great Dean head with parsimony.

“Ok ok! ok, old boy, come here” he throws the stuffed pillows and the sheets away to make space for Odin to jump in. He knows the old man does not allow it usually, but who cares? As he’s in the cabin visiting he will do as he pleases.

He searches inside the drawer of the bedside table until he found what he’s looking for. He opens the small travel pillbox as he evaluates for a second his pain levels on this cloudy morning. The ache in his knees worsened with all this humidity.

What a great-fuckingtastic day to be in the middle of this nothingness of mountains and lakes.

He grabs a couple of extra ibuprofens and his normal dose of painkillers and he swallows them in one gulp with the golden liquid that still remains in the glass. He’s sure he’s not supposed to mix, but frankly, he does not give a shit.

While trying to relax waiting for the medication to kick in he grabs the lighter and lazily lits a cigarette. His bare chest expanding as he breaths the familiar and shooting scent. Odin looks at him reprobatory with his big yellow eyes. Ivar chuckles and turns his head slightly to the left, mimicking the dog position.

“Now even you judge me?” The dog just raises his brows as if trying to prove he’s not impressed.

What a great day indeed.

His sight stops abruptly upon seeing where Odin’s tongue is leaving a trace of slobber on the mattress, his last night reading scattered dangerously close to the dog warm body. He quickly takes the thin black covered books away and he caresses them briefly to his heart, that has stopped abruptly for one second as he has faced the very idea of losing those diaries.

His mother diaries.

He has read them a thousand times… and yet… yet, every time, every fucking time he reads those firsts pages, an iron fist punch him hard in the stomach. She started writing a mere week after he was born… how hollow and painful was her life in those days to throw herself with such a passion into the white pages of a notebook?

He’s not prone to self-pity. There’s nothing to win from it anyway, but today he cannot hold a pressuring though from his aching mind.

That he brought her nothing but despair.

And yet, she loved him. She truly did.

And he misses her. He truly does.

He wonders if she’s resting in peace, knowing she is finally avenged.

Most probably not.

She’s either completely gone and therefore not present to have an opinion or worst, she’s sad and disappointed at what remains of her family.

He lets out the last puff of sweet smoke as he ends his cigarette.

Enough. It is enough.

With a couple of smooth moves, he pushes himself into a straight position, and then transfer into the sleek black wheelchair by grabbing on to the side of it and shifting his body over using the strength of his arms. The muscles in his upper body the exact opposite of his lower half.

As he goes on with what is needed to be done in the bathroom the soft in-crescendo beats of Apocalyptica’s cello fills the air with the last pieces of his new album. Music always soothes him, and half an hour later Ivar emerges from the scalding shower and quickly transfers again into the bed after grabbing his clothes for the day. Odin seems to be missing, and he guesses by now the giant dog will have let himself run free through the mount and fields that surround the cabin. He’s not particularly worried, after all, the back door is never locked for that same reason. The animal does as he likes for some hours every morning and sometimes even at night, but he always comes back.

As every one of them, he’s a wild soul trapped within a small mundane cage.

He carelessly – as carelessly as this process allows anyway- dresses into an all-black outfit. He feels like it fits the day mood and besides- being lost in the middle of nowhere is no reason to be tatty.

After giving it a quick thought he decides to risk it with the braces for the day. The old man doesn’t seem to be awake yet and he can use some good breakfast for once. And as Ivar have experienced recently his old shabby kitchen is not too wheels-friendly. So, KAFO and crutches for the day it seems.

***

The sun is already high in the grey sky when Floki finally makes an appearance into the kitchen guided by the delicious smell of crackling bacon and sizzling eggs.

“Happy Bi-“ He has no time to finish as his godson interrupts him quite rudely.

“Don’t mention it” He barks, heavy annoyance sounding like a threat in the suddenly tense atmosphere.

For once the older one seems taken aback by the vivid anger that comes off the bitter young man in front of him. He’s used to Ivar’s outburst – even when with time he has mastered theme and is less prone to lose his temple in front of others- but is on rare occasions when he finds himself the target of that overflowing fury.

He has no time to elaborate an answer as Ivar shrugs and drops his face into the palm of his hands. His crutches resting on the kitchen island as he leans into a high stool for stability.

“Sorry, really bad morning” The voice comes muffled through his fingers as Ivar slides his hands with a nervous gesture that he tries to conceal by adjusting the strands of hair behind his ears. The young man tries to smile dismissively. “Can we pretend is just another stupid cold day in this stupid cold place?”

The older one nods silently, there’s no more explanation needed. He takes a glimpse for a brief second of the three smiling faces frozen forever on the small wooden frame on the shelve. His sweet Helga, his little Borda, and his own young reflexion smiling freely for the camera as they play in the snow.

Some days are harder than others. And that he understood quite well.

The realization struck him like a thunder then, and suddenly he is painfully aware that today is not only a birthday for his godson.

Today marks a dividing line on Ivar's life.

Today he becomes 33 years old, and therefore, from this day onwards, he will have lived more than half of his days without parents in this world.

“Come on, move your lazy ass to the table and let’s enjoy whatever you’ve managed to left unburned by now” He says as he grabs the plates and starts crossing the room to the small circular kitchen table. After a few seconds, he hears a soft sight and the familiar sound of his accurate and slow movement as the metal bars of his braces scratches the wooden floor.

The boy will be alright. Floki will make sure of it.

He will have a family again, and he will be ready when the time comes.

And then the old and lonely Floki will be allowed to rest in peace, he will go back to his family knowing he has fulfilled his promises.

And finally, all will be alright.