#how they were treated as the problem when praying didn't cure them

[deservedgrace]

I don't think that framing "Marginalized™️ Atheism/Deconstruction" and "Cishet White Male Atheism/Deconstruction" as inherently ~separate and distinct~ is super effective (and disclaimer I'm specifically speaking about my experience with christianity, atheism, and ex christian atheists/deconstructors), but also... okay so I was raised in a cult, and cults are oppressive for all its members. Nobody gets out unscathed, everyone experiences the abuse tactics, everybody is a victim. But within the cult there is a hierarchy, and cishet white men are at the top. So while the cult is oppressive to everyone, and everyone is harmed in some way, it is also uniquely oppressive to queer folks, to BIPOC, to disabled folks, to women, etc etc. And the thing that happens to some of those cishet white men is they leave an oppressive cult, where they are considered the "default", and they go into the ~real world~, where they are also considered the "default", and even in atheist/deconstruction spaces, their bodies and experiences are often the leading voices.

The men that leave go from an oppressive patriarchal culture to a far less oppressive (to them) patriarchal society. The white people that leave go from an oppressive racist culture to a far less oppressive (to them) racist society. The people that leave go from an oppressive culture that does not value marginalized voices to a different, less oppressive culture that also does not value marginalized voices. And if you personally do not experience [xyz] oppression, it can be difficult to even realize there are things surrounding that you have to deconstruct unless you listen to the voices of the oppressed. But some cishet white men go from being considered the "default" in an oppressive culture, to being considered the "default" in a less oppressive culture (to them). Their experience of "overcoming systemic oppression" comes from leaving the church, and it can be really easy to fall into the trap that the church, specifically, is the sole oppressor and enemy of everyone.

Of course this doesn't happen in every single case and it's also not exclusive to cishet white men. But those blind spots are why I think it's important for everyone to listen to a variety of voices when they're deconstructing, especially if those voices are talking about oppression you wouldn't have experienced firsthand.

No, our deconstructions are not inherently different, but the experiences and circumstances prior to it often are. It's okay to acknowledge that and beneficial for everybody to listen to each other's experiences.

[lokifromvalhalla]

What's the fun in that?

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Ivar The Boneless x Reader Genre: Comfort / Light angst Words: ± 3 800 NOT proofread

Ivar is captured by Oleg. (Y/n), the Rus' army commander, is both interested and interesting.

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“Are you a devotee of Odin or a Christian?” The heavily accented voice cut through the atmosphere and put ground under (Y/n)’s feet again, making the heavy presence in the corner of the room known. (Y/n) silently turned around to glance at the viking that stood in the training area with a grin tugging on his lips, reflecting an entertainment that he only allowed to demonstrate whenever he was around them.

The training yard (Y/n) preferred to use was near a stable—it was covered from the sun or the snow and gave them the privacy they wanted to hit the log and targets as much as they wanted to.

A heavy puff of air escaped (Y/n)’s flush lips as they ran a hand through their hair. Sometimes Ivar caught himself lost in observing (Y/n)—the way their skin was littered with scars in some areas, telling stories he didn't know, in an opposite to the rough sunburnt skin of the Vikings. Even Oleg’s skin was thinner than the Norwegians’, but (Y/n) commanded the army. They were Rus’ main warrior.

“Does it matter to you?” (Y/n) carefully put their sword back on its scabbard that hung from their waist, walking past Ivar to serve themself a glass of the water jar that sat on the barrel in the corner.

Ivar ducked his head, shrugging a little, as he turned around slowly to face (Y/n). “I don’t think I have enough power to demand something from you. I am just curious. ‘Never seen you pray.” He blinked under the intense gaze of their eyes and let himself observe them once again—(Y/n) was wearing one of their most basic armors, a gray one, but it didn’t hide the warrior’s elegance and high rank, with all the embroidering and details that decorated their shoulders and chest.

“A person’s faith matters only to them,” (Y/n) said, leaving the now empty cup where it once was. They returned Ivar’s mannerism, eyeing him from head to toe without bothering to hide their curiosity. “Why are you here?”

Ivar almost chuckled, humming instead. He looked around until dropping himself on a bench—a sigh of relief escaped his lips whilst he let his crutches rest together against the wall, next to him. “Well, I like being around people who don’t treat me like an animal, and Igor went for a walk with Oleg or something. Y’know, it can be tiring, and Oleg seems to have a certain liking for me.” He raised his eyebrows lightly. He didn’t expect (Y/n) to react. Of course not, they were faithful and fair; Ivar never heard them talking bad about an enemy, even. “I remembered when you mentioned your training schedule, so I thought I would come... see you...” He shrugged.

Silence took over, thickly, only interrupted by the voices of other soldiers talking in the distance and the horses snorting in the background.

“It’s not allowed, Ivar.”

“Oh?” He snickered, teeth catching on his bottom lip for a moment. “Since when do you care about rules or anything? Y’know, I caught you going against Oleg’s orders when—”

“It’s dangerous.”

Ivar pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Nothing is dangerous to you. You could overthrow Oleg if you wanted.”

This time, (Y/n) was the one to laugh. “I’m not saying I’m the one in danger.”

A breath was caught in the Viking’s throat, compelling him to stop in the middle of the argument and look at the ground in a defeat that was laced with pure amusement. In some way, it was a cure to the chronic boredom that pestered him since Oleg had decided to keep him captive, but it also stirred him up in other ways. How much did Oleg’s right hand hate him? How far could he get against Oleg until he was noticed? Or would he win? By chance?

Reality swallowed Ivar again at the strong feeling of fingers sinking into his jaw to tug his head up. “That’s why you keep getting yourself into problems. Never thought of deciding to keep everything in order?” (Y/n)’s breath fanned over his ear, making a shiver run down his spine as his fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.

“And what would be the fun in that?”

.

(Y/n) blinked slowly as they observed Oleg and Katya from across the table, with boredom clear in their half-lidded eyes, struggling to keep their attention on Oleg's specifications for a war strategy request while he insisted on exchanging affection with Katya.

"Reaching them through the woods would be the best. Do you wish for any other details?" Oleg smiled, never stopping caressing Katya's hand that rested between his.

Shaking their head shortly, (Y/n) hummed as they looked around. Their fingers traced the details of their golden cup of wine, following among the images of saints and crosses embedded with stones. "About 5000 men might do it? For a beginning, I mean, to prepare the area for a battle."

"Of the best?"

(Y/n) scoffed. "Something under the third general's power."

Oleg raised his eyebrows with a hum, his eyes resting on a spot on the table for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Ivar?" He called—the Viking promptly looked up from his food. "Any opinion that might help?"

"Nothing that I haven't told (Y/n) already." He nodded toward the warrior.

A chuckle came from the Rus prince as he nodded. "Right. Glad to see two great war leaders working together."

(Y/n) breathed a chuckle, almost humorless, something Ivar couldn't quite read, in an opposite to Oleg—his eyes lingered over (Y/n) before he returned to his food.

The rest of the meal was animated by Oleg and Katya's constant comments that would leave (Y/n) eyeing the two nobles in disdain or pretending they didn't exist, something Ivar hadn't quite mastered yet. Plus, that, well, he wasn't as important as (Y/n) to have such freedom with the two. A comment that would earn (Y/n) a snicker maybe could cost Ivar’s life.

Time dragged by slowly until Oleg finally declared he had finished and ordered the servants to take his plate, but he never stopped talking with (Y/n). Ivar could feel the anxiety crawling under his skin the more he tried to invent excuses, so he would leave along with (Y/n). He could feel the words tingling in his throat, '(Y/n), can you follow me? I think you'd like to know more about Kattegat's defense,' he almost said. Did Oleg know? Was he doing this on purpose?

"If you were cornered in a battle," (Y/n) said as they approached Ivar, slowly walking towards the stairs to the next floor to make sure the Viking followed them, "what would you do?"

Ivar shrugged messily, not having much freedom due to focusing on climbing up the stairs. It took him a moment to answer, only doing so when they were near the end of the stairs. "Depends, but I think a shield wall until getting the situation under control would be the best. In a case, of course, because if—"

"You can shut up for now," (Y/n) yawned, seemingly oblivious to the glare they got from Ivar. Still, the Viking remained silent, letting only the sound of the flames burning in their holders on the wall, and their steps resonate down the hall. Ivar’s crutches created sharp noises as they met the ground, but it was something (Y/n) had learned to get used to.

With Igor still being in the lower floor, the concentration of guards on that one dropped significantly. (Y/n) didn't even bother rushing Ivar into their room, standing beside the doorway until he walked in so they could follow.

(Y/n)’s room was something like Oleg's and Igor's, but with their own touch, mainly on the rich golden and red tones of the bed covers. What seemed like repaired swords hung from the walls while a couple of paintings decorated the walls—a reminder of victories and defeats. Ivar couldn't help but always look for a cross or an image of Odin, maybe even Thor, on the wall; however, he never found anything. Maybe the crosses on their armor would mean anything.

A long sigh of comfort escaped Ivar's lips as he let himself fall on the bed, firstly sitting down on it and letting his crutches fall to the ground, then lying back on the cushion. He seemed tired.

The sight was enough to have a smile tug on their lips whilst (Y/n) locked the door. They internally debated whether they could say anything or not, just to decide to remain silent while taking off the heavy winter clothes until their thin tunic was all that rested.

(Y/n) couldn't deny it, though—resting on such comfortable covers felt like heaven after a long day.

"C'mon." They poked Ivar with their foot.

Ivar got up to get rid of his shoes and most of his clothes, only keeping his bottoms, but not without complaining during the whole process. The groans turned into a soft hum as (Y/n)'s arms wrapped around him at the moment his head hit the pillow.

The feeling of (Y/n)'s lips running against his cheekbone had his skin rising with a shiver as he leaned into their embrace, hands closed around their arms.

"I would pay to have Oleg quiet for at least a meal," Ivar said quietly like the slightest wrong detail would ruin the situation, following (Y/n) with his eyes as they propped themself up on an elbow. It had been a matter of seconds until the room attained the most comfortable atmosphere in the world. It was warm and filled with something he couldn't quite place. He allowed himself to close his eyes, enjoying the safety he felt even if it wasn't genuine. How was he supposed to fight against the sensation of (Y/n)'s fingers delicately undoing the braids that held his hair?

A soft chuckle came from (Y/n), quiet and almost humorless. "You don’t know how much I relate to it."

Ivar smiled, sighing deeply at the feeling of the tip of (Y/n)'s fingers pressing down against his scalp, on the back of his neck. He instinctively leaned into where he thought they were, humming in satisfaction at the feeling of warm lips meeting his. (Y/n)’s kisses were soft, awakening a feeling in Ivar’s chest that was difficult to explain—it felt too good to be worried about, what bad could it cause?

The kisses got each time deeper as if they were seeking something, maybe wanting something from Ivar, which he was willing to give. A sigh escaped his lips when (Y/n) finally gave him a few seconds to breathe, only to drown him in kisses once again, holding firmly onto his hip.

His eyes fluttered as Ivar threw his head back, mumbling words that (Y/n) couldn't really make out while their lips worked on their neck.

The safety Ivar felt, unfortunately, didn't extend itself to everything. It wasn't even voluntary—his body just jumped at the moment (Y/n) adjusted their fingers around his hip.

"Shhh, I know," they whispered against Ivar’s lips, almost making him want to curl up and die.

.

The way (Y/n)’s warmth towards Ivar would turn into plain coldness whenever they weren't alone together would always amuse him. He almost caught himself questioning whether the last night was true or not whenever (Y/n)'s eyes would linger over his form with a disdain that always got Oleg smiling smugly.

In a way, Ivar hated the position he was automatically forced into at the moment Oleg showed interest in him. Rus wasn't a country he was used to, and he still didn’t have a complete notion of his boundaries there despite already being there for a few months. Something about all of that messed up with him. He looked forward to slipping into (Y/n)’s bedroom; in their presence he felt... something else. It wasn't like being back in Kattegat or with his family, but it was something he could hold onto, like a guarantee he would get out of that alive. Of course, it was something dumb to think about—(Y/n) didn't have any obligation with him or major interests aside from the ones he had sought with them himself, which still weren't that significant.

"Have you ever been to Scandinavia?" Ivar raised an eyebrow at (Y/n); they hummed questioningly, compelling him to repeat himself.

(Y/n) raised their eyebrows, shaking their head. "Not really, not in a while."

Ivar paused for a moment to observe (Y/n) cleaning the blade of their sword, which had already mercilessly impaled a Viking earlier once they found a place to settle down in Scandinavia. The Rus settlements weren't much different from the Viking and Saxon ones, but still had their differences, differences that were fun to watch while he wasn’t busy tolerating Oleg or observing (Y/n).

“In a while...” He repeated.

No response came from (Y/n) for a while, almost like they didn’t hear his question, only continuously rubbing the bloody rag over the silver blade until it was shining again. (Y/n) went through a quiet debate in their mind whether they should or not tell Ivar about that—not because Oleg could find an issue in it, no, but because they didn’t know how much they wanted Ivar to know about their life. “Since the last battle.”

“For who?” Ivar wasn’t dumb, and Oleg did mention it was his first time putting his plans of invading Scandinavia into practice.

(Y/n) paused under the gaze that burned against the side of their head, pressing their lips together for a moment. “I’m Rusian, but I didn’t spend my whole life here.”

It made sense, of course. (Y/n) didn’t fight like a Saxon, though it wasn’t like a Viking either—it was something in between.

“How did you get to be the army’s commandant, though?” Ivar tilted his head a little. “I don’t...” He paused, thinking whether he should say it or not. (Y/n) wasn’t someone he wanted as an enemy. “You don’t seem like a Rus noble.”

A smile tugged on the corner of (Y/n)’s lips as they hummed. “Yes, because I’m not.” They put their sword inside its holder again, setting it aside on the ground along with their other stuff. “But it isn’t like Oleg found me in the trash either.” The humor that played among their features wasn’t exactly genuine, so Ivar didn’t dare to mess with the matter any further. They knew (Y/n) had enough knowledge of his bad past and not enough mercy to refrain themself from dropping sharp words whenever needed. They didn’t owe him any kindness, but Ivar still had some sense of self preservation. And will to take risks.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Something like you.”

A crease showed up between (Y/n)’s eyebrows as they breathed a laugh, shaking their head. “If I were you,” they whispered as leaning closer to the Viking, “I’d be a little more careful.”

Ivar raised his eyebrows in a light questioning manner, almost daringly, but whatever (Y/n) planned to do while staring at him with narrowed eyes was interrupted at the moment they heard Oleg’s voice.

“I hope there is no fight going on!” Oleg announced over the sound of his heavy steps and Katya's delicate ones, having (Y/n) immediately stand up whilst Ivar straightened his posture. “I wouldn’t like to see my great war leaders on bad terms with each other. It would affect our plans immensely, and I hope you’re aware of it.”

“You’re the only one I bother fighting with,” (Y/n) replied with such disdain that Ivar had to hold back a chuckle.

Oleg raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, about to say something when Katya cut in; she held onto her husband's arm, stroking it lightly. "Well, maybe they weren't fighting." A small smile played on her lips as she glanced at (Y/n) from under her lashes.

Breathing deeply, they hummed quietly. "I'm afraid you, Mistress, don't know me well enough."

Katya gave the warrior a light raise of eyebrows, slowly nodding, but (Y/n) doubted she believed a thing. It wasn't like they should care, though something about this situation had a chill running down their spine, a feeling among the urge of pulling Ivar away from Katya's view. After all, of course (Y/n) would get attached to Ivar at some point. It was almost like keeping a little pet if Oleg also weren't so protective of the prize that fell into his hands.

"Anyways," Oleg cut in, "I'm here to tell you we should send at least a couple of men forward tonight to analyze the area before we attack tomorrow."

(Y/n) seemed to think for a moment before they nodded with a sigh and took their scabbard, setting it around their waist. "Let's go."

Night fell fast. It wasn't long until the warm night meal had settled down in their stomachs and the only illumination across the field was of dancing flames under the starry sky of a new moon. One of (Y/n)'s direct subordinates took care of the expedition into the outskirts of Kattegat, excusing themself with the need of a full night of sleep that instead meant, secretly, having the viking slip into their tent.

Ivar lay down among the pillows with a smile on his face as he watched the warrior make sure their weapons were all placed in strategic places, just in case. They didn't know how unaware of their attack that the Vikings were. (Y/n) sighed, organizing in the corner, just like their own, the clothes Ivar had tossed to the ground.

"Undo my braids," he said softly, eyes following (Y/n) climb on the bed and hover over him. He blinked a couple of times, fingers curled around the edge of the covers that went up to his bare abdomen until they were pulled down by another pair of hands that soon started to trace Ivar’s chest. The feathery touch of (Y/n)'s fingers against the tattoo on his chest made him shiver, slowly letting out a breath that almost got caught in his throat. Soon, their hands met the base of his jaw, carefully holding his head up to press their lips against his whilst slowly and thoroughly letting themself sit down on his lap, encouraged by his hands guiding their hips.

"Be careful tomorrow," (Y/n) whispered against his lips, letting their fingers trace his jaw and dip to the back of his neck to play with the loose strands of hair.

Ivar hesitated a little, but scoffed. "Why do you care?"

Putting it into words seemed harder than piercing a sword through a man's chest. (Y/n) decided to remain silent, closing their eyes briefly as they slowly shook their head. Whatever Ivar tried to say was silenced by another kiss, which he quietly protested about with a soft groan, and the issue slowly fell into the back of his mind.

A shaky breath escaped Ivar's lips, followed by a soft noise according to how (Y/n) kissed down his neck, a hand pressed to his chest.

"(Y/n)!" A heavy voice called, belonging to none of the two. It had (Y/n) sighing and complaining under their breath—they gave Ivar a last kiss before moving away. Hiding their displeasure wasn't anything they even bothered doing, moving to the entrance of the tent and observing the soldier standing there. "Soldiers have been sent to the recognition. Prince Oleg wants to know if you've seen..." He paused, taking a step to the side as if to see something over (Y/n)’s shoulder, just to have his view blocked by them. "If you've seen Ivar Lothbrok."

"He was going for a walk the last time I saw him." (Y/n) rubbed their face, letting out a heavy breath. "Why me, tho? Send someone after him, if he's so worried, not to mention it wouldn't be the first time or anything. Ivar knows he would be killed on sight if anyone from Kattegat showed up."

The soldier's eyes peeked over their shoulder again, but his breath was caught in his throat at the sharp gaze he met. With a quick bow and some rushed words, he returned to where he had come from, the metal of the armor filling the silence of the night along with the cracking of the torches.

"What was that?" Ivar asked at the moment (Y/n) walked back in. He now sat on the bed with the blankets pooled around his hips, curious eyes following the warrior.

"Oleg. Nothing important, though," they sighed, sitting behind Ivar on the bed so they could undo his braids as asked.

"I heard my name."

"Oleg noticed you weren't in your tent."

Ivar hummed, thinking for a moment about it, but opted for falling silent as he closed his eyes briefly and leaned his head back into (Y/n)’s fingers. He would deal with that later. It wasn’t like Oleg would want to do anything right before the war and risk an inside collapse—he was crazy, but not dumb.

A soft sound was snatched from Ivar’s lips, having him open his eyes and tense up at the feeling of lips nudging under his jaw at the same time (Y/n)’s hands trailed up his chest.

.

“I hear you’re not following orders,” Oleg’s voice was tense and almost caught in his throat as he spoke without looking away from the battle that started before him. Not Ivar, not (Y/n), not Oleg himself, none of them were being risked in an invasion like this. (Y/n) stood in the backline along with the Prince whilst the Viking had disappeared to God knows where—genuinely, this time.

(Y/n)’s expression didn’t change a little bit; Oleg would’ve thought they didn’t listen to him if he didn’t know them any better. “I’m not crossing any line, as far as I know. Not disturbing this war in any manner nor lacking respect with Your Highness and Her Highness, Katya.”

Oleg huffed a discreet chuckle. “You know really well what I am talking about.”

“I’m not a slave.” (Y/n)’s eyes observed the ongoing invasion. It wasn’t that easy; they had warned Oleg, just to be ignored and force to used a strategy that was clearly not working well at all. The Russian way of fighting wasn’t prepared for the hostile Viking way they found in Bjorn’s hold. “I expect not to be treated as one anymore.”

“We have an agreement, dear.”

“And it includes me not being a slave anymore,” they sighed. “I’m not one of your mistresses either.”

“God knows what that Viking can put in your mind,” Oleg muttered as he slowly shook his head with a scoff.

“I’m stronger than that. I have principles.”