#in the field

[adhdarcheologist]

The deep desire to mic up a team of archaeologists in the field, and make a podcast out of all the unhinged shit we talk about.

[nm-mattuz]

[geologyandstuff]

Lake Manly, Death Valley, CA

[story-island]

Nightmares in the Field (Simon "Ghost" Riley X Fem Reader)

A/N: Hello everyone! Hope your all having wonderful days, I already have a nightmare comfort posted for Simon, but I feel like this one is plenty different from the other one.

Summary: Nightmare comfort from Simon before you get evacuated from the mission you had just completed. Reader is used to nightmares, but this is the first time Simon woke her up.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of nightmares, soft Simon, nightmare comfort, swearing

Word Count: 1.5K

Nightmares were a common occurrence amongst the team. Working in the military left all of you with scars and ghosts of your own. But this time it was different.

The mission was successful and there were only a few minor scrapes and scratches. The team was just waiting for evac now. They would come get you in the morning, but there was still some time to kill. Everyone was drinking and playing games, knowing the job was done and done well.

Soon though, everyone started to get tired and move to their respective sleeping places. Everyone except Ghost who was probably on the roof watching the perimeter. Poor man never let his guard down. Regardless of that thought, you found yourself sleepy and wanting to go to bed too.

With that, sleep soon came with malicious intent. It was normal for the team's nightmares to lighten up in the field because they couldn't sleep as deep, but tonight you got royally fucked. Images of blood and death flashed in front of your sleeping eyes.

That was when you were suddenly jolted awake to a hand covering your mouth. You almost started fighting before a wonderfully deep British voice interrupted you.

"Calm down love", taking his hand off your mouth he continued "you were making noise in your sleep, needed to quiet you down a little."

"Oh . . . Thanks Ghost"

"Come" he said, motioning you to follow him.

Accepting the fact that you could use some air, you got up and followed him. Ghost guided you to the roof, where he had been before. He found his previous vantage point and sat down silently; you followed shortly after.

The thought crossed your brain on how he even knew you weren't sleeping well if he was up here, but he practically read your mind.

"Price radioed me to get you, said you sounded like you needed someone." Ghost said.

"And that someone was you?" you questioned.

"I'm the only one lucid enough to deal with it aren't I?"

"Yeah, I suppose that's right."

Slowly Ghost's eyes watched your every move, seeing how nervous you looked. You could feel him watching, and at first you didn't like it but after a little while he looked away. Missing his gaze, the second it went to sweep your surroundings.

Ghost was a patient man, not forcing you into anything you didn't want. He just waited for you to finally speak up again.

"I don't want to talk about it" you said, forcing back some tears as the nightmare flashed through your mind again.

"That's fine . . . do you need anything else I could help with?" he asked, knowing he would have gone to the ends of the universe for you.

"Hug?" you asked with a weak voice.

Ghost nodded, shocking you momentarily by the acceptance of physical contact.

"Thank you, Ghost," you said, moving closer to him.

"Simon, call me Simon" he said

"Simon" you repeated before making a split-second decision.

Knowing that the awkward side hug wasn't going to cut it, you quickly straddled his lap, and buried your head in his chest. The act made even Simon blush under his skull balaclava. He tensed at the action, and you felt it. But he also relaxed after a few short seconds. This man would never deny you affection, so he just wrapped you up in his warm embrace.

Not a single tear fell from your eyes, but damn was it close. He could feel how you held onto him; it was as if he would disappear if you let go. Simon knew first-hand how terrifying that was, but he also knew that he could only be there for you if you wanted it.

After a minute you finally released him, pulling back only to look into his deep but dark eyes.

"Feeling any better Sweetie?" Simon asked.

Internally you noted how much Simon's pet names affected you before responding.

"Yeah, a little" you said, looking away from his gaze.

"So, you just enjoy my lap then love?" He teased.

"Shut up" you whined as you crawled off his lap and into a sitting position next to him. A light blush evident on your face.

"There's my girl" he said, you didn't miss the way he spoke almost lovingly.

"Loving up the pet names, are we Simon?" you lightly teased.

"Only with you pet" he responded, and you swear you could see a smile under his mask.

You met Simon's eyes, almost begging for his little praises.

"In that case, I guess you can keep calling me them" you said before looking around the perimeter and eventually to the stars.

"Only in private doll" he said, waiting for you to meet his eyes before giving you a small wink.

"Simon . . . does that mean you want to spend more time with me in private?" you were testing boundaries, but it didn't seem like Simon wanted you to stop.

It took him a few moments to fully think out what he was going to say.

"Yes Y/N of course I want to spend more time with you . . . you're a wonderful person, frankly I'm shocked you even speak to me. but that is beside the point. Your smile could light up my whole world, so if you're giving me a chance to see that more, I could never refuse." Simon usually never spoke this much, but the way his words played with your heart strings was too much.

"I don't even know what to say Simon" you replied, stunned.

Gently placing his hand under your chin, lifting you to his gaze.

"Tell me if you want this . . . I mean truly" he said.

"Yes, yes of course" you responded, still unsure that this is even real.

With that Simon pulled you back onto his lap, as you let a a small yelp.

"Thought you didn't want me on your lap" you joked, grinding on him a little.

He couldn't even respond, just let out a growl as he grabbed your hips. Keeping them in place instead of letting you tease him. Looking deeper into his eyes you saw something that said "not tonight."

"Trust me I love you on my lap princess, but I can't give you my full attention like I would want to."

"Seems like your attention is already on me."

"If I kiss you, will you get off my case."

Simon was playing dirty, and he knew it, staring you down as he waited for your response. Slowly, he moved his hand up to adjust his mask just above his lips.

"Only if I can get more later" you said, transfixed by Simon's soft looking lips.

"Since you asked so nicely . . . I might consider it" he joked.

That was when he leaned in. He didn't give you what you wanted, not quite yet. Instead enjoying the sound of your hitched breathing as he was millimeters from your lips. Your breath mingled for a moment more before you couldn't take it anymore.

"Simon please" you begged, that was the last straw for him

The next thing that you knew his lips were on yours. You were shocked at how gentle he was, passionate, but gentle. Quickly he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking to deepen the kiss. You let him take control without a fight, instead enjoying how amazing he felt against you. Simon's tongue gently explored your mouth as his hands started to roam all over your body.

Sadly, the spectacular moment was shattered by the fact that you were mortal and needed air to live. Simon pulled back first, his eyes saying he wanted more, but you guys were in the field and were not in the right place for this.

That is when you took the moment to breathe again. The nightmare was gone, you felt more in control, and safe by Simons side. Relaxing into his body you spoke

"Thank you"

"Any time love are you going back to bed?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so" you said, dragging yourself off of Simon, and up onto your own feet.

"Can you make it down there alright?"

"Who said anything about sleeping down there? I'll be back with a blanket or two."

"Of course, you're sleeping up here" he muttered to himself, with a small smile.

Quickly you bounded down and then back up the stairs, returning in a flash with blankets to keep you warm. Also throwing on another hoodie. Simon had found a different vantage point, but he was still waiting for you.

A moment passed and you were by his side, fluffing up the blankets and wrapping them around yourself. Simon was a smart man, you noticed that he had removed the tactical gear on his thighs. Rightly assuming you would lay your head on his lap before you slept.

"You okay with this Simon?" you asked, getting ready to lay on him.

"More than okay, get some rest" he replied letting one of his hands fall into your hair.

"Goodnight Simon"

"Goodnight Y/N"

Gently you drifted off, the repetitive motion of Simon running his hands through your hair giving you a sense of peace. That night the nightmares left you alone, and when you woke in the morning Simon was still watching over you, keeping you safe.

[arogantskai]

unfinished egocentric painting

[agentgrange]

Found this at the goodwill and did a double take when I realized what it was. Some absolute fucking lunatic took someone's "desert night" camo that was only issued to some units for nighttime operations in Desert Storm and used it to create laced, ruffled, meshed lingerie.

There is no tag. The stitching looks hand done. There are buttons on it that go nowhere. Someone *made* this *personally* for some purpose that I *cannot for the life of me* decode. Worse yet, it *looks* like it should be able to fit fine but because it's made out of the outer layer of some sort of polyester poncho when you put it on the whole thing warps and tightens in odd places. It was impossible to take off so we had to sneak out of the fitting room and cut it off at home with the trauma sheers I keep in my nightstand.

For what purpose. Who made the sexy Desert Storm night raid Chinese finger trap nightgown?

[beatsforbrothels]

supernowhere - In The Field

[berry-bastard]

I would very much like to tie up an angel girl and overstimulate her. She has to think so much- doing heavenly work is so hard and she just needs some big scary demon, or simple minded human to show her order isn’t as pretty as chaos can be, and that being alive and against me is so much better then being an active weapon to an unloving god.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Wilfred Reilly

Published: Jan 13, 2023

The fact that many people take this sort of stuff dead seriously reveals a major cultural problem in American middle-class life.

Almost a decade back, a group of buddies and I were watching a newish Robin Hood movie, and a young mentee asked why British authorities were hanging a Caucasian bandit: “He’s white — that ain’t realistic.”

The story is funny, but the sincere energy underlying the question is surprisingly common. To give an all-too-real example, academic leaders at USC recently declared a de facto ban on the use of the word “field” during discussions of scholarly work. Across at least the sizeable School of Social Work, the University of Southern California/Spoiled Children will “remove the word . . . from its curriculum and practice and replace it with the word ‘practicum’ instead.” The apparent reason for this is the perception that only blacks and Latinos have worked in the United States’ actual fields in the recent past: “The term may have . . . connotations for descendants of slaves and immigrant workers.” Per a rather lengthy official letter from the institution: “This change supports anti-racist social work practice by replacing language that could be considered anti-Black or immigrant in favor of inclusive language.”

The “field” example hardly stands alone (the field behind it is crowded!). Just a year or two back, the Grey Lady herself — the Times of New York — noted the decision of major East Coast realty groups such as the Real Estate Board of New York to stop using the term “master” to describe the largest and best-appointed bedroom in a home. In a piece titled “The Biggest Bedroom Is No Longer a Master,” Times-woman Sydney Franklin pointed out that the push against the language “comes in the wake of George Floyd’s death and the resulting Black Lives Matter protests,” and quoted Southern Star Realty agent Tanna Young to the effect that the term “master” “evoked images of pre–Civil War plantation life.” New York City real estate board COO Sandhya Espitia summarized the situation as: “(We are) assessing what meaningful steps should be put in place to bring greater diversity and inclusion to the industry.”

In perhaps the most notable of this speech-change trend, Stanford University — although it has pulled back a smidge after coast-to-coast mockery and cabbage-tossing — released a list of several dozen words that right-thinkers are no longer to say. The roster broke down forbidden terms into no fewer than ten categories, including “ableist, ageism, colonialism, culturally appropriative, gender-based, imprecise language, institutionalized racism, person-first, violent, and additional considerations.” While a small number of the words or phrases were potentially offensive, others included the term “American” (this might imply that U.S. citizens think their country the best in the whole hemisphere), “brave” (could describe either our own warriors or indigenous opponents as “savage”), “walk-in” (implies that most people perambulate on two legs), and even “beating a dead horse” (legitimizes violence vs. animals).

All of this is, again, hilarious to describe. But, as with the Robin Hood example, the fact that many people take this sort of stuff dead seriously reveals a real and major cultural problem in American middle-class life. Many of us have been trained to associate universal human struggles or vices uniquely with America, including the historical mistreatment of blacks within America. This trend is not only ahistorical, but legitimately dangerous for national morale.

For example, while slavery was a national disgrace between 1776 and 1865, it is simply not true that “workin’ in the fields” has been a uniquely or primarily black or Latino job in the historical United States. According to a major recent book — a left-leaning one that I reviewed critically — 50 to 55 percent of all residents of a typical white-majority state such as Wisconsin were free or tenant farmers as late as the 1850s. For that matter, there are a ton of landsmen out in the fields today: The U.S.A. still contains 2,010,650 working crop and animal farm operations, with 36 percent of these located in the notoriously pale Midwest. And most farmers of all shades are hardly rolling in the filthy lucre. Any list of the ten poorest counties in the U.S. is almost certain to include hardscrabble rustic locales such as Holmes County (Miss.), Buffalo County (S.D.), Owsley County (Ky.), Clay County (Ky.), and McCreary County (Ky.).

Similarly — if this even needs to be said — the term “master bedroom” is not a uniquely American one deriving from the historical practice of slavery. Slavery itself, of course, was not a singularly American vice: It dates back to the dawn of man, and the great Greek Aristotle gave written advice on feeding slaves (not much) and identifying “natural” bondsmen. The Arab slave trade plagued Africa for centuries longer than the Western-driven Atlantic slave trade and resulted in the transshipment of perhaps 5 million more victims.

And, all this almost aside, the word “master” as used in housing sales in the northern U.S. never had a damned thing to do with slavery in the first place. “Master” is also a term for a skilled craftsman able to afford — if not simply build — a big home, and even the NYT points out that “the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development determined in 1995 that ‘master bedroom’ was not discriminatory.” So far as anyone can tell, the language traces back to the 1926 Modern Homes catalog from Sears, Roebuck. Similarly, as regarding Stanford’s recent cringing, one might suspect that language honoring traits such as military prowess has existed — generally in a race-neutral fashion — across most human societies for virtually all of time.

While we Americans play the bizarre and sickly game of (1) trying to link everything imaginable in our society today to conflict or oppression in our past and then (2) blubberingly apologizing for that past, other countries with violent histories take a different route. In rapidly modernizing Mongolia, a 130-foot-tall stainless-steel statue of the great conqueror Genghis Khan greets visitors to the capital of Ulan Bator. South Africa boasts beautifully done monuments depicting both the Zulu king Shaka and his rival Boer voortrekkers. A common message associated with this sort of thing — almost verbatim from the plaques in the South Africa case — is: “We all fought each other, then. Let’s get down to business and improve the country, now.”

We Yanks might not want to be quite that blunt — although I basically do. But while working out our final national message, let’s ignore the quivering daisies (is that offensive?) and go on saying “field,” and “master bedroom,” and the usual terms for our countrymen, without ever giving in to unnecessary panic and guilt.

==

Honestly, the histrionics, the competitive piety and performative liturgies have gone past amusing into just boring. These people, and the institutions they control, are unserious idiots holding us back as badly - or worse - than the “intelligent design” mob.

[drawn-views]

[adhdarcheologist]

First time digging units with only a shovel and my profile edges are about as straight as I am… which is to say not at all

[sandwiches-on-the-trail]

Sometimes it’s just a cracker and smoked cheese. Tasted great in the Erzgebirge.

[dooneysworld]

[bitchfitch]

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.