Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
#logistic
gingerly-writing · 9 hours ago
Text
Prompt #2815
“You never stop scheming, do you?”
“Do ocean waves stop crashing? Do forest fires stop burning, hurricane winds stop blowing? Of course not. It is nature of disasters never to stop until someone makes them.”
92 notes · View notes
heytoulouse · 4 months ago
Text
i’ll be honest i would pay money to watch a twitch stream of them trying to dig out that giant cargo ship in the suez canal
3K notes · View notes
shrugofgod · 2 months ago
Text
you know considering the discs Are tommy's and started as tommy's and the whole disc war was about the ownership of the discs, it's sort of baffling that so many people think he started it? how would he steal his Own discs? do people think he snuck em into dream's house and then accused him of taking them or something
2K notes · View notes
fredsythe · a year ago
Text
i love how every harringrove fic has billy climbing through steves window even though when you look at steves house theres.... literally no possible way for billy to get up there without a ladder lmfao
2K notes · View notes
themangolorian · a year ago
Text
look how long this love can hold its breath
Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
pairing: javier peña x reader
summary: (slow burn/fake married) When Pablo Escobar escalates his war on Colombian law enforcement, the DEA is getting desperate to pin down his location. Reader is forced to go undercover with another agent, one she can’t stand, Javier Peña. Worst of all, she’ll have to try to infiltrate the Cali Cartel while pretending to be Peña’s wife.
warnings: mild language
a/n: i know it’s a generally overdone trope but i couldn’t resist doing my own version of fake married Javi with a pretty antagonistic reader. hope you all enjoy!
You’d been assigned to an undercover assignment of sorts. You were infiltrating the Cali Cartel. Sort of. The mission was simply to gain inside information on Escobar’s whereabouts. To finally bring that hijoeputa down.
The only problem was your assigned partner.
Javier fucking Peña.
You’d never worked with him, but you knew his reputation as a womanizer. His machismo. And, worst of all, he was an American.
You’d encountered him briefly on separate occasions in the briefing room and each time he’d rubbed you the wrong way. He had a habit of talking over you and every other woman in the unit. Well, honestly, him and his partner Murphy liked to talk over everyone but- to put it plainly, you didn’t like Javier Peña.
“What’s the plan?” You asked in your typical no-nonsense way as you joined him and Murphy in the briefing room.
Incredibly, the up aboves had put these two pendejos in charge of the operation.
“Hola amor,” Peña lilted at you with a smirk from his seat across from you, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
You glared at him. “What the fu-.”
“You’re married.” Murphy tossed the manila envelope on the table in your direction, interrupting your outburst.
He knew you and Peña got on each others’ nerves. This was his way of avoiding the inevitable bickering. It was a shitty way of doing so though.
You cursed under your breath as you fell into a chair and swept the envelope open.
The other two were quiet as your eyes scanned the documents.
“Fuck no.” You pushed the papers containing your’s and Peña’s aliases back at them.
Señor y Señora Villalobos. Dealers disguised as diamond salespeople. Married. To each other.
“Told you.” Peña told Murphy, his tone all-knowing.
“Cállate,” you snarled at Peña.
“You first,” he glared back.
“Hey,” Murphy exclaimed. He rested the tip of his index finger on the files and glared at you both now.
“This isn’t a request. These are orders.” He rubbed at his mustache and this time directed his gaze at you. “You either follow the mission or find another job.”
You glared from him to Peña who didn’t meet your gaze, too busy staring at a point on the table.
You threw your hands up in defeat, reached across and snatched the folder then huffed out of the room, muttering all the while. “Estos tontos Americanos vienen a mi país y piensen que tengo miedo de ellos, malparidos...”
Murphy looked from your retreating figure to Peña who was watching you walk away with amusement in his eyes. “What was that? What did she say?”
“She’ll do it,” Peña said, smirking. He stood and picked up his own file. “And learn Spanish while I’m gone, cabrón.”
Peña rapped Steve on the arm with the file affectionately and then he was gone.
Steve rubbed his face again, tiredly, worried that given the short fuses of both you and Peña, the DEA was making a huge mistake.
*****
“¡Apúúúúúúrateeee!” You dragged the word out, tapping your foot impatiently against the brake.
You were in an agency assigned car waiting around the corner from Peña’s flat for the pendejo to come outside so you could start the long drive to Cali.
Finally.
He threw his bag into the backseat then slid onto the passenger’s seat.
“Amor,” he greeted you with a sardonic smile as he slipped his sunglasses on.
“¿Y por qué tardaste tanto?” You ignored the stupid nickname he was no doubt using to taunt you in order to ask him what had taken him so long.
“I couldn’t find the rings.” He held up a shiny golden wedding band, and you saw a matching one already around his own finger.
For a beat you merely glared at the ring as if all of this was its fault, then you were taking it and roughly sliding it onto your own finger.
“Careful,” Peña said as he inclined his seat so he could sleep. “Keep being so charming and all the narcos are going to want to marry you.”
You revved the engine and took off jerkily, turning the volume of the radio up to drown him out.
The trip was a long one. You both took turns driving. Peña kept turning down the radio while you drove so he could sleep, and you kept changing the station while he was driving. You argued over where to eat and what temperature to keep the air at or whether to open the windows.
“We’re supposed to be married, not divorced,” he’d quipped at you once while he was driving after you’d knocked his hand out of the way of your water bottle as you reached for it.
You turned the heater up then, knowing it would bother him, even though you were already sweltering. He left it though, too stubborn to engage you at your game.
Until you opened your window. Then he was slamming the shut off button for the heater.
You glared at him...then- A mansion outside his window caught your eye. You watched it whiz past.
“What?” He slowed and turned the radio volume down.
“You passed it.” You sat back in your seat. “Coño.” You muttered under your breath.
He pulled the car over. When he let the car idle instead of turning around, you looked at him to see him already watching you, sunglasses off.
“What?”
“This is it. One wrong move and we’re both dead.”
You couldn’t believe your ears. You glared fiercely his way. “Are you reminding me how to do my job, Peña?”
He sighed. “Just- I know we don’t get along, but this weekend, we don’t have a choice.”
You rolled your eyes. “Look just because you swooped in from the grand US of A to save all us heathens,” you fluttered your hands mockingly, “doesn’t mean I need you to remind me of my job. I’ve been doing this for longer. If anyone in this car understands what’s at stake, it’s me.” You finished, angry.
“That why you hate me so much?” He asked thoughtfully in a tone so soft you had to look at his face to discern his intent for asking.
He wasn’t glaring anymore. If anything, he seemed curious.
“I don’t hate you,” you muttered but your tone belied your words.
He chuckled. “That’s a good start.” He started turning the car around. “Amor.” He added and suddenly you were fuming again.
*****
The introductions with the narcos and their wives went well enough, better even than you’d hoped. They accepted you as one of their own. It wasn’t hard for you to fit in, you were Colombiana to the bone. Peña on the other hand… But he’d sold it well. Almost too well. This had been your first opportunity at seeing how much he’d picked up during his time in Colombia so far. And it seemed like he’d picked up a lot.
Peña hadn’t been wrong when he’d indicated some of the narcos would take an interest in you. They greeted you both warmly, but their hands enveloped yours tightly and their eyes lingered just a moment too long. You thought Peña must have noticed too, and surely he worried that allowing such blatant flirting would endanger your cover.
That must have been why you suddenly felt his arm encircling your bare shoulders. You tried not to tense in surprise, so much so that you let yourself relax against him in a natural manner. He continued the pretense, kissing your forehead as he made a joke with the narcos about keeping the wife happy.
Inside, though, you were having a crisis and you hoped the look on your face was one caught between amused and loving. A shock had gone through you when Peña’s lips had met your skin. His act was so convincing; how was he so good at this?
You thought back to the first stop you’d made earlier on in the car drive. When you’d gotten out of the car, Peña had whistled softly upon seeing your sundress, warming your cheeks and angering you simultaneously. But he’d said nothing else. And you’d thought on it during the ensuing drive. Normally you wore suits to the office, pants and skirts, but suits all the same. And you’d made a point of never going out with Peña or Murphy. So he’d never seen you in anything else. Against your will, you wondered what the whistle had meant. Not that you cared, but you didn’t need to add one more thing to the long list of things you already had to think about.
You smothered the thoughts. They were distracting and unnecessary and right now you were lucky that Peña was so good at this because he was carrying you both.
As you trailed the narcos out back to sit and have drinks by the pool, you slipped your arm around his waist, needing to carry your weight in the farce and not wanting to have to hear later from Peña about what you should have done.
“Así,” you heard him murmur approvingly.
You dug your nails into his side and heard him grunt in pain.
Your smile then at the wife of one of the narcos holding out a drink for you was genuine.
You spent an hour bantering back and forth with the other couples.
If you didn’t know any better, you would think Peña was happily married in his private life. He played the part perfectly.
As you were both sitting at the poolside table, he would reach over absently and take your fingers in his. The first time a jolt went through you again. But you took the cue. You alternated touches. You would rest your hand on his thigh. You swore he jumped the first time you did that, but he hid it well. He took long draws from your glass. Once he even fed you an olive. If you didn’t know any better, he was enjoying torturing you. He knew you hated olives. But the gesture drew laughs from the men and awwws from the women. It was then you noticed how they were swooning over Peña. It upset you only because you realized that if the pinche idioto was in the position to do it, he’d sleep with all their wives.
Finally and blessedly, your hosts suggested that you two retire to your room before dinner. Peña was to join the other men in Pacho’s office just before dinner for a discussion. You assumed that was when any useful information would be recovered. You realized then that you were here more for decoration than anything.
You fumed as you let Peña lead you by the hand up the mansion’s grand staircase. You both followed the housekeeper who led you to your room.
You dropped Peña’s hand the second the door closed behind you. He gave you a look but then the two of you were scouring the room, searching for any hidden recording devices. You shook your head at him, but he put his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the bathroom. You raised your hands questioningly but followed him all the same.
He was reaching into the shower and turning it on full blast.
“¿Qué haces?” You hissed at his ear, having to get close to be heard.
“We don’t know for sure it’s clear. We only talk freely like this.” He murmured into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shivered involuntarily at the sensation.
You both established that your cover had been bought. And what most likely awaited him at the meeting. You left him to take a shower and went to lounge on the bed.
Several minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened releasing a wall of steam and-
You sat up, glaring, “What are you doing?”
Peña put a finger to his lips furiously. “Adonde está mi maleta, amor?” His sweet tone was a direct contradiction to the furrow in his brow. He shook his head at you, gesturing to his suitcase as if to ask how you expected him to get dressed without clothes.
“Allí, corazón.” You said for show, just in case, glaring at him as he took his time going through his bag to find an outfit. Your eyes tried not to linger on his bare skin and the way water from the shower trickled down his toned back.
You averted your eyes when he turned back, but he was smiling as if he knew you’d been watching him, so you flipped over on the bed to face the other direction.
When Peña left the room with the sound of a fake kiss, you were too nervous to sit still. You had to get ready for dinner anyway. But you were anxious all the same. Your cover could be blown at any second. You stored a handgun under the bathroom sink before getting into the shower and kept an ear out for any strange noises. But nothing happened. You dressed and put your perfume and makeup on. Still Peña was absent. You slid a smaller gun into the holster on your inner thigh and went to join the other wives wherever they were.
They turned out to be in a bar off the kitchen. Luckily already tipsy and talkative. They handed you a drink, but you took only tiny sips as you engaged them in conversation. You struck gold when one of them brought up Tata, Escobar’s wife. They were gossiping over who had a better kitchen. You hung onto every word while providing input as shallowly as possible. Apparently your and Peña’s kitchen was inlaid with marble and dark hickory wood.
Nothing they said gave up the location of the Escobars though and the subject soon turned to jewelry, at which point the women fawned over the diamond necklace provided to you by the agency. Which was your cue to try to sell them diamonds.
Soon enough the staff came in to lead you all to the formal dining room where the men were waiting. They all stood but it was Peña’s face you were focused on.
His lips parted when he saw you and his brow smoothed over. His eyes traveled from yours down along your entire figure. You couldn’t help but get the slightest bit flustered. You avoided his gaze, but he was coming your way to take your hand and lead you over to the seat next to his. It was strange. Surrounded as you both were by actual enemies, it felt like you were the only two in the room. It confused you and irritated you, but you managed to catch your breath again once you were seated at the dinner table. You ignored Peña’s dark eyes on you and took a long sip from your wine glass, trying to focus on the mission at hand.
“Not too much,” you heard him whisper as you placed the wine glass back down.
And there he was.
Underneath the table, you adjusted your feet, “accidentally” stepping on his shoe with one sharp heel.
The curse he muttered in pain under his breath had you smiling as you dove into the conversation, ready to take on a room full of the people who had played the bad guys in your life for so long.
masterlist
1K notes · View notes
blueshark15 · 6 months ago
Photo
Tumblr media
This is my real understanding of Penguin Logistics
1K notes · View notes
thebaconsandwichofregret · 7 months ago
Text
Funniest thing about Bridgerton is how they keep insisting that they are in London when I can literally give you the exact postcode of every single filming location they used and like 97% of them are in Bath.
1K notes · View notes
self-harm-addict · a year ago
Text
As if talking about Mental illness wasnt uncomfortable enough, there's always the side effects;
Not eating, because you're too tired or you forget.
Night terrors that can make you sweat through multiple pairs of pyjamas in just one night
Skipping school/work because being around people is just too much.
Watching yourself bleed but not having the energy to clean it up...
Finding dried blood on clothes/sheets from self harm.
Nausea/ vomiting/ shaking/hyperventilating... because other people are unpredictable.
Covering your eyes with your hair/sunglasses/a hat... so people dont see you cry.
Constantly getting distracted by having to stop your hands trying to dig open your wrist.
Noticing and appreciating the "sharper" things in life.
You actually can't stop your knee jumping.
Disappointing everyone you love.
Gaining 50kg because you comfort eat and atleast you're not dead.
Failing classes or dropping out because staring at a page is about as close as you can get to studying.
Feel free to add more.
1K notes · View notes
meliss-cake · 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Hairstyles meme for the prompt hairstyles, sakura month December 4th (I know I’m late) 
Please don’t repost without permission (I know about you VK user, I know your website кретин)
916 notes · View notes
foulserpent · 5 months ago
Text
periodically struck by how its at least kind of weird that we drink milk
728 notes · View notes
prokopetz · 2 years ago
Text
I think a lot of these histrionic tales about the Horrors of Socialism -- to the extent that they’re not fabricated -- tell us less about the flaws of any particular political ideology than they do about the science of logistics: namely, that having local affairs directly administered by a massive bureaucracy a thousand miles away is a piss-poor way to get things done, regardless of the ideological motive for setting things up that way. You run into exactly the same bullshit in over-centralised private organisations; the first time I worked corporate, I spent the first several weeks of my contract catching up on my reading because all major expenditures had to be directly authorised by head office, and that’s how long it took for them to receive permission to issue me a computer.
1K notes · View notes