#ramón arellano félix

[cregan-starks]

Ramón Arellano Félix + outfits

[c-h-a-t-e-a-u-m-a-r-m-o-n-t]

OKAYYYYY?

[iluvmasalva]

I miss watching manuel and I miss that mullet of his that was lowkey attractive 😭

[tinylittleobsessions]

this gives Ramón vibes and NOW I NEED TO WATCH THIS SHOW AGAIN

like it's MY fault my love language is acts of service and all i know how to do is kill

[mrs-stardustt]

currently editing my very first contribution to the narcos mexico writing thingy here and I'm so FUCKING excitedddddd I'm already eager to post it and just be unhinge on the main

[tinylittleobsessions]

these two:

Yeah yeah he has no morals but he has long hair

[narcosmx]

make up sex with ramón arellano félix would include...

a/n: yall are fucking feral for this man i love it anyways this was in my drafts. not nsfw...yet get to harassing me

so this inspiration for this came to me on one of my drives where i was blasting banda music as you do

and of course, i was screaming ya superame and this hit me okay

okay so quizas, los dos son un poquito toxic ve'da

like not unhinged, keying each other's cars toxic but like... jealous of anyone looks at the other a certain type of way toxic

so of course you get in your fights and stuff and you always say you're going to finally leave one another but wake up in the same bed the next morning

but like then it actually happens but not like leave and come back after a long weekend happen

but like, no matter how much it hurts you're going out with other people happened

so let me the set the scene for you

at the roxanne or christine whatever, somewhere these bitches own right

so as you would expect, mon has taken to drinking and doing drugs to mend the pain because baby boy can't cope for shit

can't cope with you not being there, can't cope with the fact that he ruined this, can't deal with the fact that he has to wake up every morning alone or even worse with someone in his bed that wasn't you

so obvi this man is drinking himself into the ground and of course being the tiniest bit toxica that you are you decide to go out dancing... at said club

and maybe part of it was just to rub salt into that wound for ramon or maybe you wanted to see if he still cared or ever cared at all fuck me

and i just the moment you enter the fucking club eyes are on you, well one particular set of eyes

can you just imagine ramon watching you walk in with someone from the VIP area looking over the like main dance floors and just pounding a fucking shot, immediately fucking going in for another one

and ramon is going through these whole ranges of emotions where he's like one minute pulling his gun out ready to march down to shoot someone in the face and another minute he's like pacing like no fuck that i'll show her, to like nearly crying i

and like you're dancing, with each song surprised you were able to get through it without interuption and a little disappointed about it too

and and then it starts happening right, mon throws down another fucking shot and is like fuck it, blooding boiling and fucking storming down the steps

he's parting dancers like the red fucking sea so you just see this figure b-lining towards you

and look i can just imagine the guy you came out with fucking hiding or running because can you imagine angry ramon coming barreling towards him

getting up to you, sweating and like heaving and he can't even open his mouth you're already face to face with him (more like face to chest) already laying in to him

"que parte no entiendes cuando te digo que no, la n o la o? tu tiempo se acabo, te juro que lla no te quiero ver"

and he just stops you right fucking there maam i just

"oh yeah, then why the fuck are you standing in my club right now, hm ? because you knew i was going to storm down here to get you, that's probably what you wanted isn't it" i just sexual tension you can feel it my dudes

you fucking scoffing at ramon can you hear me, looking at him in the eyes and audibly scoffing

"ya superame"

"do you think id be here if i could, mamita?" and then there's this moment where both of you are like waiting to see who is going to make the first move

but it's sure as fuck not going to be you so you kind of snatch your hand away and storm away

you driving home screaming some cortavenas from the top of your lungs i can't

then you pulling up and ramon's already fucking there leaning against his car like "you've always liked the long way home"

[iluvmasalva]

look at kitty with mon ❤️‍🔥

[axkirak]

Renegada♱

Taglist: @707otto @juxt4p0siti0n @arcticversed (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply )

Pairings:  Amado Carrillo Fuentes x f!reader(Latina Reader) x Walt Breslin  [From Narcos: Mexico TV Series]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Synopsis : The drug war in Mexico has been deteriorating steadily ever since Amado disappeared without a trace. How will Walt cope when he loses you, and his nightmares that continue to haunt him haven't faded away?

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡  Previous : Next

[7]ᅳ 𝐓𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐨𝐬 ✟

Things in Mexico have been continuously worsening ever since Amado Carrillo Fuentes disappeared without a trace. And some members of the Arellano family were captured, under the collaboration of the DEA and PJF. 

The relationship between the Mexican drug cartels and American officials there has always been extremely complex. Undoubtedly, they detest each other deeply, but they can't confront each other directly due to legal constraints and the relationship between the two countries. It's like playing a cat-and-mouse game where neither side ever crosses the line seriously. Until the drug war intensifies, with Walt's actions being part of these outcomes.

The arrest and ill treatment of Ramón Arellano Félix's close friend are no different from a slap in their face. The Arellano family wants revenge on everyone involved and wants their voices loud enough for America to hear. That's why the number of missing and deceased police officers associated with the drug trade has intentionally risen. Each case always sends a direct message to the DEA—just like the recent incident that happened today.

The local roadside restaurant in the early morning seemed busier than ever, surrounded by several police officers, including a group of journalists standing off-camera, cordoned off from the incident area. Walt had to spend a considerable amount of time maneuvering through the crowd and avoiding nosy reporters until he finally reached the scene of the incident. He took a deep breath and removed his sunglasses, displaying his badge to the officers there for verification before being allowed to pass.

As he bent down to pass under the police tape and was about to step inside, there were still voices of disappointed questions from the chasing journalists behind him that never seemed to stop. However, there was one sentence that made the man stop abruptly for a moment.

"Do you think America bears responsibility for the recent deaths and disappearances of Mexican police officers?

Walt couldn't resist turning back, and he encountered a young Mexican woman standing closest to him. She was wearing a wrinkled khaki shirt paired with old jeans. Her messy hair was loosely tied into a ponytail, with acne scattered across her face. Her dark eyes, hidden beneath thick-framed glasses, looked weary and exhausted, as if she had just slept for a few hours before hastily showing up here, holding an old recorder in her hand.

"Who are you?" Walt asked, although he could already tell from the press badge hanging around her neck that clearly stated her status.

"Teresa, from La Gente newspaper," the young woman responded eagerly, catching her breath as she gained attention from this man. "As I asked before, what are your thoughts on this?"

"You seem to know quite a lot, isn't it?" Walt retorted.

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes sparkling challengingly. "Well, I am a journalist. I always find out some information one way or another."

Walt didn't hate journalists as much as most American officials did, but he certainly didn't favor them much either, especially the relentless type like Teresa, who would crash into anything just to get a story. It wasn't hard for the DEA to figure out who she was with just a quick glance, especially when she wasn't the first journalist he'd dealt with before.

"We're doing our best to eradicate the drug trafficking groups, and those responsible are them, not us."

That was the first and only answer he gave to the journalist, just like the answer he constantly told himself every day for every violent event that happened in Mexico and for everything that happened to those close to him.

Walt stepped cautiously through the shattered glass scattered across the floor of the restaurant. A cigarette unlit hung from his lips. His sharp eyes fixed on the body of a police officer sprawled on a table inside the eatery. The traces of dozens of bullets and dried blood were embedded deeply into the fresh yellow paint of the chairs and even onto the cement floor. It was another momentary pause for the DEA agent when he recognized the face of the deceased officer, who had once been suspected of secretly taking money from drug traffickers.

It seemed that all drug lords wouldn't be too pleased with the two-faced cop anymore.

Walt pondered. As he slowly shifted his gaze upwards from the corpse to the wall above, he came across some words written in blood on the wall: 'Pobre México! Tan lejos de Dios y tan cerca de los Estados Unidos[1]'.

"Quite the warm welcome from the Mexicans, isn't it?"

Walt glanced towards Julio, standing beside him. who stood with his arms crossed. His gaze shifted to the lifeless body of the unfortunate officer. before turning to look at Walt with a rather ambiguous smile.

"These damned criminals are getting closer to us every time," a high-ranking officer said, raising his hand and stroking his mustache with a contemplative look. "Sometimes, I can't help but wonder if one day I might end up like this too."

"It's just the corrupt cops that were killed." Walt's tone was flat, as if he didn't feel any sympathy for the dead bodies lying in front of him. "If you're not corrupt, there's nothing to fear."

Julio's smile slightly faded. He looked at the DEA agent with a piercing gaze.

"You overestimate those scum a bit too much. Do you think they really give a shit about cops who take bribes from them? What they care about is who to keep and who to eliminate."

Julio paused for a moment, intentionally letting Walt ponder on his own. And Walt knew which group he belonged to—the ones that needed to be eliminated.

"We all know how this will end, don't we? You have just as much a chance of ending up a corpse as I do."

Julio gently squeezed Walt shoulder before walking away quietly. He left those words buried deep in Walt's thoughts. Walt wasn't sure whether Julio was speaking the truth or warning him.

When the DEA agent's gaze returned to the body of the policeman on the dining table once more, he couldn't help but ponder the possibility that Julio mentioned. There is a possibility that he might end up dead right there instead of being an empty shell of another person. Another casualty in the drug war, of which he was partly the cause.

That night, Walt drifted into a restless sleep, dreaming of what he had witnessed earlier that day. The image of the dead policeman shot in the restaurant was vivid; every detail was clear and unaltered. The lifeless, wide-open-glazed eyes, bullet holes, and blood scattered all over the body. But the one thing that was different was the face of the deceased man, replaced by yours.

------------------------------------------------------------ 

Death shouldn't feel this painful.

The excruciating pain that surged with even the slightest movement made you instantly aware of how lucky you were to still be breathing until now.

Where am I?

You groaned as the pain struck again. Your entire body trembled with alarm and confusion. You wanted to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt too heavy. You have a headache so intense that you can't do anything but lie still on the narrow, musty-smelling bed, feeling like you are sinking into dark, silent water with nothing in sight.

At that moment, someone firmly grasped your arm, whispering gently, "Stay calm." You began to relax a bit, regaining consciousness for a moment before finally managing to open your eyes. The image in front of you was initially blurry, but with each blink, things became clearer.

The first thing you saw was Amado's face. He stood beside the bed, his hand still holding onto your arm as if not wanting you to move more. 

"Are you alright? Can you talk?"

You tried to respond to him, but your throat was too dry to make any sound. Amado then handed you a glass of water and helped support your head so you could drink more easily. You drank the water quickly and took deep breaths, trying to comprehend what was happening.

The shock hadn't faded. It intensified as you looked around and realized you were in an unfamiliar place. It wasn't an apartment in Mexico, a small house in Texas, or even a hospital. Instead, it was just a small bedroom in an old wooden house, perched on a mountain overlooking a distant sea from the window. You furrowed your brow slightly before remembering that you were still somewhere on Aruba Island. 

The events prior played back scene by scene in your mind. The assassins, the gunfire, the blood, and the sharp pain in your abdomen from being shot—all vividly clear up to this moment. Your heart raced irregularly, still swirling with the last memories before losing consciousness. Memories that bordered on the brink of death

But you're not dead. You're safe and alive.

The fragments of fear you were trying to hide were exposed during your weakest moments. You raised your hand to cover your face, letting tears silently flow without a sound of sobbing. You felt relieved that you were safe but also saddened that you hadn't died.

Your fake name was called out again, accompanied by the man's hand placed on your head—a gentle touch that made you feel slightly better. "We're okay now. Don't be scared," Amado said firmly. Finally, your mind calmed down. You wiped away the warm tears, feeling slightly embarrassed for inadvertently crying in front of him.

"What happened?" you managed to ask, even though it sounded drier than usual. You paused slightly, realizing your question sounded a bit too much like that of a cop. But Amado didn't seem to notice your oddity. He maintained his composure, except that his smile no longer seemed annoying, replaced by exhaustion.

"We've managed to survive, at least for now. But I don't know if there are more of them outside. We need to hide until my people get here," he said directly, his eyes showing a hint of anxiety. "I can't take you to the hospital; it's too dangerous. Luckily, I could provide basic first aid."

"And you weren't injured, right?" It was merely a curiosity tinged with a tiny bit of concern that prompted you to ask that.

His face looked genuinely surprised upon hearing this, but then he broke into a small, amused laugh. "You should worry about yourself, Mija. Do you realize how foolish you are to take that bullet for me?"

You locked eyes with him "Then you're just as foolish for not leaving me behind."

Once again, a CIA agent took a risk with something that seemed impossible.

If you were just an ordinary whore for Amado, you'd likely be lying dead on the streets like anyone else by now. There's no reason someone like him would take a risk to save you unless the misattribution of arousal theory[2] had worked. The serendipity of being together in dangerous situations, coupled with your naive sacrifice, might have endeared you to Amado more than you had anticipated. And his fondness could prove immensely beneficial for you.

Even though your mission may be considered a failure, you're still alive, and as long as you're breathing, there's always a chance. Right now, Amado Carrillo Fuentes is your only chance—a chance to survive this island. But it's also a chance to plunge yourself into more danger, and there's no guarantee you'll be this lucky again.

Both Amado and you know this well.

"Are you not regretting saving me?" Amado asked.

"No," you answered with a voice that tried to be sincere, but deep down, you weren't entirely sure if what you said came from pretense or genuine feelings. "If I could turn back time, I'd probably still do the same thing, though I might choose something smarter."

Amado leaned in closer than before. With one hand, he cupped your pale cheek, tracing his fingers along your jawline slowly. Contemplative, cautious, and concerned—that's what you saw in his eyes. It reminded you of what you once saw in Walt's eyes.

You blinked again. This time, the face of Walt in front of you reverted back to the original Amado. Silence lingered long enough for him to decide to kiss you. It was just a light press of lips against yours, trailing to both cheeks and finally the forehead. 

"Don't feel regret later" he says.

It's dangerous. Your conscience repeated the warning as you clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into the flesh of your palm.

The elusive smile on his face made your heart race. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a high cliff, teetering on whether to plunge into the unknown darkness below.

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[1] "Poor Mexico, So Far From God, So Close to the United States." (Pobre México, Tan lejos de Dios y tan cerca de los Estados Unidos) This sentence, attributed to Porfirio Diaz, the Mexican dictator in the 19th century, illustrates the tumultuous history between the United States and Mexico, which has spanned for centuries.

[2]The Misattribution Of Arousal Theory It is a psychological study by Dr. Donald Dutton and Dr. Arthur Aron that shows how humans can fall in love when placed in stressful situations. This is because when feelings of excitement and fear occur, there is a hormonal response of adrenaline that makes individuals feel love towards someone nearby or someone who extends a helping hand.

[tinylittleobsessions]

oh my god I love him and I miss him so much

╰  ♡ MANUEL MASALVA GIF PACK

[ 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑫 ]  by clicking the SOURCE LINK, you’ll find a total of 195 gifs of manuel masalva ( b. 1993 ) in NARCOS: MEXICO S03. manuel is of mexican descent. you are allowed to crop/resize/edit/add texture/use in crackship. however, please make sure to credit and link me. show your appreciation by donating to any of the causes linked on my gif page or to my ko-fi, thank yew ! like and reblog if you find this useful !  ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

TW : guns, violence, blood, flashing lights, drugs and alcohol, character death.

[hausofmamadas]

| So much for my nine lives |

⁂

Pairing: David Barrón Corona & Benjamín Arellano Félix (Midnight Mass Vampire-ish AU)

For @narcosfandomdiscord NarcOctober - Day 30 - Day of Amnesty (originally Day 29 - Day of Horror)

Prompt: Came back wrong

Word count: ≈ 1.2K

TWs: Canon-consistent & vampire-related(?) violence

This was the part in the all movies where the person in my position comes to the horrible realization at what he is and what he has to do. So this is like … kinda Barrón and Mín in the universe of Midnight Mass or really like the vampire lore of Midnight Mass applied Narcos Mexico? Anyway, this is just a fun spooky, lil ditty I did. Enjoy Mín finally giving Barrón everything he ever wanted. Spoiler alert: it’s not the eternal life that matters.

⁂

Shocked awake, I sat forward sucking in deep, sweeping gusts of air that crackled through my chest, inflating my collapsed lungs. Like they were two dusty, burlap sacks, the air dragged in and out so sharply and painfully I began to cough. My shirt was caked with dust and dried blood that looked almost purple in the orange menace of the pre-dusk sun. I looked down and at the trail my body had made. Must’ve been when they dragged me into the cave.

But I was dead. Dead just then and I knew it. Now I wasn’t though. I came back somehow. Only, I came back wrong.

I remembered little before I died but the commotion at the cafe. Panicked crowd, a few rounds ejected from my gun, as I grabbed Benjamín by the collar of his jacket, screaming, “we gotta go!” and ran toward safety.

Safety. A funny word to describe Ramón and Kitty, two flashily dressed gangsters, semi autos in hand, beckoning to us from the corner where the street met the back alley road, the curb of which the Escalade was parked on. We’d been so close. I’d shoved Mín in front of me and turned around to return fire at the crowd of fatigues surrounding the armored truck across the street, just before I felt the bullet enter my chest. Then another just under my ribs.

The thing no one ever tells you about getting shot? When a projectile traveling at 1700 miles per hour enters the human body, what you feel first is the shock wave. It juggernauts through you, traversing through muscles, tissue, your very cells, so fast and forcefully, the feeling’s more akin to electrocution. It was a miracle my heart was still beating as the ground came up at me, fast, before I sank into the black.

So much for my nine lives.

Shielding my eyes from the stray beams of sun that peeked through the cracks of the cave entrance, I took a lighter from my pocket and lit it turning to face the dark side of the cave and get a better look at who or what might be inside.

Which one of them would’ve done it? Definitely not Ramón. Not enough self-control. I would’ve been an unintended afternoon snack. Hope would suggest Pancho or Dina, but common sense would suggest otherwise. The only one among them who had been at the cafe with the strength and self-restraint to do it without killing me more dead than I already was could only be Benjamín.

And yet, it was hard to imagine him, sour, overly-critical, Motherest-of-Mother-Hens, Mín valuing me enough to offer up eternity, even if he did owe me his life, what with everything I did for them that night at Christine’s. I rolled my eyes. And that was without an immortal advantage.

With a sly undertone of acknowledgment, almost an echo with my disbelief, Mín’s voice rang out from the shadows that clung to the cave walls. “Tus ojos. Se brillan como se supone que deben hacerlo.”

The eyeshine of a cat. How unsettling it had been the first time I’d caught it in Dina’s eyes. Mistook them for headlights in the lamplight of the warehouse parking lot when we were chatting shit some late night, after they’d finished the count. I’d read somewhere, probably in one of the hundreds of books I devoured, trying to fend off brain rot and existential dread in a cell at Donovan, that it was called tapetum lucidum. An extra shiny layer in the eyes of cats and other nocturnal animals that helped them see in the dark.

“What happened?”

“Your ability to maintain your composure under the strangest, most precarious of circumstances never ceases to amaze us.”

It wasn’t altogether clear if Mín was speaking for the family or if there was actually someone else there with us, the place was so dark. But as soon as I opened my mouth to ask, I was doubled over, a jagged pain drilling relentlessly into my gut, tunneling through my chest, all the way up my esophagus and into my throat. My face was close enough to the ground, the breath I expelled violently kicked dust back up into my face. The flame from the lighter snuffed out when it hit the ground next to me.

“Yeah, you’re going to need to remedy that.”

I let out a grim, stuttering chuckle that could’ve been mistaken for the growl of an animal who just felt the hinges give way, the bar of a trap finally slamming down on its neck.

This was the part in the all movies where the person in my position comes to the horrible realization at what he is and what he has to do. The part where they’re supposed to freak out, panic, clam up at the idea of killing as a way of life. But the sick thing? This wasn’t a movie and I felt not an ounce of guilt or fear at the prospect. I’d been taking human life to live for decades now. No sense in an apex predator apologizing for assuming the nature of its design. Shit, it’s not like I made the rules.

A faint skittering sound along the edge of the walls jackhammered my eardrums and before coherent thought could be formed, the soft warmth of light and heaven itself burst into my mouth, soothing the ragged itch at the back of my throat. Blood from some poor, unfortunate little rodent that had made a home in the cool of the cave leaked all over my hands, as I drew from it; hose from a hydrant.

Benjamín stepped off the wall, where he’d been standing for who knows how long and circled me slowly, waiting for me to finish. When the critter’s body finally hit the ground, he clapped a few times, observing, “Pues eso fue fácil, verdad?”

Sighing wearily, “sí, fue tan fácil,” I wiped the blood from my chin with the back of my hand.

Closing the loop, Mín approached me where I sat, still kneeling on the ground over the critter’s carcass, and picked up the lighter. He flicked it open. Light materialized next to his face, the flame illuminating his eyes, activating that telltale glow of Other. That glow which I now apparently shared with him and the rest of the Arellano siblings.

Eyes boring into his, I addressed him direct, “Why exactly am I here, Benjamín,” landing on his first name pointedly. A name I rarely used out of fear, or maybe respect, or maybe just the desire to avoid whatever grief he might be prepared to dish out to me. What was the point now? As far as I was concerned, there was none. Not when we had forever to fight. But Mín didn’t look like he was fixin’ to fight right now.

“I brought you back.”

Annoying. Not really an answer and my face said just as much.

“I brought you back because we cannot afford to lose an asset such as yourself.” Mín continued, gazing into the fire like he was some kind of ancient sorcerer, divining an answer from it, “Por muchas razones y en muchas ocasiones,” then flicked the lighter closed, “ya has demostrado lo que vales demasiado que te perdamos ahorita. And with our enemies outnumbering us, we need more than just soldiers.”

I blinked back at him slowly, almost lazy but with evident curiosity because I had no idea what the fuck he meant and I was starting to get tired and that burning in my throat was kicking up again.

He stood up, dusted off his pants, and walked toward the entrance of the cave, voice bouncing off the stony walls and getting smaller and smaller the further away he got.

“Y’know if I learned anything from my uncle’s hubris, it’s that when your back’s against the wall, the only loyalty guaranteed is that of family. And since I brought you back, the blood in your veins is blood we share.”

Just when he reached the threshold, sky outside now darkened red by the last of the sunset, Mín turned around holding out the lighter in his hand. Extended, as if to summon me. “That is what you are now, Barrón. Family.”

═

taglist: @narcosfandomdiscord, @narcolini, @ashlingnarcos, @artemiseamoon,@drabbles-mc

[drabbles-mc]

Adamant

Enedina Arellano Félix x Claudio Vasquez

For @narcosfandomdiscord's Day of Life: create a fanwork in which a character avoids their canonical death

Warnings: 18+, canon-typical violence, language

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Justicia para Claudio! 🫡 Perhaps I'm a little more unwell about this man than I should be considering I know next to nothing about him. BUT! You know what I know about him now? That he lives. 😌 (I've been trying to do Spanish dialogue for these fics when possible but I could either panic about writing Spanish dialogue or panic about writing Claudio and the Claudio panic won out sorry sksksk)

Narcos Mexico Taglist: @garbinge @hausofmamadas @narcolini @cositapreciosa @ashlingnarcos @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

He never said no to Dina. Or, rather, he never said no to her and actually stuck to it. How was he supposed to manage something like that, after all, in the face of someone like her? He would try, give it a valiant effort of standing his ground for one exchange, maybe two on a day when he was feeling particularly lucky, but he always gave into her. Happily, at that.

So, despite his insistence that he would much rather leave Mín’s party and go back with her, when she told him to go he knew that he was going to end up doing just that. He was sure that going to the club with her brothers and their friends would be a good time—it always was even if the good time was accompanied by a little bit of chaos. Whether or not it would be a good time wasn’t the source of his hesitation, it was just knowing that no matter how good of a time it was, it wasn’t going to be as good of a time as whatever Dina was thinking about that put the glint in her eyes when she insisted that they’d have their time together when he got back to their room.

He was committed to following through on her wishes now, though, as he sat in the car with Ramón. Despite the chatter and the music bumping inside the vehicle, Claudio found himself with a tiny smile on his face that didn’t quite match the scene unfolding around him as he fussed with the top two buttons of his shirt. Dina had taken the tie as he was getting ready to hop into the car. Another insistence that he wouldn’t deny her.

“There is only one good use for a tie this ugly,” she had chided him with a smile as she loosened it for him.

He smiled, amused at how much she enjoyed nettling him about something so small and simple. “And what’s that?”

She hummed in amusement as she finally finishing unknotting it and slipping it through his collar. “You just have to be patient and find out later.”

He chuckled as she smoothed his collar out. “So cruel.”

The roll of her eyes was negated by the smile on her face as she leaned in and kissed him. “Have fun. I love you.”

He lightly squeezed her arm as he kissed her back. “I love you too.”

The soft moment between them couldn’t have had a more different tone than what was unfolding around him now. He was half-listening to Ramón as he spoke. Some of it was drowned out by the music, some of it was drowned out by Ramón’s own laughter. Claudio supposed it didn’t matter much, what his response to any of it would’ve been. Once they got out of the car at the club everyone’s attention switched tracks anyway.

Despite the fact that nightclubs hadn’t been Claudio’s scene for a long time now, he was still managing to have a good time. Was the thought of Dina and his apparently atrocious tie still crossing his mind every now and then in the midst of it? Of course. But what could anyone expect from him, really—he was only human.

Another round of drinks was being passed around, and Claudio took his to be a team player of course. He and Benjamín watched as Ramón flitted back and forth between their group, the bar, and the dancefloor. He was glad to have at least one person around who seemed to be moving at about the same pace as him. Neither him nor Mín said it out loud, but they both knew that being overly reckless in the club was a younger man’s game. And it was Benjamín’s birthday, after all, another year away from being part of that game.

He noticed it later when Mín slipped a wad of cash to Barrón. There was too much else going on for him to pry as to the reasons behind it. But if Mín didn’t seem overly bothered about it all, Claudio figured he didn’t have any reason to be either.

When the gunfire started a couple minutes later Claudio found himself thinking that maybe he should’ve been a little more worried.

It was all such a blur, the scenario itself seeming like something that was supposed to be happening to someone else besides him. If he’d had things his way he would’ve been home with his wife. There wasn’t the time for the fact to become salient to him that the scenario he found himself in was because of his wife, because of his wife’s family, because of these people who were now his family as well. But he was too busy being shot at and ushered through the crowds of people to process his way through all of that.

In reality, only a couple minutes had passed, but Claudio felt like they had been maneuvering through halls and pushing through people for hours. Bullets flew by him, coming from all directions, and he just did his best to keep his head down and not lose sight of the Arellano brothers. If he lost them now, he knew he was going to have no shot at getting out of the place alive and in one piece.

Then one small misstep had him tumbling to the ground. His elbow slammed into the hardwood floor, but the pain shooting up and down his arm paled in comparison to the panic that was coursing through him as he watched everyone continuing to move towards the exit without him. Even if he had shouted for him at the top of his lungs, they most likely wouldn’t have heard him. And, even if they had heard him, the pros and cons of going back for him weren’t working out in his favor. Ramón was already half-carrying Francisco—they couldn’t afford to have another person slowing them down, making them wait. He didn’t even have a gun to try and defend himself.

He managed to scramble to his feet before they all got too far away. It was a collapsible distance even for him. By that point Ramón had noticed his absence, pausing and turning to call back for him. Claudio could see that Ramón was about to turn and go back to him, see if he needed help. But Ramón didn’t get the chance to try and help him, and Claudio didn’t get the chance to try and wave him off and keep him from trying.

Before either man could do or say anything that they wanted to, Claudio found himself staring dead ahead at Chapo. In a police officer’s uniform, which seemed like a strange and humorous if not also completely cruel brand of irony. Claudio’s eyes were still registering the sight in front of him when he felt a bullet tear through his shoulder. Then a second closer to his chest. Then he was on the ground.

His eyes were shut tight as he waited for it all to end. He knew there was no coming back from this now. Dina would be at home waiting for him forever. He should’ve been more adamant for once.

Instead of the next sensation being a final bullet burrowing into him, the next thing that Claudio felt was someone gripping him by his unpunctured shoulder and heaving him upright. Despite the pain and the dazed sensation born of his head hitting the floor, Claudio managed to get it together enough to clumsily put one foot in front of the other. The gunfire was loud, close, like a trigger was being pulled right next to his ear close.

Turning his head, he saw that Barrón was the one who had plucked him off the floor, given him enough cover fire to get his feet moving again—Barrón was the one who saved his life. He was practically dragging Claudio up the stairs, and he hardly seemed to be breaking a sweat doing it. In the ocean of chaos that Claudio was currently on the brink of drowning in, Barrón with his iron grip and ever-neutral expression were acting as his sole life raft.

“Move your fuckin’ feet, man,” Barrón grit out as they neared the top of the staircase.

Something about the command registered in Claudio’s brain, even if he was too lost to realize it in the moment. His movements weren’t exactly deft, but it was enough to lessen the amount of work Barrón had to put in to keep him somewhat upright and moving in the right direction.

There was still shooting happening as Barrón and Claudio made their way to the next hallway. It briefly crossed Claudio’s mind that it seemed as though they all should’ve run out of bullets a long time ago. Too bad he couldn’t offer Barrón the two that were buried in his shoulder and chest.

They came to a halt, one that nearly had Claudio falling back down to the ground again. Barrón was banging on the door that they’d just seen the Arellano’s go through. It did him no good, his wordless ask to be let in going unanswered. The lack of response didn’t act as a deterrent, though.

One well-placed kick later and the door was swinging open, banging against the wall before ricocheting back at them. Then Claudio felt Barrón’s hand on his shoulder again, fingers digging in like he was determined not to let him get lost a second time.

“Let’s go,” he barked out, not stopping to help any of them up off the floor, instead bypassing them and shooting out the windows to garner their escape.

Barrón all but shoved Claudio into the back seat of the car that he was driving. The second he slammed the back door shut, Claudio collapsed against it. Within seconds Barrón was sliding into the driver’s seat. The key slammed into the ignition, the car got thrown into drive, the lights and noise fo Christine’s faded into the background.

The adrenaline that had carried him so far was starting to wane. His eyelids were starting to get heavy as his sweat-slick forehead pressed against the window. His hand wasn’t even applying pressure to his wounds at this point, simply just resting on top of them.

“Yo,” Barrón snapped from the front seat, “don’t die. Not after all that.”

Neither of them voiced it out loud, but for a moment each of them independently had the thought that if Claudio died now, Dina would kill the both of them. Laws of physics and nature be damned, the woman would find a way. Claudio kept his eyes open.

He heard her before he saw her, heard her before she yanked open the door he was leaning on. Her panic was replaced with shock for a split second when he almost toppled out of the car. Her eyes widened, immediately moving to catch him, hands traveling up to his face to make him look at her.

“Claudio?” she said, a waver to her voice that he hadn’t ever heard before. He didn’t even get out a response before she repeated his name with more finality to it, a brief but relieved smile flashing across her face as she took in the fact that he was there in front of her.

Next thing he knew, she was in the back seat beside him and Barrón was tearing off again to take them home. Claudio found himself leaning against Dina now instead of the window, a much warmer and more welcoming brace. One hand on his head, threaded into his hair, the other pressing against his chest wound, she murmured a slew of things, everything from prayers to threats to I love you’s. Claudio wished that he had it in him to respond to any of it.

Later, when he could no longer feel the bullets still embedded in his muscles, when the throbbing in his head stopped and the tears of Dina’s face dried, he’d say his piece. He’d finally put his foot down, tell her that next time he wants to spend the night in with his wife and his ugly ties, that was exactly what he was going to do. Next time she wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it. For the moment, though, he let himself sink against her.

[ducavalentinos]

Ramón Arellano Félix | Season 3

[tinylittleobsessions]

THE BEST EPISODE

the entire Arellano Félix family be like...

[doobiebochana]

ramón 🕺🏻ramón 💃🏻 ramón 🕺🏻

•••

sc: @mmasalva

ac: relicsaudios in ig

show: Narcos Mexico

character: Ramón Arellano Félix (Manuel Masalva)

© any similarities in my edit is entirely coincidental and unintentional. If I was inspired by someone elses work, I will put 'inspired by' on the caption above.

[cregan-starks]

Every episode of Narcos: Mexico

3.04 GDL | “Chaos brings opportunities.”