I have this weird superpower of joining fandoms after they already hit the grave years ago. But, you know what, as long as my stuff reaches the same 5 still existing Narcos fans, who enjoy my content, then it makes me happy.
I started the series a month ago now, first with Narcos Colombia and now i just finished Narcos Mexico S2 and i really cannot explain why i haven't started it earlier. It has incredible writing, some topics kicked me off my feet just like the incredible actors and actresses. Living in Europe and not being that big into true crime stuff, i only heard about Pablo Escobar and El Chapo a few times, knowing just the simple basics about their criminal record. This series did a lot to kick off my interest for this overall topic, deep diving more into the dark history of the Latin America drug crime lore. If you haven't watched the show yet, pls give it a chance! As said, it wasn't my topic too at first, but the series still caught me and now ranks as one of my all time favorites.
Today i have a Narcos meme for ya <3, tomorrow? Who, knows?
But yeah, i am currently working on some one-shots for Narcos and Narcos Mexico. One for Javier Peña is planned as well, but i want to give the spotlight to less represented characters for ffs in the fandom first.
hello please join the narcos discord to prove to my friend the fandom isn’t dead we have features including many channels and at least one (1) bot (I don’t know how to sell anything unlike how pablo escobar knows how to sell cocaine am I right)
Check out the Narcos community on Discord – hang out with 4 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen
Summary: A letter for you.
Word count: 5.3k
Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?
Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.
Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.
As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤
******
I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.
The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so.
You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.
He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.
Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat.
The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.
“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing.
“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently.
An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point.
“When is your flight?”
“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”
“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation.
“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-”
“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”
The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid.
“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?”
“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts.
“Don't be moralistic.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.”
Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.
“... I did.”
“How.”
“You saw him, you know how.”
“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?”
“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?”
You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face.
“... Would you do that for a son?”
The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.
“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic.
“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”
Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand.
That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze.
“Now you know how it is.”
“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury.
“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”
“You better-”
“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”
Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists.
“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.”
The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you.
“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”
“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”
With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood.
“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.”
It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.
******
Two days before…
You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his.
“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”
“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”
“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”
“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”
Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go.
“You don’t know him,” He said.
“I’m aware.”
“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”
“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.”
“Why?”
For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar.
“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”
You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.
“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”
You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.
“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.”
Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit.
“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”
“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”
“Because I love you.”
“And if you had children, you would love them too.”
Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.
You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely.
He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.
Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.
I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.
“Let’s do this.”
******
I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.
I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.
I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.
Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.
******
It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.
This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.
The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.
“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.”
In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.
“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.”
“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”
“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.”
You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.
“Is that white hair?”
“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”
“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?”
No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag.
“... Yes.”
“Hey-”
“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”
“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”
It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.
******
At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.
When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.
It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary.
“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”
You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.
“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”
“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”
“How can you know?”
“Well, because I just know.”
Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.
It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.
Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.
I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.
I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.
******
“Appealing to nostalgia?”
Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.
You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.
“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff.
“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head.
“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”
“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.”
Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention.
“You drove me crazy, that's what.”
“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”
“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”
You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there.
“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head.
“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”
“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”
“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”
“But I'm not going anywhere.”
“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”
Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.
“What?”
“I want to read you something.”
You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.
“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”
“And what exactly is it?”
“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”
There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.
Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things.
You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.
When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.
“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”
“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”
“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”
“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”
“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.”
The Narcos Fandom Forever discord server is introducing a month-long challenge, the Narcos October Prompts, which is open to fan creators for both the OG Narcos and Narcos MX TV shows.
Creators of all kinds are encouraged to make all types of fanworks! Fic, art, gifs, vids, and other miscellaneous fanworks are all welcome.
Each fanwork must be published on the day that corresponds to the prompt. There are two prompts for each day of the month, and you can choose which you prefer.
For example, you can post a fanwork inspired by the Day 7 prompt “Blackout” on October 7. If you create something late, you can publish it on the amnesty day, which is October 30.
Please use the hashtag #narcoctober to submit your entries, so we can find them and reblog them!
EDIT: the event is now over. To enjoy the things we've created, peruse masterlist i (days 1-10), masterlist ii (day 11-25), and masterlist iii (day 26-31).
🍰 Prompt List 🍰
October 1 — Day of Firsts
Create a fanwork about a canon character you’ve never written about/used before.
Create a fanwork of an alternate universe you’ve never tried to create before.
October 2 — “Porque No Los Dos?” Day
Create a crossover for the original Narcos show and the Narcos: Mexico show, featuring at least one character for each.
Anything involving polyamory, ex: a fic about somebody who has two or more partners (with their partners’ knowledge and consent, aka not infidelity. That’s a different prompt).
October 3 — Day of Music
Create and post a playlist for fic/wip of yours OR your favorite episode and explain why each song resonates for that fic/wip or episode.
Put your favorite playlist on shuffle and whatever song comes up first, that’s your prompt.
>>> more prompts below the cut
October 4 — Day of Conflict
Anything involving a fistfight or a gunfight.
Quote prompt: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
October 5 — Day of Visual Art
Visual fanworks: post a screenshot, meme, gif, gifset, video, or other non-fic visual fanwork.
Create a fanwork about a character interacting with a piece of art (e.g. buying decoration for a new home, stealing a piece, hitting on a stranger at a gallery, creating art themselves, etc)
October 6 — Day of International Relations
Write non-English language fic.
Use a random country picker and utilize that country in your work in some way: a character is from that country, a food from that country shows up, there’s international politics, etc. You get two rerolls if you don’t like the first or second country you get. If you get the United States, reroll automatically.
October 7 — Day of Darkness
Make something centered around non-death dark topics (we have a specific death day already). Morally or emotionally dark topics/themes.
One-word prompt: Blackout.
October 8 — Day of Light
A day of pure fluff: anything insanely, unambiguously, self-indulgently, luxuriously enjoyable.
One-word prompt: Sunrise.
October 9 — Day of Gay
Create anything devoted to an LGBTQ+ character. This can be your headcanon, but if you want a canon gay character, Pacho and his boyfriends are canonically gay. Also, one of Pacho’s biker lady criminals is played by a trans actress.
Create anything with a queer and/or trans original character or reader insert.
October 10 — Day of Tough Shit
Write a fic whose exact wordcount is divisible by 500 (500, 1000, 1500, etc).
Make a fanwork in a medium you’ve never used before. If you make GIFs, write something. If you write, draw. Etc. As long as it’s uncharted territory for you!
October 11 — Day of Fun
Create a non-visual, non-fic fanwork: quiz, game, playlist, incorrect quotes.
Create a fanwork with at least one joke in it (that YOU think is funny, fuck everyone else if they don’t think it’s funny lmao).
October 12 — Day of Death
Kill a character who lives in canon.
Create something with a character who is mourning a dying thing rather than a person (their dying relationship, their dying career, their dying city, their dying memories, their dying friendship, their dying dreams, etc etc etc)
October 13 — Day of Life
Create a fanwork in which a character avoids their canonical death.
Create a fanwork about characters having kids (sex to have kids, pregnancy, the birth itself, the kids growing up) or choosing not to have kids. It's a free country (it’s sorta a free country) (it’s sorta kinda a free country) (depends on which country we’re talking about i suppose)
October 14 — Day of Support
Create a review, response, or analysis of a Narcos or Narcos Mexico fic, in the style of an Amazon review or a NYT book review or something like that. Please keep it constructive and positive, no roasts.
Quote prompt: “I got you.”
October 15 — Day of Absolute Filth
Create a smut fanwork that includes three different kinks and/or sex acts (basically you could tag it with at least three tags that are Pure Filth).
Create a fanwork about a character’s moral corruption.
October 16 — Day of Surprises
These prompts were revealed at the start of the day.
Create a fanwork that focuses on dreams, either literal or metaphorical.
Shrimp.
October 17 — Day of Rare Treasures
Create a fanwork about a character that only shows up in one (1) season of the show. the rarer the better honestly
“I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again.”
October 18 — Day of History
Create a fanwork about characters experiencing, participating in, or witnessing a real life historical event (could have been depicted in canon or not) e.g. moon landing.
Create a fanwork about two exes meeting unexpectedly.
October 19 — Day of Hurt
Create a fanwork about a character so emotionally or physically hurt that they can’t help but start crying even though they don’t want to.
Make a spitework (that is, a fanwork addressing something in canon that pissed you off, whether it was a character or a plot point).
October 20 — Day of Comfort
Create a fanwork about a character getting exactly what they need from someone unexpected.
Create a fanwork inspired by your #1 narcos comfort episode (not necessarily “the best” but rather the episode you rewatch the most often because you love it so much).
October 21 — Day of Women Who Will Step On You For Free
Create a f/f-centric fanwork.
Create a fanwork focused on the character development of a woman from the show.
October 22 — Day of Cross-Fandom Pollination
Create a fanwork that includes at least one Narcos character and at least one character from another fandom.
Create a fanwork with the plot or setting stolen from another fandom (and cite which fandom it is). For example, a daisy jones and the six fic where món is a 60s singer.
October 23 — Day of Threes
Create a fanwork that includes three items you can currently see.
Create a fanwork including three canon characters. extra difficult version: three canon characters that have never met.
October 24 — Day of Monsters
Create a fanwork about a character turning into a supernatural creature.
Quote prompt: “The world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. Just broken people balancing between the two.”
October 25 — Day of Wow, That Escalated Quickly
Create a fanwork that begins in a canon-compatible place, but ends up going somewhere more dramatic.
Quote prompt: “It’s surprising how much can change in just one hour.”
October 26 — Day of Echoes
Pick a quote from the show that you love and use it as inspiration for your fanwork. Then share what the quote is at the end of your post.
Create a fanwork inspired by any mythological story (Greek, Norse, Aztec, Celtic, etc. get weird with it. Bible counts as mythology, fuck it)
October 27 — People of Color Day
Create a fanwork about an original character or reader character who is explicitly a person of color.
Create a fanwork about a canon character of color (e.g. Truijllo, Enrique, Kiki, Rafa, Azul).
October 28 — Day of Friendship
Create a fanwork inspired by somebody else’s fanwork, or including a cameo of somebody else’s original character (fanvids, fanart, moodboard, etc included — just please ask for permission from the original creator to use inspo before you do it!)
Quote prompt: “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
October 29 — Day of Horror
Create a fanwork inspired by your favorite horror movie.
Prompt: came back wrong.
October 30 — (penultimate day, October 30) Day of Amnesty
Post a fanwork you started for any previous prompt but weren’t able to finish in time.
Quote prompt: “I forgive you.”
October 31 — (final day, October 31) Day of Legacy
Create a sequel or counterpart to a fanwork you posted previously this month.
Quote prompt: “This is [my/your/their] legacy.”
November 1 — Bonus — Day of Celebration
reblog a fanwork that is your favorite creation that you made in the month
we're gonna watch the OG Narcos! season one, episode one, starting 4pm EST on Saturday, July 30. “Descenso” - the one in which all the bullshit starts and then just never fucking stops 😂 plus Javi’s ass is fully out. expect the chisme/JP to flow
right afterwards, there's an optional writing component where you write & post a lil fic or analysis about episode one
as always, everyone 18+ years old is welcome! join the narcos fandom discord.
Sorry for all the stress I had to put you through, you just have to take a little more now in Chapter Nine. Enjoy!
Masterlist
Gif credit goes to @benmendelsohns
Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Mentions of sex.
You had to sit down. Why on earth would he book an appointment with you? He had made it absolutely clear that he did not want any contact with you anymore. It was hard for you not to think about it any further and even harder to process all the therapy sessions before his.
Finally, after you had not been able to eat anything during your lunch break, the clock on your wall showed you Javier had to knock on your door any minute now. You tried to think of him as any man, any patient, any random person with a problem they needed to talk about. Just as he was clearly thinking of you as any woman he had been sleeping with.
2:32pm, a knock on your door.
You got up to open it and there he was, dressed in suit and tie, the musky smell of his cologne was instantly prominent. Stay professional, you repeated for yourself.
“Good afternoon, Agent Peña, please come in and take a seat,” you greeted him, the thoughts and emotions were running riot inside your head. He grumbled something that you assumed was a hello and sat down. He looked nervous, hands fiddling with nothing but air.
“What can I help you with?” It was usually your first question for a new patient. You watched him trying to form the sentence inside his brain and it amused you a little bit how agitated he seemed.
“It took me a long time to come here, but I have a big problem and nobody to talk to. It’s been giving me a very hard time and I have to do something about it,” Javier explained through gritted teeth with such a huge frown on his forehead you thought it would burn itself into his skin.
You said nothing, waiting for him to continue and already hypothesising what his problem could be. Work? A traumatizing incident during hunting Escobar?
“I have fallen in love,” he blurted out and his words caused you to lose your countenance for a very brief moment, but regained control in a similar speed. He must’ve seen the sudden change in your expression, but luckily he was looking down onto his feet. You felt sick.
“I’ve fallen in love with a woman and it scares the shit out of me, because it hasn’t happened in five years. I tried everything to fight back, getting drunk, sleeping with lots of other women, drowning myself in work. Nothing helped. So I made the decision to tell her. But at the same time I’m terrified to fuck it up, I have fucked up so many relationships in the past, I don’t know if I’m even capable, I-,” he rambled, running a hand over his face in desperation.
During his monologue, you had been making explanations and connections to his behaviour of the past weeks. It all made sense now. He was in love, that’s why he had slept with you. He wanted to use you like hookers and other women he had brought home every night. The pain in your chest and lump in your throat grew to an enormous size and it was hard for you to breathe.
“Get out,” you could only whisper the words with your emotions surfacing at the moment.
Javier looked up at you with misery and disbelief in his eyes, “what?”
“Get. Out.” You said once more, louder this time, standing up from your chair. At this point it was impossible to maintain your professionality and you noticed tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
Javier also rose from his chair and approached you but you automatically took a step back.
“I want you to leave, Javier,” you insisted and cursed your voice for sounding weaker than you had intended. Your hands were shaking.
“No,” Javier replied. He now stood right before you and took your face in his hands. A single tear of yours landed on his wrist and you gulped. You were paralyzed.
“I’m talking about you, silly,” Javier admitted with a tiny smile under his moustache, “I’m in love with you.”
You stared at him incredulously with a blank expression.
“You’ve hurt me, Javi,” you whispered as you looked into his dark, mesmerizing eyes.
“I know.” The look in his eyes changed to regret and you were somewhat touched. He had not moved his hands from your face but you did, gently taking his hands in yours and removing them from your cheeks.
“I don’t think you do,” you replied, your voice firm and serious.
“I’m sorry, Molly, truly. Like I said, I wasn’t used to feelings anymore. And when they came, I freaked out big time. But I’m ready now and I’m certain I will allow the feelings to stay.”
His confession painfully removed the dagger from your heart. But that did not mean you didn’t bleed. You did, a lot, it was now an open wound and he couldn’t just put a plaster on top of it to cover it up. It wasn’t going to be that simple. He would need to put much more effort in.
“Thank you for being so honest,” you began to speak and felt your face heat up with emotional uncertainty, “but this is not enough. You told me I was naïve, Javi, you told me you didn’t want to see me again. And then you fucked another girl every night knowing I would hear it. That’s not something you can amend by just confessing your feelings to me. Sorry, but I’m not ready to forgive you.”
Javier had listened closely and now stood in front of you like a rejected little boy, looking miserable and hurt.
“I think it’s best if you leave now,” you uttered softly, your gaze on the floor. He hesitated at first, but approached the door and opened it, turning to you once more.
“Molly, I-,” he initiated, but you cut him off, shooting him a pleading glance.
“Javi, please.” Tears were now streaming down your face, your chest heaving with tedious breaths. You didn’t want him to see it, but it was too late.
If it was even possible, the remorse in his eyes increased when he saw you like that. Sighing, he closed the door behind him.
You slumped into your armchair and cried in silence. The tissue box on the coffee table, which was essentially for patients, gradually lost it’s content.
I am so deep in a Narcos hyperfixation rn, that i really want to use the characters for some sketch practices.
Feel free to leave me a character you'd like me to draw from this series (Season 1-3) in the comments down here or through my ask box. It doesn't matter whether the character being from the DEA, Medellín or Calí cartel – i just don't draw Stechner, bc this guy really makes me throw burned toasts against the TV.
