#can you spot the dinarrón reference I shoehorned in here

[hausofmamadas]

I have no idea why tf, or for what tf, or who tf I even wrote this for besides it came to me and I don’t know what else to do with it but share bc like I think it’s kinda funny and like gifs. So, yeah, here’s a thing sksksksks a drabble? as the real fanfic writers say??

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| Only good for a good time |

Character/Pairing: Isabella Bautista (heavily implied Isabella Bautista x Enedina Arellano Félix)

Word count: smol ~850

✷ TWs: the general stupidity of men none ✷

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Because a pretty face, dirt poor from Culiacan, can only possibly be good for one thing, right? If Isabella Bautista had like a lifestyle guru blog or a Wordpress diary or was like some kind of YouTube vlogger and/or Instagram influencer or god forbid, had a Tumblr, I feel like this would be an entry?? Regardless of the exact avenue, she is out here, screaming into the void of the internet about how her almost bestie and the rest of the world did her so beyond dirty and questioning what it means to be so damn sexy all the time. (You think I'm joking ... I promise you, this might actually be that shallow.)

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It was almost like every breakup I’d ever had. A pat on the ass, a “thanks for your time” and “be on your way.” Actually it was worse, because none of the dirtbags I ever dated had left a check to add insult to injury. Another thing this one had that those breakups didn’t? The worst part? The absolute and complete cherry on top of this shit sundae?

I didn’t. fucking. see it. coming.

In hindsight, I probably should have. I’d never worked with another woman before, so I kinda just chalked it up to that. Less dicks and egos to dance around and deal with. But if I think about it now, there were always three operating in the background, after hours, and things were going too well, working too smoothly, had too few headaches, too few fires to put out. That should’ve tipped me off. Because life is never so kind. I mean, they say you can’t have it all, right? I never used to believe that but I’m beginning to. Because a pretty face, dirt poor from Culiacan, can only possibly be good for one thing, right?

And yeah, I do like to have a good time, if your idea of a good time is watching endless reruns of El Derecho de Nacer with a seventy pound German shepherd, drooling, half-asleep in your lap. I guess I don't mind dancing either, but that always depends on the company you're with. (If you're ever in Colombia, I've got a number for este chulito viejito who ruined dancing for me because it's just not the same without him ...

... he made that much of an impression.) But people are always projecting things onto me based on my looks. Which isn’t actually my problem … but is still somehow my problem.

So, it’s a question I ask myself often. Is it worth it to be beautiful? And now, don’t even start because I already know what you’re thinking like qué debo ser tan loca, sí? Oh poor linda, bonita, chulita, fresita. How life must be so terrible and hard for you. Cry me a river, pendeja. Ya cállate alashingada pues and smile.

And look, I get it. It sounds nuts to be asking that question porque por supuesto que sí, que ser linda, lo vale la pena.

And you’re right. The answer to that question is "yes" ... in some ways. I mean, sure, it may have gotten me out of a ticket, paying a fine or two. And well, yeah, actually come to think of it, I’ve never paid for a drink in my life.

It’s also part of, but definitely not all (not even close) of what got me out of Sinaloa and onto bigger things. Tijuana, Colombia, beyond.

Because people are nicer to you if you’re pretty. They tend to give you things when you ask (for the right ones) nicely.

But (and there’s always one of those) when I replay every single leer, every joke some sleazeball cracked about how “Colombians love a girl with a fat ass,” every pair of hungry, beady eyes behind sunglasses slid down the bridges of their noses. When I replay all of that? Yeah. I wish wasn’t. Or at least, not in the way I am.

See, because as much as I admire and respect her, the most annoying thing about Di— scratch that. One of the most annoying things about Dina is that she’s beautiful too. Noticeably so. I mean hey, I certainly noticed. Hell, I wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity had we not been in business together. He probably thinks he taught me so much, but Miguel was right about one thing: business in lust or love is a Bad Idea. (Well that, aaaand had she not been so busy making eyes at that Snack of a sicario working for them, whose name I can never remember.)

(And really …. I can't blame her.)

(… Or him, for that matter.)

So yeah, she’s beautiful. And yet, still, somehow people always seem to take her seriously. And okay yes, she’s someone who does naturally command respect, sure. But hey! Newsflash! We’re not that fucking different!

How do you think we worked together so well in the first place?

I guess, maybe it’s that she’s beautiful in a way that’s honest and doesn’t make too much noise. Frankly, for the longest time, I always thought it was because of how she dressed, like in those unflattering, oversized tiger sweaters. And good god, that 80-year-old librarian’s polka-dotted suit jacket, the one that made her look like a kooky preschool teacher …

If preschool teachers came customized with a mouth that savage. (I don’t think they do.)

But that theory went right out the window. Because when I did that, no matter how hard I tried to make myself look hard, they still all saw the same thing. One Thing. (Except the One Person I might’ve actually wanted to see the One Thing. Then again, what’s that saying? Don’t shit where you eat? As I said, bad for business. Although, now that I think about it, maybe I should’ve thrown caution to the wind since the whole thing went to shit anyway. Oh well. Así es la vida.)

Oh, I’m not even gonna bother spelling it out for you. Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. And you do already know what it is. Because it’s the One Thing you see too, isn’t it? I mean, isn’t it what you all came for in the first place?