oh my!

isabella flynn / kristen kringle from fox's gotham. show and headcanon based. written by sophie.

[akillerconundrum]

“I heard in some universes, The Riddler is a red-head… 🤔”

Commission for @lankybrunettepartdeux, Kristen Kringle in the Gotham Riddler suit!

[isaflynns]

Isabella didn’t get nearly as much handwritten mail as she would have liked. It really was a lost art. Edward had written to her now and again, as had the Riddler, and she kept in somewhat frequent contact with 5 by letter, though he was very sporadic with his replies. So, when she got home from work to see an envelope on her doormat, with her name handwritten on it, she smiled excitedly. She didn’t recognise the handwriting, and she rushed to the kitchen to grab a letter opener and slit it open quickly. The handwriting was neat enough, but almost juvenile, in a way that none of her contacts would have been. And, when she started reading the letter, she realised why.

She’d thought a lot about Jenna since their meeting in the library, but their paths hadn’t crossed. And now, here was a letter, inviting her to some club in a rundown part of the city, to discuss something? How on earth had Jenna even found her address? Wasn’t the girl homeless? Her curiosity caught, Isabella shoved the letter into her handbag and immediately left. The letter had asked her to come as soon as she could, and there was no time like the present.

It wasn’t a long drive to the club, and, when she arrived, Isabella got out of her car and stared at the building. Of all the places she’d imagined a young woman like Jenna to stay, this was hardly where she’d pictured. It looked like one of Oswald’s clubs -- that was to say, seedy, dark, and criminal. Clutching her handbag close, Isabella walked inside and right up to the back office, as Jenna had asked her to. Feeling utterly stupid, and belatedly wondering if this was a trick of some kind, she said to the man standing outside the door, “I’m here to see Jenna. My name’s Isabella Flynn.”

Surprisingly, he nodded as if he’d been expecting her, and pushed the door open, and Isabella walked inside, her guard up, her posture stiff, with no idea what on earth to expect.

@quietbunjenna

[isaflynns]

daisycjohnson‌:

“I- I know.” She’d always hated apologies, not just giving them, but hearing them. They were all just so … useless. They didn’t fix anything. They didn’t really make anyone feel better. Everything still hurt no matter what you said. Sure, you could move on and let the pain dull, but ‘sorry’ didn’t fix anything. Right now, it just made her feel more useless, like she wasn’t just Kilgrave’s doll to use, abuse, and toss away at will. She was life’s doll. She didn’t know which one scared her more.

“Still is,” she responded quickly. Her heart pounded in her chest like she was scared that he might not be. She didn’t want to lose any more friends, especially him. “I’ve done … despicable things too. I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you when I’ve probably- definitely done a lot worse.” They were things so bad that they had to be wiped from her memory, lest she break down and break everything apart around her. “What’s it like?” she asked, “from the other end?” She fidgeted momentarily before she wrapped her arms around Isabella, gently squeezing her shoulders.

Daisy had done worse than her? Isabella highly doubted that. It sounded as if any bad thing Daisy had done hadn’t been her fault -- she’d been under the thrall of this Kilgrave character. And Isabella remembered the personal, intimate, violence of what she’d done to Edward, the scars he still bore from the farmhouse. She couldn’t believe that Daisy had done anything as horrific as that. But she didn’t want to argue with the other woman, not now they were finally getting along, finally healing their old wounds. She just smiled awkwardly, and nodded once, in what she hoped was an understanding way.

But then Daisy asked her what it was like from the other side. Before she could answer, she was enveloped in a hug, and she froze automatically, too stunned to do anything, so unused to being hugged by anyone. After a moment, she hugged Daisy back a little stiffly, and then pulled away, smiling to herself, a genuine, warm, smile this time. “Um... It’s awful,” she said, softly, glancing away from Daisy. “Being the cause of that much pain, that much suffering? Knowing that nothing you do will ever really fix it?” She sighed. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. I will never be the person I was, in Edward’s eyes. And a day doesn’t go by when I don’t regret what I did to him in that wretched house.”

[isaflynns]

dogcfwar‌:

Frank was used to people reacting to scenes like this. As much as he tried to keep the carnage from the public eye, as much as he aimed to avoid any kind of collateral damage, he wasn’t always successful. That being said, people usually panicked. He knew what to do with panic, knew what to do with fear or horror or disgust. He didn’t really know what to do with acceptance, or whatever the hell was reflected on this woman’s face. It was like he was back in Khanadar all over again, surrounded by men that knew war as he did. “Yeah, neither do I,” Frank muttered in response. “This ain’t really encouraging me to come back, either.”

The way she looked at the bodies, like she was looking over spilled milk instead of spilled guts, made Frank keep his gaze entirely on her. “Technically, they did,” Frank said, giving one of the bodies a nudge with his boot, knocking the last of the air out of his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Frank said. “I make a habit of killing people who deserve it. They were stealing from good people, paying into trafficking rings. They deserve what they got.” They probably deserved ore, all things considered. “Nah,” he said, pulling his trench coat back to holster his gun, revealing the painted vest underneath. “Costumes mean symbols, right? I prefer a memento mori.” He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to read her expression. “You make a habit of this?” Frank asked, turning her words around. “Walking into shitstorms?”

“Well,” Isabella replied, primly, “I doubt that every church is run by a mobster.” She smiled at him, trying to make a joke out of the ridiculous situation. She could see how uncertain this man was at her reaction, and she understood it -- she knew how she appeared. In fact, she relied on that image. It had helped her countless times in the past. He stared at her, and then kicked one of the corpses. Isabella glanced down at it, and then back to him, hardly paying it any mind. It had been years since she’d been remotely bothered by the sight of a dead body.

“An eye for an eye,” she said with a shrug. “You’re a vigilante. That’s never appealed to me, personally. But each to their own.” At least she’d been right about him not being a superhero, and he proved it when he pulled his trench coat back to reveal a relatively ordinary black t-shirt underneath. He asked her if she made a habit of this, and she laughed, despite everything, because it was genuinely funny. “Would you believe me if I told you I’d been very good at staying out of trouble lately? I used to be much more... involved. But I try to steer clear of all this now.” She eyed the blood again, warily, but the pool was spreading near enough to get on her shoes. “I suppose it would be pointless to ask for your name?” she said. “This isn’t exactly a normal introductory setting, is it?”

[isaflynns]

captaingordcn‌:

“No, I should let the past go and get to know you, Isabella.” He told her with a shake of his head and a small smile. He knew she wasn’t Kristen, she just looked like her and shared her memories. She said it was alright to compare the two of them, but he didn’t feel he had the right to. He barely knew Isabella, and Kristen was more of a work friend if anything. She said Lee would forgive him and he gave her a shrug. “I did a lot, Isabella. Even if she did forgive me, I’m not sure I’d deserve that forgiveness. I think we’re long over, there’s no fixing the past.” He said, “But we can look to the future. How about that lunch we were going to have. I’m starving.” He said with an awkward smile, trying to push past the heavy topic. 

Jim had always been kind to her, when she was Kristen. She had never divulged everything that had happened to her, but she got the feeling he had known something was going on with Tom. And here he was, insisting her got to know her, and not just assume he knew her because of Kristen. It was something she was surprisingly grateful for, and she smiled in return. “I think that everyone deserves forgiveness,” she replied, gently. Of course, she knew as little about what Jim had done as he did about what she’d done, but it was something she truly believed.

It would have been impossible to miss his cue to move the conversation on, and she nodded eagerly. “Oh, me too,” she said. She reached into her satchel for a flask of tea. “One thing you’ll come to know about me, Captain Gordon, is that I never travel anywhere without a cup of tea and a good book,” she said, warmly. “And I am very partial to the salads this place does. Is it tragic that they actually know who I am?” she laughed a little.

[isaflynns]

nurseofnight‌:

“Okay, Isabella,” she repeated the name with a nod of her head and looked at the receptionist, to make sure that she hadn’t completely undone by what had happened that night. The woman was still clearly shaken from her own encounter with Edward and the gun but she had agreed to not call the police as long as they started Edward down a path that could lead to him being healthy. 

From what Claire had gathered from the conversation that she had with Edward, Isabella knew that he had Dissociative Identity Disorder but Claire wasn’t sure how much Isabella had seen in person or if she knew how to approach this. Claire glanced at the other people in the lobby and took in a breath, this wasn’t the place to talk about it – and as soon as Isabella suggested they go somewhere private, Claire nodded in agreement. “There is a room we can use that’s empty,” she explained, figuring that despite this being about Edward, the conversation would be best without him. Opening the door that connected the back rooms to the lobby, Claire motioned for Isabella to follow her. Guiding the other woman to a room, Claire closed the door behind them and set the papers she had gathered on the counter.

“He came into the clinic with a gun,” Claire said quietly. Outside of these walls, in the real world, Claire would have worked up to such a statement, but this matter was pressing and they didn’t have the luxury of dancing around what happened – Claire needed to be direct. And so she was. “He wanted tests done to see if there was something physically wrong with his brain. But for people who have DID, there usually isn’t a physical reason for the alters to manifest. I can get him the scan that he wants so that he can certain that there isn’t anything wrong with his brain but he…” Claire worked her jaw for a moment, “He told me about Arkham. And electroshock – ” Claire cleared her throat. “There is a treatment for DID but it’s not something Akrham is equipped for. His best option is staying in New York and getting treatment here, but to keep him here, he needs a guardian.” There was a long beat after that last word where Claire was quiet and simply looked at Isabella, knowing that this was a lot to process all at once. “Which is why I called you.”

Isabella followed Claire into the empty room, and stood a short distance away, her hands clasped together in front of her. She kept her expression passive as Claire explained what had happened. He’d come into the clinic with a gun. Oh, Edward, she thought. Though, of course, this wasn’t Edward. This was the Riddler. Only he would do something so violent and rash. Only he would threaten innocent people to get what he wanted. She swallowed thickly, and didn’t say anything, letting Claire continue.

At least they were on the same page about sending him back to Arkham. Whatever the Riddler did, Isabella would never, ever, see him in that place again. He always came out of there worse than when he went in. They might have dragged her back to sanity, but they only ever destroyed Edward. She nodded in silent agreement, right up until Claire said that he needed a guardian. And then, Isabella froze. She stared at Claire. The silence hung, and then she added, Which is why I called you.

The Riddler couldn’t possibly have asked for her. Not if he’d known what was going to be asked. The last thing he would have wanted was to be humiliated like this. It was degrading, not to mention utterly ridiculous, given her own history. Guardianship over the man she had tried to kill? Guardianship over the man she had kidnapped from his own home and held captive in the middle of nowhere? Of course, what she’d done wasn’t public knowledge -- Claire Temple, and the wider world, had no idea what horrors Isabella was capable of.

She realised it had been a long time she’d spoken. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her tone brimming with disbelief. “I understand why he needs a guardian. He’s... not safe. But there has to be someone else...” Like who? she asked herself, at once. The Riddler hardly kept law-abiding company Oswald Cobblepot, known gangster. Harley Quinn, the ex-Queen of Gotham. Even his best friend, Daisy Johnson, had recently got caught up in some sort of public crime with that mind controller, hadn’t she? There was no one else. It was truly stupid that there was nobody else -- that the Riddler’s sanest, and most logical, guardian was his ex-kidnapper. But that was what the world came to, apparently.

She cleared her throat, and straightened up a little, trying to match her stance to the task that had been lain out before her. It was unbelievable, but she needed to understand what was going to happen -- if, indeed, it was going to happen. “If I do say yes to what you’re asking,” she said, “I need to know more about it. What would you need from me? How long would this... guardianship last?” God, it felt awful to even say it, let alone think about what it would entail.

[uncertainty4surety]

I’ve lived my whole life inside the pages of books. 

- Gotham 3x07

[isaflynns]

dogcfwar‌:

There was honour in violence. That was the first thing the Colonel screamed at Frank when he was standing in front of him, eighteen years old wearing too-big combat boots, the only one of the squad of privates to make it through the assault course first time around. There was honour in doing what needed to be done, in doing things that other people couldn’t do, in getting your hands dirty if it meant someone else’s stayed clean.

Other people didn’t share that that point of view, at least most other people. Some exceptions stared into the face of the fire and didn’t bat an eye, and usually those exceptions were the people you would least expect. Frank learned that a long time ago, but when he saw the woman stepping into the church now, he couldn’t stop his eyebrow from raising. “Yeah, but you could’ve walked the other way,” Frank replied, voice equally as even, looking at her for a long moment before lowering the gun, albeit slowly. “You part of the congregation? Bit late for the service. As it turns out, the Father is a mouthpiece for the mob.” Fuckin’ Hell’s Kitchen. Over twenty years in this shithole, and it never changed, not really. “If you’re a cop, I ain’t going with you, but you don’t seem the type.”

It was a fair point. Isabella gave the stranger a small smile. Oddly, having a gun pointed at her made her feel clearer than she had in a while. Maybe it was the starkness of the danger, or the reassurance that she knew she wouldn’t feel the physical pain of being shot. Whatever it was, she felt a surreal sense of clarity, even as the man slowly lowered the gun. “I’m not part of the congregation,” she replied. “I don’t usually come to church, actually.” She had never believed in God -- she’d been through too much, seen too many horrific things, to believe there was anyone watching over humanity.

She turned to look at the pile of bodies, absentmindedly. “I just came here because it’s a good place to think,” she continued, by way of explanation. As much as she didn’t hold with religion, she adored the building, and the history of it. “But, obviously, you got here first.” She looked at the man again, curiosity finally seeping in, after the initial surprise of seeing him. “D’you make a habit of killing mob members, then?” she asked. “I guess you’re not a superhero. You don’t have a costume. And you don’t seem the type.” She smiled, throwing his own words back at him.

[isaflynns]

akajustjessicajones‌:

“What’s the matter? That word a little too grown-up for you?” Jessica asked. If this had been two weeks ago, if they’d been in anger management, sitting in those stupid chairs, talking about stupid coping mechanisms, she might’ve been smirking. Instead, her face barely changed. Her eyes were flat, her mouth pulled into a thin line. “Or is it too honest?” she asked, tilting her head. She scoffed loudly. “If you think me and pride are anywhere close to each other, then you’re denser than you look. And that’s saying something.” 

It was interesting, to see how quickly Isabella backpedaled. How easy it was to push her away. “Are you proud?” she called to the woman. “Your Good Samaritan schtick really falls apart the second you aren’t showered with praise for it,” she said, eyes narrowing. Isabella wasn’t any better than anyone else, no matter how she carried herself. In the end, she was just as selfish, but she couldn’t even admit it. 

Maybe that’s what Jessica wanted from her. To admit it. To take a good long look at herself and see that she wasn’t any different from Jessica. She wore nicer clothes, she had better hair, her makeup was actually existent. But at the core, they were exactly the same. Dirty, terrible, pieces of shit who weren’t looking for absolution – they were looking for a fight. 

“See? Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jessica said, and the faint ghost of a smirk appeared on her face. Growing microscopically as Isabella ranted, raged at her, beating against her like waves against the cliff. Maybe Jessica wanted to be eroded away. Maybe she wanted the ocean to swallow her up. “Oh, it’s not that hard to believe,” Jessica snapped back. “No, you’re just walking in, hoping to score brownie points off someone else’s pain! Looking to make yourself feel better because you think that somehow, you’re still better than me.” 

And then Isabella crossed a line. The smirk faded from Jessica’s face, her entire body growing rigid. Her hands shot out, grabbed Isabella by the collar. “Don’t pretend you’re sorry,” she hissed, before cocking her fist back and slamming it into Isabella’s jaw. 

Isabella looked at Jessica, disdainfully. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I just don’t use crass language.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sworn. Even at her lowest point, in that wretched farmhouse, she had avoided language like that. It implied an unintelligent speaker, someone with a limited vocabulary. She supposed it wasn’t surprising that Jessica Jones used words like that. This woman was clearly not very learned.

Your Good Samaritan schtick really falls apart the second you aren’t showered with praise for it. How dare she? How many sacrifices had Isabella made for Edward, giving and giving, with no reward? She had done horrific things, that was true, but she had tried to balance her terrible acts with good ones -- she had tried, in some way, to make up for the pain and suffering that she’d caused. She didn’t just act like a ‘Good Samaritan’ for the praise, or the benefits. Jessica had no idea what she was talking about. “No, my schtick, as you put it, falls apart when I’m insulted by someone who doesn’t know me,” she snapped. “I might try to be a decent person, but I’m not a saint! Nobody in their right mind could be nice to you when you’re acting like this!”

Jessica seemed amused by her tirade -- as if it hadn’t hurt her at all -- and Isabella instantly regretted lashing out at her. She’d sunk to this woman’s level, and it was a pitiful, dark, place to be. She’d been so careful, ever since she’d come back from Arkham. It had been such a long, awful, journey back to sanity. And she could feel herself sinking back into that familiar fury, that uncharacteristic rage that made her want to physically harm Jessica. It was terrifying, how little it took to send back to this place. Jessica was smiling at her like an arrogant know-it-all, trying so hard to provoke her, and it was working. Isabella curled her hands into fists at her side, trying to keep calm, though she knew that ship had sailed by now.

And then, quite suddenly, Jessica hauled her closer, and Isabella staggered forwards, unused to being pulled around. She hadn’t ever met someone stronger than her before. The only time she’d been at someone else’s mercy was when she’d lost her abilities, and Edward had held her at gunpoint on the rooftop. She barely had time to register what Jessica was saying before she felt the punch. Jessica hit her square in the jaw, and she took a few steps to the side. She knew that Jessica had unnatural strength -- she was a superhero, after all -- but it was still a shock.

Isabella felt the force it, but no pain. Her head snapped to the side, and she immediately turned back to face Jessica, and that formless rage was back -- that familiar anger that clouded all rational thought and control. Not considering what it would mean, or how ridiculous this was, she grabbed Jessica’s arms, digging her fingertips right into her flesh, and shoved her backwards towards the wall, using only a fraction of her strength, but still more than she had in a long time.

[isaflynns]

nurseofnight‌:

When Edward explained what Arkham had done, the electroshock therapy… Claire found herself between a rock and a hard place. The man was suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder and was desperately searching for answers, for something to point at and to blame, but Claire had a nervous feeling that there was no reason for it, that there was no scar on his brain that would alert them to the clause. And not only that but even if they did find something in his brain, they wouldn’t be able to fix it. There were treatments for DID, but they were bridges to the ultimate goal of accepting the other personalities. 

Registering Edward in the system was risky if she used his real name, the asylum would likely ask for his return so she – and Edward, needed a net for him to fall into just in case things went the way she feared. Edward needed someone responsible, and someone he could trust to help him through the next few steps towards his recovery. He had said Oswald Cobblepot first, but Claire didn’t have to google to know that Oswald wasn’t a man to be trusted with this sort of sensitive information. So after a thinly veiled threat to keep him there overnight (or relinquish him to the police) he finally named Isabella Flynn. 

Keeping things hushed while they waited for Isabella to arrive, Claire had locked the door to Edward’s room to keep him segregated from the other nurses – limit the number of people who knew he was there while she worked on getting the proper forms for what she needed. Claire headed out to the lobby, packet in hand, waiting for Isabella. Again, trying to limit the number of people who knew what was happening – the fewer people who actually knew, the better chance they had at succeeding in this operation. Hearing her name, Claire looked up from the ground she had been staring at and offered the incoming woman a polite smile. “That would be me, Miss Flynn, I presume?” Claire asked, extending a hand towards the woman. “Wish we were meeting under better circumstances but I’m glad you could make it.”

For a moment, Isabella just looked at Claire, before social norms kicked in, and she shook her hand. “Isabella, please,” she said. “And it’s no trouble.” Of course she could make it -- she would always be there for Edward. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d come to help him. When he’d been shot, she had literally been on her knees beside him, packing the wound and mopping up his blood. She’d stitched up a stab wound, dragged him from the wreck of a car, and murdered a man to defend him. She would always, always, be there for him.

As much as she hated anywhere that even remotely resembled a hospital -- they all reminded her too much of Indian Hill -- she had to admit that there was something immediately calming about Claire. Her smile seemed genuine, and she exuded an aura of professionalism that was comforting. “I’m not sure exactly what’s happened,” she said. “You mentioned that Edward was... agitated?” She hated talking about him like this -- it felt patronising, and she of all people had no right to patronise him-- but she had to find out what was going on.

With an apologetic smile, she glanced around at the other people, and said, “I’m sorry. Shall we go somewhere more private? I’m sure we’d be breaking some sort of confidentiality law if we discussed this here.” In truth, it was taking everything in her power not to just ask Claire where he was, if he was okay. She wanted to appear collected and calm, and (most importantly) sane, but she had no idea how someone was supposed to act in a situation like this.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

No love to match that burning, feverish loyalty, that hysterical devotion, that total obsessiveness.

Jackie Kay, from Trumpet: A Novel (via violentwavesofemotion)

[isaflynns]

akajustjessicajones‌:

“Think the word you’re looking for is bitch,” Jessica shot back. If Isabella was trying to hurt her, she was doing a piss-poor job of it. And that was a little… disappointing, really. She wanted to hurt, but it was more than that. Looking at Isabella now, what she really wanted was a fight. A petty, dirty, low-blow fight. Anything was better than this bone-crushing numbness, or the tidal waves of sorrow and guilt and shame that hit her like goddamn clockwork. She deserved it, she knew she did. But there was only so much one mind could take, and hers hadn’t been all that whole or steady to begin with. 

So she wasn’t shoving Isabella out the door. Wasn’t demanding the other woman leave. Her jabs and snipes were sharp-edged, but she didn’t have the energy to really offend, and she wasn’t trying. Isabella sitting here was something she could fight against, something other than her own head. Something to focus on other than memories. There was something to that. Even if she was goddamn irritating, sitting there, perfectly poised. Perfectly polite to a goddamn fault. 

“Well, at least you’re honest about that,” Jessica muttered, tilting her head up to look Isabella in the eye. “Think maybe there’s a reason for that?” she asked bluntly. She knew the other woman had heard her last outburst, all those confessions that spilled out of her. “A reason I make it impossible? Christ, maybe I’m doing you a goddamn favor. It’s not like you want to get to know me,” she snapped. It was a good kind of energy pulsing through her now, a quick and blinding anger, a fury she could latch onto and she ran with it. “If you want to leave, the goddamn door is right over there. You’re not moving either,” she pointed out. 

It was true. Isabella could’ve walked away by now, most people would have, and Jessica wouldn’t chase her down just to yell at her some more. But neither of them were moving. Neither of them were even looking at the door, despite Jessica gesturing to it now. 

But finally, Isabella stood up. And despite what she just thought, Jessica moved after her. She beat her to the door, slamming a hand across the door frame. “Why the hell do you want to help me?” she demanded. “And don’t give me that bullshit excuse about it being the right thing, or the moral thing, or what the hell ever,” she said, eyes narrow. “I don’t give a shit about the principles involved, and I doubt you do either, not really. Why did you come here? What is it you’re actually looking for from me?” Jessica asked, inhaling deeply, holding her breath for a moment. “Because I have nothing. Nothing left to give anyone, you get that? Yeah, I’m in here, day-drunk and drowning in self-goddamn-pity. But at least I know it. I’m not lying to myself. My sister died and I’m handling it like a goddamn asshole. But I know that. What the hell do you know about yourself?” she asked, chest heaving. “You don’t want to help me, you don’t even know me. So what is it you really want?” 

“No, it’s not,” Isabella replied, sharply. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used language as crass as that -- it spoke to a lack of intelligence and articulation. Even when she’d been at her most mentally unstable, her ‘simplest’ point, she hadn’t sunk to speaking like that. “And besides, is that really something you’re proud of? Why on earth would you be proud of that?” She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised -- Jessica Jones clearly used her rudeness as a shield, and thought she was quite something -- but it was still a ridiculous thing to be proud of.

Why had she bothered coming here? This was a waste of her time. Jessica didn’t want her help, and she was doing everything in her power to get under Isabella’s skin. Not since Oswald had she been this wound up, this close to snapping and doing something drastic. She felt a formless, familiar, anger rising inside her, the likes of which she’d thought she’d left behind in Arkham. Everything about Jessica was irritating her now. How could someone be so ungrateful, so very rude? She had dealt with some horrible customers in her line of work -- of course she had, she worked with the public -- but that was never personal. Jessica had gone out of her way to show her up at the meeting, and now here she was, dismissing Isabella’s many attempts to help her?

Jessica asked if there was, maybe, a reason she was being so prickly, but by this point, Isabella was sick of trying to reason with her, or work out how to get to her. Every attempt to be kind and offer an olive branch had been spurned, and now Jessica was trying to garner sympathy? If, indeed, that was what this was. She had no idea. Jessica was impossible to read. Somewhere in her speech, she’d mentioned people dying, but if she was in mourning -- if she wanted to talk about it, to have someone listen -- then why was she being so unbelievably difficult? She was acting like a child.

Well, Isabella was sick of it. She headed for the door, but Jessica cut her off and slammed it shut. Isabella stopped in her tracks and stared at the other woman. Before she could insist to be let out, Jessica was throwing questions at her. Why? Why? Why? And her automatic response was to ask why it was so difficult for Jessica to believe that she was doing this out of kindness, but Jessica clearly wouldn’t have bought that and, honestly, it wasn’t true. Isabella felt that anger rise and rise inside her, welling up. What did she know about herself? Oh, Jessica had no idea what she knew about herself. The things she’d been forced to accept about the type of person she was, the true evil she was capable of committing against someone she loved with all of her heart. Jessica might have seen through her librarian persona, the sweetness and light act she put on for the rest of their group, but she still didn’t truly understand.

“Because seeing you like this makes me feel better about myself!” she snapped, finally. And it was like a dam bursting -- she let it all out, glaring at Jessica, fuming. “You think I’m lying to myself? You don’t know me! I don’t lie to myself, Jessica. I’m well aware of what I am, and what I’m doing. You think you’re the only one who’s suffered?” Her voice was shriller now, in a way it hadn’t been since the farmhouse. “For goodness sake, are you that selfish? That’s why I came here, that’s what I really wanted from you. Because I might have done some truly dreadful things -- as hard as you might find that to believe -- but at least I don’t sit around in the middle of the day, drinking myself to death and bullying anyone who tries to help!” She gave Jessica a cold, hateful, look. “I’m sorry about your sister, really I am. But perhaps you have nothing left because you push everyone away.”

It was a low, mean, thing to say, but she felt the fury coursing through her veins, and she didn’t care. Jessica had been so rude, to thoughtless. She’d practically asked to be spoken to like this.

[isaflynns]

ofhopevandyne‌:

“Maybe I’m just after your books,” Hope said teasingly. There was only one person whose heart she was actually after, but she already had it. Books were a far longer love for her though, and it wasn’t as if she owned every book in existence. She was always collecting and reading more for as long as she could remember.

Hope nodded. It was terrible that they both had to deal with these kinds of things, but sometimes, it was just unavoidable. She would’ve liked to think that she had stopped doing things like that. She read books for her own enjoyment or to learn for herself about something important to her. However, a part of her still felt the underlying need to impress her father, no matter how much she said it was for herself. She didn’t want to disappoint his legacy. Still, she wasn’t going to admit to that. “Yes, I’ve done more than enough to separate myself from him. I even took over his company.”

“Oh, that would be more than your life’s worth,” Isabella said, only half joking. On the rare occasions when her library had been threatened -- even by a mindless teenager -- she had been as close to violent as she could be at work, but she knew that Hope was cut from the same cloth as she was.

Their light conversation took an odd turn, and Isabella felt uncomfortable -- and slightly disloyal -- talking about the Riddler like this. As close as she and Hope were, the other woman didn’t really know what she was referring to. And it had all happened so long ago that it felt like digging up the past unnecessarily. “Good for you,” Isabella replied, honestly. “I wouldn’t want to follow in my ex’s footsteps. I tried for a while, but it wasn’t for me.” This was a stupid in-joke, for her own benefit -- her short-lived criminal career had been boring and pointless. “What did he do, your father?”

[isaflynns]

dogcfwar‌:

Vaines’ serum was burning in his veins, and if Frank thought he had been determined before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. It was his third night out in a row, and he was running on about five hours sleep, but it hadn’t stopped him from collecting a pile of bodies at his feet. Criminals were supposed to be getting smarter, but he found they were the same idiots as they always were, running straight into traps because they thought numbers made them invincible. Frank sniffed, reloading his gun, and that’s when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around in one swift motion, pointing the gun at the other person’s head. “Sneaking up on me during church,” he said, shifting on his feet. “Not the smartest move.”

Isabella didn’t often walk alone at night. Of course, she could have handled anyone who tried anything -- and she had, on occasion -- but she simply didn’t enjoy being outside at night, when she could have been home with a cup of tea and a good book. But she’d gone to visit Oswald, and time had gotten away from her, so here she was, walking home after dark, completely alone.

She didn’t deliberately walk up to  the stranger -- she had been hunting in her bag to make sure she hadn’t accidentally left her house keys behind -- when she heard the all too-familiar click of a gun’s safety being turned off, and a man’s voice. She looked up, only mildly startled, and raised her hands in surrender. “I didn’t do it intentionally,” she said, calmly. “It was an accident.” She eyed the gun. “And I’ve been shot before. It really is too much hassle. I’d much prefer it if you put that down.” She could still easily recall the sensation of being shot in the face by Oswald, and how unpleasant it had been, how long it had taken to heal.

[isaflynns]

melindaofshield‌:

Melinda offered the woman a soft smile, it had been a while since she talked to anyone who didn’t know of her history with SHIELD – it had been so long since she had a normal, friendly conversation. And frankly, what better place than inside a tea shop? The woman behind her in line didn’t accept the money she had offered, but, even in rejection, Melinda found herself drawn to the other woman. Kindred spirits perhaps. And of course, if nothing else, the woman had a loyalty card for the tea shop. Melinda didn’t realize places that weren’t, well, Starbucks, had things like loyalty cards. Then again, perhaps that was because she hadn’t stayed in a place longer than a few months since she joined SHIELD. So becoming a regular in a shop hadn’t been an option before. Not really, at least.

Still, this small interaction was enough to keep the smile on Melinda’s face even as she stuffed the money back into her pocket. “If I had known there was a loyalty program I would have gotten myself a stamp,” Melinda noted. This was her first time in the shop so maybe that was why it wasn’t mentioned to her – they simply didn’t know that Melinda May practically breathed tea. “I’m still trying to find my own regular shop – this one is worth it, I’m assuming?” 

Isabella half expected the other woman to refuse the offer -- it was what a lot of people would have done, out of politeness if nothing else -- but she didn’t, and it was a relief. She wanted to do a good turn. “Oh, I’ve been coming here for years,” she replied, smiling, sensing a kindred spirit -- finding a regular place to buy tea had been a priority of hers when she’d moved to New York as well. “This one is worth it, for sure. They often give free samples, and they get to know you pretty quickly, if you come in as often as I do.” She was actually on a first name basis with a lot of the staff, a fact which she wasn’t in the slightest bit ashamed of.

As the reached the front of the queue, Isabella smiled at the cashier. “Hello Jerry,” she said, and held out her loyalty card. “I’m getting this lady’s as well. It’s agreed.” He gave her a warm smile, and stamped her card twice, before she paid for both of the drinks. When the transaction was taken care of, Isabella turned back to the other woman. “I had planned to just drink my tea and read, but I’m always happy to have company, if you’re not going anywhere?” she asked, leaving the offer open, in case the stranger wanted to decline without feeling awkward.

[riddle-me-that]

slurred words (happy birthday, this is a week out of date. love me.)

Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.

“Well, she’s beautiful for starters… but that’s not the only reason I love- loved Isabella Flynn. Besides my own glorious mind, hers was… hers was great. She’s more intelligent than I ever gave her credit for and she’s the only one who could truly rival me or The Riddler if you want to consider us separate from each other.. Isabella presented him with a challenge and she presented me with much more than that. …But she still scares me. Sometimes I have dreams about her. About what she did to me. I can’t get it out of my mind. I know it happened a year ago. I know that people can argue worse things have happened to me, but I trusted her once. I loved her once… and for her to do what she did to me. It tainted that love. It made it scary and bad… and I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore.” 

[babltha]