Tw Arson - Blog Posts

The Hero didn't know what to say, they didn't want to hurt Villain's feelings but at the same time, they just burned down a freaking building. So Hero exasperated said, "Yes I'm warm now, thank you. Go and put out that fire, NOW!" Villain slinked off towards the burning building muttering about how they only wanted to help and that they wouldn't do anything next time they would just leave Hero to freeze. Hero smiled they supposed it was sweet that Villain had tried to help but they didn't need to burn down buildings this time. It wasn't like the last time.

Writing prompt 2

tw: arson

Hero was cold, they rubbed their unclothed arms in an attempt to create warmth through the friction. It was their turn to patrol the uninhabited village in the desolate part of the kingdom. At that moment the building a few blocks away from them lit up in flames. Immediately their hands flew to cover their eyes and face, backing away they hit something. After quickly considering whether the distance was safe enough they dropped their hands and turned around. There stood Villain with a proud smile on their face, "Are you warm now?" they asked. Their expression looked like they gave Hero a blanket instead of burning down a building.

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/ riverdale 1x13 • 2017

୨୧╼ Against the dreariness of the abandoned industrial background, Violet stood out. The way she held herself was filled with pose and grace akin to one of Degas’ ballerinas. She was dressed immaculately in a style defined as modern retro. Yet if one had a keen eye, they could catch that the ribbon that held up her hair had survived a fire. Petite frame and height made her appear physically non-threatening. Something that often worked in her favor.

        Doe-eyes looked up at the stranger’s herculean form. If Violet had been anyone else – perhaps she would find him threatening. After facing so many monsters, she found fear hard to muster. One could not tell someone’s intent by appearance alone. Villains came in many forms and often in a variety of disguises. A person who seems suspicious could offer aid at a time of need. It was still best to be cautious. Slender fingers clasped tighter around the dart. Which by appearance alone seemed indistinguishable from one might find in a game parlor. 

        “I have found one cannot rely on the word of the municipality. As corruption and power go hand in hand. However, I cannot deny this building is documented as vacant.” Violet’s voice was steady -unafraid. It was clear from her articulation and cadence that she was educated in high society. Even if those days were long gone. “Could I not inquiry the same of you? I apologize if I am wrong – but you do not exactly look as if you belong here either.”

        If Violet had been a properly trained volunteer, perhaps she would handle this better. As a mother herself – she understood her parent’s choice to keep her out of the organization. Yet at times like these, she wished for just a day of disguise training. Or had and iota or her mother’s acting talent. She genuinely felt her guises and fibs worked, not due to her ability – but by the incompetence of those around her. The man in front of her had the eyes of someone who was keen and determined. So, she wished not to press her minimal luck that he could see past a mask.

        “I have business here. As you see, this building has suffered fire damage. I am investigating it.” The best lie – was always a half truth. It was the very same organization that she sought who was to blame. According to her research, the former owners would not sell. Fires were always how they settled scores. “The local arson rate has accelerated over the past few months at an expediential rate. I find it very worrying.” Not once did she confirm whether she had explicit permission to be there. One should never show their hand before the appropriate time.

        The commonplace book in Violet’s lap was open. Filled with sketches of the opposite building’s exterior and what looked like the designs for various gizmos. All basic drafts of things she could use infiltrate. “Beverly,” A faux name she had used since her first true disguise. Where she was forced to perform in a cruel ‘freak show’ – that was unethical and outdated. There were times her nightmares were plagued by the sounds of lions devouring Madame Lulu and the blaze of the fire that burnt the carnival to the ground.

        Now was not the time to get lost in the horrors of the past, when the present was equally terrifying. There were children who suffered in the hands of the same criminal enterprise that stole her life. Personal feelings could not cause her to waver here. Her gaze went from him to out side the window, where smoke plumed from stacks and machinery buzzed. A small sigh escaped her full lips. 

This war you're waging will never end.

And what did Frank Castle even know, anymore? A good, home-cooked meal? No he'd forgotten that. He hadn't eaten something made by hand in too many years to count. (He'd never have Maria's spaghetti sauce again.) A warm, clean bed with fresh sheets? No he'd forsaken that for motels and dingy holes in the wall where the fabric scratched his skin and had been feasted on by moths at some point but at least it was something warm, right? The love of a good woman? No, no he'd lost that, too. In an instant, right there with his little girl and Junior and there hadn't been a god damned thing he could do to stop it. He'd been through the phases; blamed himself, blamed others, rationalized, bargained internally, but anger ... anger stuck. Anger made sense. It felt right.

Anyone tied to the deaths of the Castle family had been dead and buried more than a year prior. No loose ends, no mess. If anyone so much had breathed their names with any ounce of ire Frank had come for them like the executioner he was, and put them down like the sick dogs they were. Because it was right. Because it settled something in him that had broken back in Kandahar. Because he thought he could find some semblance of peace.

And he did, it was true. Some part of him found proper footing knowing that the people who'd hurt him, stolen from him, were gone. But it didn't bring them back. Peace? No. That was only found putting people down. He accepted that now. It was who he was.

The Punisher.

So he punished.

On the scale of moral judgment, things that he considered pure and unfettered wrong was anything to do with children. They could be assholes sure, Frank had been the king asshole of them all when he was young, but they were innocent. They didn't deserve to be preyed upon (what if it had been Lisa?) or sold out to the proverbial mines (what if it was Frank Jr.?). He calmed his nerves before every go-around ... not because he was afraid but because he knew it would appease him too much if he didn't filter it. If he didn't shut that part of his brain off before he kicked down the door and did what he did best.

One batch, two batch.

All of the pennies and dimes in the world wouldn't stop him from following the trail.

And he'd left one hell of a bloody one behind him so far. There was a string connecting these work houses, he knew. He'd picked up the scent after the second, when the conditions were too similar and the kids had leashes held by the same hands. He'd bleed his way up the food chain, shake down enough of these operations to catch the attention of someone worth torturing information out of. He'd go from there. But for now? He'd watch.

Case too-large to be luggage in hand, nondescript duster jacket, military reg boots and a bit of hardware that might make the average Joe squirm and he was on his way into the nest across the street. He'd scoped it the day before - it's vantage points were primo, and he could post comfortably (not that it mattered) for a few hours and watch through a scope before he acted. It was abandoned, which was perfect, and at the very least he could work undisturbed.

Or ... it was supposed to be abandoned. The picture of one of Lisa's little books he did not expect to see - spyglass and all.

Whose there?

Fingers tightened around the handle of the rifle case. Nondescript, blended just enough but suddenly he seemed out of place et al.

"You supposed to be here, lady? City marked this building as abandoned."

Violet, despite being a volunteer and considered a protagonist, has committed a variety of crimes. She:

Interfered with a train's destination in the film, although she would have been killed by it if she and her younger siblings did nothing.

Opened Stephano's briefcase in The Reptile Room and took his items, although her intentions were to prove her uncle's death was a murder and not a snakebite.

Stole a sailboat in The Wide Window in order to save her aunt, although she wanted to borrow it and it was owned by Count Olaf.

Hitchhiked without the driver's permission in the TV series.

Broke many rules of Prufrock Preparatory School and had Isadora Quagmire impersonate her so she could skip a S.O.R.E. meeting in order to study for a crucial exam.

Broke Rule #62 of the Village of Fowl Devotees: "No citizen is allowed to build or use any mechanical devices." - Violet secretly assisted Hector with the construction of his mobile home.

Broke rule #1,742 of the Village of Fowl Devotees: "No one is allowed to escape from jail." - Violet broke out of jail during The Vile Village, although she was wrongfully imprisoned and she would have been burned at the stake.

Hitchhiked a ride in the trunk of Olaf's car without permission to avoid asphyxiation coupled with being arrested by the police in the TV series.

Aided in burning down Caligari Carnival in order to travel with Olaf's group.

Pretended to be a staff member (a concierge) of Hotel Denouement, despite not being legally employed there.

Burnt down the Hotel Denouement (as a signal to fellow VFD members), likely killing many people inside.

Is guilty of indirect manslaughter (Count Olaf tossed a harpoon gun into her hands, which Violet accidentally slips and sets off, killing Dewey Denouement).

Partially responsible for infecting the Islanders with the Medusoid Mycelium poison and potentially killing them, as she knew it was brought to the island and kept it a secret from the Islanders.

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They going to burn simpnold's house down with traffic cones on their heads at 3am