[ If it were reality, he would have absolutely been incinerated on the spot. No time to bring his cloak fully to bear, no time to even react or blink. Burnt alive even through Crown Clown.
But throwing his arms up instinctively in front of his face in a futile attempt to ward off a firestorm, it begins to erode the protective sleeve on his right arm. Turning even that willpower given form into scorched embers that get eaten away, making him feel that penetrating through even his left arm straight into what feels like his soul. Feeling the remains of his cloak, flung back behind him like wings from the force of that output, continuing to burn up and slowly be consumed. He grits his teeth with a pained grimace, certain he can taste blood through the smell of heat and char.
And the horrible smell of cooked skin. Whether it's from him or Dabi, though -- hard to tell.
But as soon as he says that -- "only reason I didn't kill that little puppet" -- Allen's eyes snap back up over the top of his crossed arms. Hard, trying to stare through that blinding kind of pummeling over and over of fire and hate (madness?) with almost concussive force to where the other man's face has to be, and he shifts. Pushes into the teeth of it and rises.
Both of his hands snap out through that fire. To lace fingers with the other man if he can, pressing his more-impervious palms flat against his and artfully managing the claws on his left hand to still avoid actually hurting him.
All to twist their hands violently about to try and throw Dabi's arms out wide and away from his face. Or to at least lock them together like that. Stop it.]
Don't say something like "oh, this is family business" while at the same time as saying you'd kill someone whose life is dear.
[ He's gone cold and steely just that fast, and it doesn't even have anything to do with trying to burn him to ash. Fuck off with that holier than thou family business nonsense, you just made it entirely his business. The whole "family business" pretense can go to hell. All of its forms he keeps running into it in are shitty. People who say stuff like that are shitty.
Seared handprints were indeed left behind on his face, and his temples have deep blackened scorch marks despite the delicate, protective radiance still enveloping him. Skin turned to fine, ash-like powder there and cracks spreading across his cheekbones like a porcelain mask should instead of flesh.
And he really doesn't care. Unlucky for you this isn't reality. ]
It has everything to do with the people whose lives you're affecting.
no subject
But throwing his arms up instinctively in front of his face in a futile attempt to ward off a firestorm, it begins to erode the protective sleeve on his right arm. Turning even that willpower given form into scorched embers that get eaten away, making him feel that penetrating through even his left arm straight into what feels like his soul. Feeling the remains of his cloak, flung back behind him like wings from the force of that output, continuing to burn up and slowly be consumed. He grits his teeth with a pained grimace, certain he can taste blood through the smell of heat and char.
And the horrible smell of cooked skin. Whether it's from him or Dabi, though -- hard to tell.
But as soon as he says that -- "only reason I didn't kill that little puppet" -- Allen's eyes snap back up over the top of his crossed arms. Hard, trying to stare through that blinding kind of pummeling over and over of fire and hate (madness?) with almost concussive force to where the other man's face has to be, and he shifts. Pushes into the teeth of it and rises.
Both of his hands snap out through that fire. To lace fingers with the other man if he can, pressing his more-impervious palms flat against his and artfully managing the claws on his left hand to still avoid actually hurting him.
All to twist their hands violently about to try and throw Dabi's arms out wide and away from his face. Or to at least lock them together like that. Stop it.]
Don't say something like "oh, this is family business" while at the same time as saying you'd kill someone whose life is dear.
[ He's gone cold and steely just that fast, and it doesn't even have anything to do with trying to burn him to ash. Fuck off with that holier than thou family business nonsense, you just made it entirely his business. The whole "family business" pretense can go to hell. All of its forms he keeps running into it in are shitty. People who say stuff like that are shitty.
Seared handprints were indeed left behind on his face, and his temples have deep blackened scorch marks despite the delicate, protective radiance still enveloping him. Skin turned to fine, ash-like powder there and cracks spreading across his cheekbones like a porcelain mask should instead of flesh.
And he really doesn't care. Unlucky for you this isn't reality. ]
It has everything to do with the people whose lives you're affecting.