[The voices are loud, beckoning, taunting, urging him on, but there's something they hadn't accounted for.
Wei Wuxian has lived with voices for so long, he's grown used to them, and those voices, the ones that breathe death into Chenqing, those ones are his as much as he's theirs. They ask and he delivers, and he asks and they lend him their strength. It's a twisted sort of partnership, but it is a partnership.
And those voices remember a little boy holding onto Wei Wuxian's leg, gummy smile aimed up at them. They remember long days chasing the boy around and longer nights telling him soft stories to help him sleep. They remember a-Yuan and they screech into Wei Wuxian's head, making themselves heard over the others.
Stop.
It drowns out the others for long enough for Wei Wuxian to come back to himself, long enough for him to understand. His eyes grow wide with realization and he leaps backwards. Before Sizhui can do anything else, Wei Wuxian has a knife and he's stabbed it into the hand that had wrapped around Sizhui's throat, simultaneously shocking himself and debilitating the hand he would use as a weapon against his son.
The pain grounds him and he backs up further, gritting his teeth.]
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Wei Wuxian has lived with voices for so long, he's grown used to them, and those voices, the ones that breathe death into Chenqing, those ones are his as much as he's theirs. They ask and he delivers, and he asks and they lend him their strength. It's a twisted sort of partnership, but it is a partnership.
And those voices remember a little boy holding onto Wei Wuxian's leg, gummy smile aimed up at them. They remember long days chasing the boy around and longer nights telling him soft stories to help him sleep. They remember a-Yuan and they screech into Wei Wuxian's head, making themselves heard over the others.
Stop.
It drowns out the others for long enough for Wei Wuxian to come back to himself, long enough for him to understand. His eyes grow wide with realization and he leaps backwards. Before Sizhui can do anything else, Wei Wuxian has a knife and he's stabbed it into the hand that had wrapped around Sizhui's throat, simultaneously shocking himself and debilitating the hand he would use as a weapon against his son.
The pain grounds him and he backs up further, gritting his teeth.]
Knock me out, Sizhui. I can't be trusted.