[harder and harder the compression becomes, stealing more and more breath from his lungs, urging him to fight back with something besides the dampened struggling he's using; it's because he doesn't want to hurt wei wuxian though. he doesn't want to have to strike him down, even if it means his own life is stolen away with the act of strangulation. it's you or him, fool. what will you choose? are you truly willing to die for him?
yes. there's no doubt in this thought. if it means wei wuxian is safe, that this is what he wants, sizhui is prepared. (except he's also well-aware it isn't what he wants—) it's why he cinches his fingers tighter on wei wuxian's wrist, twists his opposite arm and yanks upward, doing everything within his power to break free despite the inky blackness that's filtering into the periphery of his vision.
he doesn't want this, he doesn't, no matter how much these voices keep saying otherwise. sizhui knows his father, knows he wouldn't ever hurt him without there being some alternative reason and, while he has no idea exactly why, he does know killing him wasn't part of the plan.
that's why when he's abruptly released, he backpedals as well, both hands moving to hold his throat as he coughs, wheezes faintly, then takes a sharp, deep inhale. which, surprisingly, is more than enough time for wei wuxian to produce a knife that he uses on himself, prompting sizhui to cry out in astonishment—
but that's all he does in response, initially, and once he's gotten his breath somewhat stabilized, he wastes no time swooping in, hooking his arms around the man and squeezing him tight.] I'm sorry, [comes through a stilted, watery breath and before anything else gets out of hand, he draws one hand up, brings it against the side of wei wuxian's neck and with the pressure and added qi, uses the blow to knock him unconscious.]
no subject
yes. there's no doubt in this thought. if it means wei wuxian is safe, that this is what he wants, sizhui is prepared. (except he's also well-aware it isn't what he wants—) it's why he cinches his fingers tighter on wei wuxian's wrist, twists his opposite arm and yanks upward, doing everything within his power to break free despite the inky blackness that's filtering into the periphery of his vision.
he doesn't want this, he doesn't, no matter how much these voices keep saying otherwise. sizhui knows his father, knows he wouldn't ever hurt him without there being some alternative reason and, while he has no idea exactly why, he does know killing him wasn't part of the plan.
that's why when he's abruptly released, he backpedals as well, both hands moving to hold his throat as he coughs, wheezes faintly, then takes a sharp, deep inhale. which, surprisingly, is more than enough time for wei wuxian to produce a knife that he uses on himself, prompting sizhui to cry out in astonishment—
but that's all he does in response, initially, and once he's gotten his breath somewhat stabilized, he wastes no time swooping in, hooking his arms around the man and squeezing him tight.] I'm sorry, [comes through a stilted, watery breath and before anything else gets out of hand, he draws one hand up, brings it against the side of wei wuxian's neck and with the pressure and added qi, uses the blow to knock him unconscious.]