#main verse.: miyagi fang. — ❝ i ached for warmth & peace. the universe laughed at me. ❞

[taughtdefense]

❝ I propose we raise our glasses—To everyone we’ve ever lost because of Cobra Kai. To the friends we couldn’t save, the family we couldn’t hold onto, and the parts of ourselves we’ll never get back because of what the philosophy took from us.

To the innocence we lost the moment this stopped being about karate and became a battle for survival, and our sense of selves. To the people we hurt along the way, the trust that Cobra Kai broke, and the scars that refuse to fade.

But also, to the strength we’ve found through it all. The bonds we’ve built. To the bonds we have that Cobra Kai can never destroy, and the lessons we’ve learned.

For every loss we’ve endured, we’ve gained something, too—a lesson, a memory, a reason to keep going.

Because, despite everything Cobra Kai has taken from us, it can’t take who we are or the strength we’ve found in each other.

So, here’s to what we’ve lost and to what we still have. We keep moving forward—together. ❞ — Ethan Wilson, 4x06.

[taughtdefense-a]

ETHAN, ROBBY, & THE AGONY OF NOT ACTUALLY ONE SIDED PINING.

ethan wilson, 3x05 ( miyagi-do ) // troye sivan, running shoes // christa wolf // ? // ? // ? // ? // robby keene, 3x05 ( miyagi-do )

[taughtdefense]

you glance up at robby, his voice breaking your concentration as you stretch. his words echo in your head, a reminder of how much things had changed—& how much they hadn’t. not with mr. larusso & johnny still fighting, or cobra kai still destroying souls left & right. your metaphorical one included. the dojo feels fuller, louder, alive with energy, but there’s still a part of you that’s stuck in the quiet moments, wishing you could just go back to the past before all of the drama.

“yeah, things are different now,” you say, your tone calm, masking the rising emotions beneath. you don’t look at him right away, instead focusing on the stretch, grounding yourself. “more people, more drama. same fight, though.” same shit, different day, bigger fish to fry. namely, silver.

finally, you finish your stretch & lean down to kiss the top of robby’s head, a small, affectionate gesture. you’re pretty sure demetri who is standing nearby would instantly keel over &/or start complaining if you did anything more than that. you’ll refrain from fully kissing your boyfriend & for a prolonged period… for now.

almost right on schedule, the voice makes its usual appearance, “you’re not really here for him, are you? you never were.” silver’s voice slithers into your thoughts, but you do your best to ignore it, pushing it aside. you’re not going to let it pull you out of this moment. not now. for once, the voice doesn’t expand into the hallucination. that fact is certainly a huge relief, a weight off your shoulders.

you meet robby’s eyes, giving him a small smile, hoping it’s enough to reassure him. “good thing you’re here now. we could use the extra set of hands.” you nudge him slightly with your arm, then absentmindedly begin to mess with his hair, fiddling with the strands. you smirk, & it’s your go-to little shit smirk. one he’s definitely seen before. “that means i can slack off on painting the dojo’s siding.”

what you don’t say is how much you’ve completely missed having him by your side, how much better everything feels when he’s around. when he was in cobra kai, it felt… wrong, like huge parts of you had been ripped out. you wonder if he knows, but even if he doesn’t, you’re just happy to have him here, now.

🎁 → @taughtdefense → orange show speedway / lizzy mcalphine

It feels weird being back at the Miyagi-Do dojo after everything that had happened. You taught the way of balance to Cobra Kai and sold out everything Mr. Larusso had taught you. It didn't feel entirely right for you to be there anymore, but throwing yourself a pity party and thinking about how much what you did suck wasn't going to help anyone. It was time to face the music and make up for your past mistakes. It helped that you'd already made up with most of the people there, including Ethan. He took you back despite it all.

You approach him while he's stretching. You have maybe ten more minutes left until class is supposed to start, but knowing your dad's track record and how much he and Mr. Larusso loved to fight you should be good on time.

"Last time I was here it was only a handful of us." Now they were maybe three dozen.

[taughtdefense]

I'M A CAREFUL DRIVER. /// I'M A RECKLESS DRIVER.

a study in ethan being forced to watch his loved ones turn into different people under cobra kai's influence.

@taughtpain / @taughtranquility + @recurrere / @mskwtz

[taughtdefense]

ETHAN WILSON-KEENE + MARTIAL ARTS SKILLS IN SEASON 6 OF COBRA KAI.

+ bonus gifs

[taughtdefense]

HOT, COLD, YOU'RE POLARIZING. ITS MADE OF THE SAME SIDE (I TRIED). IT'S ETHER GRAY, OR BLACK OR WHITE! BUT IT'S NO USE IF YOU WANT TO FIGHT. (BUT IT'S NO USE IF YOU WANT TO FIGHT.) /// BROKEN RECORD IN THE MORNING, BROKEN RECORD AT NIGHT. IT'S THE SAME THING I SAY. OVER & OVER & OVER & OVER &— ///

THINK ABOUT NOTHING THINK ABOUT NOTHING THINK ABOUT NOTHING

THINK ABOUT EVERYTHING!

ONCE I'M IN MY HEAD I'M DONE [THINK THERE MIGHT BE A WAY OUT THE BACK] ONCE I'M IN MY HEAD I'M DONE [THINK THERE MIGHT BE A WAY OPEN] ONCE I'M IN MY HEAD I'M DONE [THINK ABOUT THAT EXIT SO BAD] ONCE I'M IN MY HEAD I'M DONE [THINK THERE MIGHT BE A WAY OUT SOMEWHERE]

MIGHT BE A WAY OUT [OH NOW WHAT DO YOU MEAN?] [HAHA] THERE MIGHT BE A WAY OUT [OH NOW WHAT DO YOU MEAN?] [HAHA] THERE MIGHT BE A WAY OUT

[OH NOW WHAT DO YOU MEAN?] [HAHA]

THE OPTION IS GONE, ETHAN!

A study in Ethan's trauma due to his experiences with death at the hands of Terry Silver in Season 4, & the causation of the 'Silver Voice' & 'Silver Hallucination' in Season 5, & how it he torments him. /// @opponentcompel

[taughtdefense]

you stare at her hand for a moment, watching the bloodstains & the way she tries to brush it off. you don’t buy it—not for a second. she’s tough, but you know what it’s like to push through pain, to act like it’s nothing when it’s the opposite, when it’s everything that’s been eating away at you for a long, long time. you get it. you don’t want to see her going down that same road. you barely came back from it.

(you haven’t conquered your traumas either. case in point: the silver voice, the hallucinations. all undeniable proof you can’t—will never—escape him.)

“yeah, ‘cause silver’s got too much to deal with. his fucking expansion…” you mutter, bitterness clear in your tone. the thought of her out there, getting torn apart by these new senseis, makes something dark twist in your gut. you’ve seen enough to know how much it hurts, even if she doesn’t say it. every time you think about what’s going on there, it makes your head spin.

silver’s a fucking monster, & that dojo’s not worth talia’s time. no one should have to deal with that. & yet here you are, cleaning her wounds with anger & worry burning you inside out. yet here she is, with a fucked-up hand. that new sensei seems just as bad as silver. you barely made it out of silver’s clutches yourself, saved by robby—even if he thought about ending your suffering. (not that he knows you know.) & you’re not blind to the fact that some people in that dojo might do something to hurt her too, to prove themselves to silver. it makes you sick.

you don’t answer right away. you feel the anger sharply rise in you, but it’s not just about her hand, or silver, or the dojo. it’s the weight of it all—the way pain keeps piling up, & no one gets to stop it. certainly not you. you’ve been there, you know what it feels like to smile through it all, pretending like you’re fine when everything’s breaking down inside. & it’s suffocating.

(dead, twice over. not in some figurative sense, but real. the kind of dead you don’t just come back normally from. since then, it feels like no matter how many times you breathe, something’s always left behind.)

you barely have time to breathe before the anger returns. that’s all it ever is: a cycle. fury at silver. fury at what the dojo’s done to all of you. you let it burn, because sometimes, it’s easier than facing everything else.

you push yourself up—ignoring the silhouette of silver, grinning in the corner of your eye, dressed in the outfit he murdered you in—& blink hard. he doesn’t go away, so you’re left still processing everything she’s said with the image of your murderer grinning at you. you know she’s keeping a lot buried, much like tory & vana. all the nichols siblings, really.

you glance back at her, voice quieter. “i know things haven’t exactly been smooth between us,”—spiraling when robby joined cobra kai hadn’t helped—“but i’m still here. i’m not gonna just sit back & watch you fall apart.” you add the last part softly, almost like you’re reminding yourself as much as her.

then it hits you, & your body stiffens instantly. “oh, shit. i just remembered that dad says that he’s—” silver, “—still planning on expanding the dojos.”

you remember the announcement at the all valley after tory’s win, but you’d been too busy feeling a cold feeling of dread & helplessness over cobra kai’s victory to really understand what he meant at the time. now you do. everyone does. the words feel like a stone in your chest. every time you think about it, you can’t breathe. silver’s growing power—it’s not just more dojos, it’s more damage. more lives ruined. it’s like watching a wildfire spread, & you’re powerless to stop it. you know how cobra kai warps people. you’ve seen it happen, & it makes your skin crawl.

you need to leave before she can see you spiral in front of her. you don’t want her to worry about you.

“…i’ll be right back.”

how many more miguel’s will there be? how many more robby’s?

how many more you’s?

you don’t say anything else. you do just that—you disappear down the hall into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. peeling off your shirt, you catch your reflection in the mirror.

you barely recognize yourself. your face is pale, shadows under your eyes dark as bruises. your hair is messy. you’ve lost weight—your frame leaner, shoulders slumped under the traumas you’ve been carrying for months. your eyes drop to the scar just above your abs. pale & jagged, it stands out starkly against your skin. your fingers hover over it, the memory of silver’s katana slicing through you flashing back—cold steel, searing pain, the grin on his face he left you on the floor, bleeding out.

in the mirror, you see him again. it’s not real, but his presence is unmistakable—silver lingers in the reflection, an afterimage that refuses to fade. that same smirk, the one that’s been haunting you, fills your peripheral vision. his voice cuts through your thoughts, low, cruel, like a lingering poison you can’t purge.

“look at what i’ve helped mold you into, mr. wilson,” his voice echoes. “do you really think you’re strong enough to stop me in this state? have you ever been? you couldn’t stop me from turning robby more like me. you can’t even stop my appearances from happening.”

your entire body hurts. you turn away, grabbing a hoodie & pulling it on, the fabric loose on your frame. the thought of robby creeps in before you can stop it. he saved you that day—showed up when you were bleeding out, broken, ready to die in the place where so much trauma has happened. but you’d heard his thoughts, even then. the fleeting consideration of ending your life himself, proving his loyalty to silver.

you know why he thought it. a fight isn’t over until your enemy is finished. a dying animal is just that: a dying animal. putting down a dying animal is an act of mercy finality. you don’t blame him. but it doesn’t stop the ache, the sting of betrayal, no matter how much you understand. because you do. you shouldn’t ever bring it up (because some conversations shouldn’t be had) but you’ve been tempted to. a part of you wants to know more, wants to know the why, & if he ever would have gone through with it. another part of you doesn’t. it’s a conundrum.

you exhale sharply, forcing the memory back into the shadows of your mind where it belongs. you know if you don’t leave the room now, you’ll get lost in it again. you walk away from the mirror, & silver follows you.

you return to the kitchen, noticeably more distracted than usual. the silence lingers for a moment, thick with the tension you’re trying to suppress. you keep your hands busy, grabbing vegetables, chopping them with more force than necessary, trying to drown out the thoughts spiraling in your head.

“i don’t know how much more of this i can take,” you admit quietly, the words heavier than expected. you focus on chopping, on the rhythmic motion, trying to ground yourself, but the knife hits the cutting board too hard, the noise sharp & unsettling. your thoughts race faster than you can control, drowning out the rhythm of your actions.

“silver’s gonna turn the whole city into his fucking playground,” you mutter, barely able to contain your disgust. maybe not just the city. nationally, even. but it’s not about control anymore. it’s about domination. more kids, more violence, more manipulation. your voice tightens. “it’s suffocating. i can’t go one day without seeing your dojo plastered everywhere.” you know that’s not something she has a hand in, but it bears mentioning. you’re exhausted. cobra kai’s like a virus, now more than ever. or a rot.

you glance at talia, trying to hide the flash of fear in your eyes. you hate that she’s in this—both the dojo that’s turned from bad to hellish & pretending everything’s fine when it’s anything but.

“this shouldn’t be fucking happening to you, but it is, & it fucking sucks,” with each word, the knife chops down with harder-than-necessary force. it makes the hallucination smile with glee. his power—both the flesh-&-blood human & the hallucination—has been growing, & all you can do is brace for the worst.

will he (the real silver) come after you at some point in the future, so he can finish what he started?

a few more cuts, a few more moments of silence. then you abruptly drop the knife, which clatters against the cutting board. your shoulders tense, thoughts racing. it’s a momentary pause, but the heaviness shredding you apart from the inside out doesn’t go away. it never really does anymore.

[taughtdefense]

HOW DO THE WOODS CHANGE YOU?

THE SACRIFICE — you never thought purgatory would be so cold. not a regular, winter, dry cold. more like the coldness of freezing water down your throat. you vaguely remember that you used to have a life.. maybe friends, maybe a lover. all of it seems distant now, as if it is obscured by ice.

tagged by : @carltongrimes

tagging: @taughtpain , @mskwtz , @opponentcompel , @taughtmercy , @taughtdamage , @taughtwrath , @duquete , @familyabsconded , @lovehungered , @vipersunion & you !

[taughtdefense]

you always thought the sekai taikai would bring new challenges for you & your friends, but it’s ended up dragging up old demons instead. tory chose the other side. you thought silver had been in prison—apparently not. the noise of the outside world is distant, muffled by the pounding in your chest as you stand there, trying to steady your breath. your heart’s still racing, but you’ve grown used to that by now. it’s a familiar feeling, like something bad is coming, even if you can’t always pinpoint when or where.

the rest of the building is empty, save for the quiet hum of the air conditioning & the distant sounds of the bustling city outside. the walls are lined with mirrors, reflecting back your worn figure as you try to steady your breath. it feels like the whole room is closing in on you, the weight of your thoughts pressing down with every inhale. the dim light casts long shadows across the polished floor, giving the place an eerie, almost suffocating feel. your pulse pounds in your ears as the silence wraps around you, thick & heavy, broken only by the sound of your own breathing. in the distance, the faint sound of water running from the sink adds to the surreal stillness, an unsettling backdrop to the chaos in your mind.

“defense is taking a bit of a sabbatical,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp, a little too bitter. it’s so fucking difficult to hold on to control, but you do your best. “or maybe it’s just a bad habit i’m trying to break. either way, you’re not the first to push me to the edge.”

you can feel the words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, but it doesn’t matter. it’s easier to break the silence with a fight than keep pretending everything’s okay. your heart’s pounding, the coppery taste of anger still thick in your mouth, but there’s a certain satisfaction in seeing silver hurt, bleeding, even if it wasn’t by your own hands. it’s not much, but it’s enough.

for now.

“maybe i’ve had enough of playing by the rules,” you add, voice low, as if daring him to challenge you.

you can feel it—that same crushing weight in the air, thick with the expectation of violence.

& then you see him.

the second silver.

he’s leaning casually against the far wall, untouched by the blood & bruises the real one wears. his suit is crisp, his grin impossibly wide, & his eyes—god, his eyes—are sharper, colder.

you blink hard, but he doesn’t vanish.

“careful, Third,” the second silver drawls, his voice curling through the air like smoke. “you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself again, would you?”

your heart skips. “what—” the word sticks in your throat as the hallucination pushes off the wall, his steps soundless as he circles you like a predator.

“you look confused,” he taunts, each word deliberate, cruel. “don’t worry, i’ll spell it out for you. i’m in your head, ethan. i’ve been here all along. i’m not actually visible to anyone but yourself. you know that—& yet when you get bad again, you kind of give me more attention than anyone else real,” he tosses a glance at the real him, smirking. “except for him, maybe. your husband, too, i suppose. maybe i should be flattered that ever since you saw real-me’s mugshot in the newspaper,” your heart sinks—you know he’s referring to your first bipolar episode, unknowingly triggered when that event occurred (& then the silver voice started talking to you again), “you almost think about me as much as you think about robby.” his grin splits wider, unnaturally so. “& now? i’m not going anywhere.”

“shut up,” you hiss under your breath, shaking your head as if you can shake him loose.

the real silver is still standing there. the hallucination doesn’t move. he jumps on the opportunity.

“poor little ethan,” the silver hallucination continues. “so angry. so scared. so alone.”

your knees almost buckle under the weight of it. the polished floor feels unstable beneath you, the walls too close. your vision swims.

a flash of thought—a fleeting moment of weakness, one you quickly push away. what’s the point? you almost choke on it. maybe it’d be easier to just… let go. why fight?

“no,” you rasp, your voice raw & trembling. “you’re not real.”

“oh, but i am,” the hallucination murmurs, stepping closer. the heat of his breath brushes your skin, though you know it’s impossible. “& you’ll never get rid of me. not now. not ever.”

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD, SILVER!”

the words rip out of you like a thunderclap, echoing off the walls of the room.

& just like that, the hallucination is gone.

you blink rapidly, your chest heaving, & when your vision clears, the real @opponentcompel is still standing before you. he’s still there.

around the two of you, the distant hum of barcelona seeps back into the space—honking cars, faint laughter, the rhythmic pulse of life just outside these walls.

but it doesn’t help ground you.

because whether it’s here, in this foreign city, or back home in the valley, one thing is painfully clear: you can’t escape him.

not really. not ever.

you’re still trying to steady your breath, the air heavy & suffocating after the hallucination’s cruel whispers. despite the silence that follows, the tension is unbearable. silver’s presence—real & tangible—feels like it’s closing in on you again.

you lock eyes with him, the question slipping out almost without thinking, not out of fear, but from an understanding that this may be the end of everything you’ve been through.

“are you going to kill me… again?” you ask, your voice flat, weary—almost indifferent. it’s not a challenge, not a desperate plea. it’s simply a question borne from everything you’ve endured, the near-death experiences, the traumas, & the quiet acceptance that silver might be the one to finally finish what he started.

[taughtdefense]

FIGHT FOREVER CANON — 6x05: WHEN THE LEEVE BREAKS (HE'S COME UNDONE)

bonus: @taughtartist's potential reaction to the first bit of dialogue said by ethan ( & it only gets worse from there in the other gifs )

[taughtdefense]

your fond smile widens into a grin at sam's words, reaching over to squeeze her hands delicately in yours, both thumbs running carefully over her knuckles. she's here, & she's smiling at you, & she loves you, & that's all that matters. she's one of the stronger grounding presences in your life.

❝ shiny things, hm? ❞ you echo, eyes full of a genuine fondness that you've seldom expressed with anyone else, a warmth that's specifically reserved for your girlfriend, your best friend, the girl who took you into her arms & helped shape you into the person you are today, along, of course, with robby. robby's influence on you CHANGING FOR THE BETTER is irrefutable. ❝ well, if anyone on this planet deserves a shiny ring, it's a hundred precent you. but i'd definitely marry you with paper rings, too, sam. ❞ ( you already have the rings for your four partners made. it's currently hidden in an area of your apartment that no one will be able to find it. ) ❝ that being said... i totally think a shiny ring might be better for for longevity's sake, at least over a paper one. ❞ you joke lightly. your thumb lightly traces her ring finger before you pull her hand up to your lips, gently kissing the back of her hand while maintaining eye contact. your heart swells with the amount of love you have for sam.

"I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings."

@taughtdefense liked for a starter

[taughtdefense]

send 💅 [nails] to paint my muse(s) nails. he's doing a shitty job :///

you quietly watch august as he carefully dips the brush into the nail polish bottle, his movements slow, deliberate—& completely ineffective. the first stroke starts out okay, but then the polish veers off course, a thick streak spilling over onto your skin. the result is even worse: uneven layers, smudges everywhere, polish pooling awkwardly at the edges of your nail.

it’s hard not to smile.

you've always appreciated his effort, but right now, his focus is endearing in a way that makes it impossible for you to feel annoyed. you know he’s trying his best, but it’s clear that precision isn’t his strong suit when it comes to nail polish. still, you don’t say anything—no teasing comment, no frustration, just patience. becoming a dad in various other lifetimes has done wonders for your patience. not to mention, this one.

you think about harper, how she’d probably shake her head at this point, maybe even take over with her tiny, confident hands perfectly done up, not a single glob or streak in sight on her nails. she’s only five, but the kid is a natural. it’s funny how someone so young can be so assured, while august, despite all his efforts, looks like he’s battling a puzzle he can’t quite solve. watching him struggle like this reminds you of her, & a small part of you wonders if maybe he could use a lesson or two from your five-year-old daughter.

as august messes up another stroke, the thought of harper showing him how it’s done almost makes you laugh. the image of her taking charge—probably with the same no-nonsense attitude she gets from tory—pops into your head, & you have to fight the urge to chuckle. you picture her, probably rolling her eyes in an overdramatic way that reminds you of yourself before snatching the brush from him, muttering something under her breath about “amateurs.” she’s all business when it comes to things like this.

but you stay quiet, letting august work through it, because your brother-figure is genuinely trying his best, & that’s what matters. his frustration is palpable, & you can feel the tension building in his shoulders, see the slight shake in his hands as he wipes off another botched attempt. you could step in, maybe even offer to finish it yourself, but you don’t. instead, you let him keep going, figuring that he’ll appreciate the space to figure it out on his own. you catch yourself halfway to raising your hand to stop him, but you let it drop—this is too entertaining to interrupt.

besides, you’ve always been patient, especially with the people you care about. august has always been there for you, even in moments when things felt impossible, when you would get stuck inside of your own head, caged yourself inside of your own apartment, & his stubbornness now, refusing to back down from something as small as a bottle of nail polish, is the same stubbornness that’s seen you through rough patches, that’s anchored you when the world seemed too much. so a few messy nails aren’t going to bother you. if anything, you find the whole thing kind of funny—& kind of sweet. the way he’s determined to get it right, even though it’s clearly not working, shows just how much he cares. it’s enough to make the smudges & streaks worth it.

you watch august fumble with the brush again, a thick glob of polish dripping dangerously close to your cuticle. you bite back a grin, eyes nearly flashing yellow in amusement, amused by the whole ordeal. there’s only so much you can take before the ridiculousness of the situation wins out.

"you know," you finally say to @familyabsconded, your tone light & playful, "if this doesn’t work out, i could always ask harper to back you up. she’s kind of a pro at this."

you can't help but smile wider, the thought of your five-year-old stepping in to show him how it's done making the moment even better.

[taughtdefense]

you’re standing in the kitchen when your phone buzzes. a simple text, just talia’s name lighting up the screen. you swipe it open, half expecting another one of her sarcastic remarks about life at cobra kai.

he confronted silver.

the words slam into you violently. the shock, the anger, the fear is immediate, & it hits harder than you expect, making your hands go cold. it takes you a second to process, your breath catching as your eyes move over the text again, & again, as if reading it enough times will make it mean something else. but it doesn’t.

you know exactly what she’s talking about. silver. your murderer. the man who’s haunted you, ripped your life apart at its seams, who you hear in your fucking head, even at this very second, & made your nights hell. he’s not just someone to you—he’s a monster, the monster who took you from him, who helped push you further away from him, who changed him, & not for the better. & now, robby—your robby—went off on his own & stood face-to-face with him.

you can almost see it. robby staring him down in the cobra kai dojo, that stupid upgraded look from what you saw on the tv screen & social media, that stupid twisted, dark, fucked up place, surrounded by those students silver manipulates just like he’s always done, always will, unless you, your friends & your senseis stop him.

you’ve confronted silver before, & look where it left you: broken, bleeding, dying in robby’s arms. dead in the ambulance, dead on the operating room table. now he’s going after him too? fear claws at your chest, mixed with something deeper, something darker—guilt & rage. because if silver ever hurt robby the way he hurt you...

you shut your eyes, your grip tightening around the phone, knuckles white. robby shouldn't be doing this. not for you. not against silver. but at the same time, you had a feeling he wouldn’t let this go. kenny. alison. tory. they’re all still in that dojo. silver terrorized the valley, tormented you, took so much from all of you. but robby probably felt it, just like you did when you confronted silver, like you do now—that pull to end this karate war once & for all.

your fingers hover over the screen, wanting to ask talia what happened next, but part of you already knows. robby’s strong, stronger than you ever give him credit for. but silver... silver plays with lives. twists them.

you lower the phone, heart pounding, mind racing. he confronted silver. & now you can’t stop wondering what that means—for robby, for you, for your friends—would silver retaliate, send his mindless soldiers after your friends?

you’re still staring at the phone when you hear the door creak open. a part of you already knows it’s @taughtpain , stepping into the apartment like nothing’s changed—like he didn’t just confront the man who killed you.

your jaw tightens, & your fingers twitch at your sides as he walks in. the sight of him coming back so casually sets something off inside you, like he didn’t just stare down the embodiment of everything you hate.

❝ what the fuck were you thinking, robert?! ❞ the words tear out of you before you can stop them, your voice sharp, almost shaking with the weight of your anger. no, not anger—fury. because how could he—how could he go in behind enemy lines like that & face him, silver, your murderer, alone?

❝ you went after him. silver. ❞ the name feels like poison on your tongue, & it only fuels the fire blazing in your chest. you can’t hold back the way your voice sharpens, cutting through the air like a blade. ❝ what, did you think i wouldn’t find out? that i wouldn’t know? ❞

the words snap out of you, venomous & raw, the intensity in your voice almost frightening. your emotional feedback loop is raging out of control, amplifying every single feeling to unbearable, overwhelming heights. wrath. fear. that unshakable, primal instinct to protect him, no matter the cost.

❝ you think going after him fixes fucking anything? did you think facing him would change what he did to me? to us? ❞ your voice cracks, but the fury remains, unrelenting, & only growing worse with each second. your hands are clenched so tightly into fists that you think you’ll break the skin of your palms. the room feels like it’s closing in, suffocating under the force of your emotions. each heartbeat slams against your chest as if your body can barely contain the sheer rage coursing through you. you’re shocked you eyes haven’t started glowing red—probably your Younger Self forced to step in to prevent your nonhuman nature from revealing itself.

how could he? you can’t stop picturing silver—his face, his twisted smile—& robby standing before him, walking right into enemy territory, again. you want to protect him, shield him from silver’s mind games, from all the darkness cobra kai represents. you’d rather die for robby for a third time than let silver go near him. but how can you when robby insists on throwing himself into the fire?

[taughtdefense]

ETHAN WILSON-KEENE + PROTECTING HIS FRIENDS.

mutuals with an ethan tag may reblog !

bonus gif:

[taughtdefense]

the phone feels heavier in your hand than it should, like every ounce of its weight is pressing against the raw nerve that’s been exposed since even before you left the valley. anthony’s voice crackles on the other end, loud & sharp enough to cut through the haze in your head.

“you look like total shit,” is his greeting.

you blink at the screen, your reflection staring back at you for a moment before his words sink in. not wrong, you think grimly, brushing a hand through your hair in a feeble attempt to smooth it out.

“gee, thanks,” you mutter, the words rasping out. your throat feels dry, your voice raw from… what, exactly? screaming? crying? neither? both? “good to know i can count on you for a confidence boost, anthony.”

his response is defensive, & you can see the way he’s rolling his eyes on the other end of the facetime call. his grumpiness makes your lips twitch, almost forming a smile. almost. it doesn’t stick, & your eyes don’t shine with a spark of humor.

“it’s not jet lag,” you mutter, even though the excuse would’ve been easier to lean on. “i’m just tired.”

the corners of your mouth twitch again at the comment about sam, this time with something like frustration. “she’s out.” you respond, forcing yourself to keep your tone neutral. he is your brother-in-law, & you don’t have the mental wherewithal to deal with anthony’s typical responses. “with miguel & robby.”

you don’t say why you didn’t go. that you couldn’t bear to watch robby pretend everything’s fine, even after he told you, tory’s taking a break from us. or how miguel’s quiet, careful looks make you feel even worse, like he’s waiting for you to shatter—again—so he can pick up the pieces. or worse: the slim chance of running into tory during your outing. tory, who still has her ring on a necklace around her neck instead of on her finger. that’s all kinds of confusing.

the ache in your chest twists, sharp & unforgiving, as you think about that necklace. about how her fingers toyed with it when she said the words to you an hour ago, after you approached her about it. i just need some time, ethan.

you swallow hard, trying to focus on anthony’s rambling, but the air feels heavy. suffocating.

then you catch the flicker of movement at the corner of your vision.

your heart lurches, but you don’t turn your head immediately. you already know who’s standing there, by the small table near the tv. still, when your eyes flicker over for a split second, it’s like your stomach drops into a pit. silver is there, just as you knew he would be.

he’s standing casually, one hand resting on the back of the chair, his head tilted ever so slightly. his lips are curved into a faint, condescending smirk, the kind that makes your skin crawl. his suit is immaculate, pressed & sharp, as if he’d stepped right out of your nightmares & into this hotel room. but it’s his eyes that hit you the hardest—those cold, calculating eyes that seem to see straight through you, dissecting you piece by piece until there’s nothing left.

your pulse quickens, but you force yourself to keep your gaze on anthony through the phone screen, trying to act like nothing’s wrong. still, there’s a new tension in your shoulders that wasn’t there seconds ago, & you know anthony will notice if you’re not careful.

the hallucination moves closer, silent & predatory, until he’s standing immediately in front of you.

“you’re moping, mr. wilson,” he says, his voice low & dripping with mockery.

your jaw tightens.

“pathetic,” he continues, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. his posture is relaxed, too much so, but the gleam in his eyes is predatory. “hiding in here like a coward, while the rest of them are out there living their lives. but i suppose that’s what you’re best at, isn’t it? running? hiding? pretending? hoping someone else will pick up the pieces when you inevitably fall apart again?”

“i’m not fucking moping,” you snap aloud, too quickly, too defensively. the words are sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room like a knife.

you freeze, heat rising to your face as you realize what you’ve done. “sorry,” you mutter to anthony, your voice quieter now, trying to cover your tracks. “i wasn’t talking to you.”

silver doesn’t move. he’s still standing there, still watching you with that same smug expression, as if daring you to react.

“i just… needed some space, that’s all,” you add, your voice directed more toward the hallucination than anthony now.

silver’s smirk widens just a touch, but he says nothing more. instead, he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as if settling in to watch.

you hate how real he feels. the weight of his presence, the sound of his voice, the way his eyes bore into yours like he’s peeling back every shard of shattered armor you have left.

but most of all, you hate how you can’t shake him.

you turn your attention back to anthony, ignoring silver’s smirk lingering at the edge of your vision. the weight of his stare presses down on you, but you force yourself to focus on the phone, on anthony’s annoyed expression.

“so,” you begin, your voice strained but steady, “what’s it like back in the valley without us? you surviving?” what you really want to ask is if he’s had any run-ins with kenny, but you don’t.

[taughtdefense]

your fingers are shakingshakingSHAKING as they clutch desperately at the colored news article you'd printed out in a blind panic a few minutes ago. the paper displays kreese's & silver's mugshot from a few weeks back, which triggered something to SNAP in you. your brown eyes are blown as wide as saucers as you quickly scan through the over-highlighted text, highlighted in various colors, color-coded. you completely ignore your best friend's presence for a moment. it's almost you're expecting the words to change, or for silver to leap out at you, so he can finish the job. but the text never changes, the bruises YOU gave him never fade from his face. your chest heaves rapidly, & you're clearly on the verge of a panic attack that's been brewing all goddamn day. maybe for months.

your current location is a warehouse, which you'd bought-outright... specifically & only for the purpose of tracking kreese's & silver's movements. the room spins dangerously in your vision as the buzzing in your ears grows louder. the space around you is a goddamn chaotic, unorganized mess, the blackout curtains drawn over the windows, refusing to let any natural light in. the only lights that are on right now are super fucking bright, & are angled towards the wall that shows a pretty extensive evidence board covering a portion of the warehouse walls. it details everything that you deem necessary regarding everything that's happened in the valley; kreese's undermining of johnny for one, the flagship cobra kai dojo, for another, to silver's other locations he'd opened across the valley, for another. flight paths around the world, for another. but everything has a place to be here.

WHAT IF JOHN KREESE REALLY ISN'T DEAD?

TERRY SILVER IS FREE. HE HAS TO BE.

silver's picture is smack-dab in the middle of the evidence board. red strings point at his picture from various evidences you've collected over the past few weeks. a picture of the bloodstained katana he used to KILL YOU is slotted next to his picture, which is connected by a red string.

the room doesn't stop spinning, & your breathing goes from strained to panicked, & you start gasping for air you can't get. the room feels boiling hot like you'd just submerged yourself into an active volcano, your shaking hands are hot & clammy with sweat. you kind of want to let gravity do it's thing—by that, you want your legs to crumble underneath you so you can crack your head open & bleed everywhere onto the table that's next to you, full of other items & ramblings & balls of red fucking strings you haven't put up yet. maybe passing out would grant you a few hours of peace. ( IT WON'T. ) but no hospitals. you've already been to the hospital more times than you've ever really thought you'd be in this lifetime. three times in the hospital bed, a handful of times stuck in the waiting room, waiting for news about your friends' conditions. sam's, demetri's, emma's, calla's. the list goes on & on. your friends have gotten hurt so many fucking times because of the karate war.

& your best friend miguel—

@recurrere / miguel stares at you.

something small in you frays further, is tugged apart like a thin thread, & you make no move to repair it. you can't tell what frayed, just that something did at his expression. the look on his face makes you want to throw up.

it makes you want to take a running start towards the top floor of the warehouse. you'll take a swan dive out the window & fall onto the pavement below, so you never have to see that look on your best friend's face ever again.

❛ you're a dumbass. you should have known he was tailing us. this is your fuck-up, not mine. ❜ your Younger Self snarls viciously at you, his tone venomous, & you nod jerkily in agreement, breathing hard. you don't defend yourself. he's totally fucking right, of course. ❛ he's going to tattle on you/me/us to sam, tory, & our miguel. johnny, daniel, sanji, olen, lucienne, our friends & our parents... everyone will fucking know! HE'S GONG TO TELL ROBBY, & we'll fucking lose him forever. it's all BECAUSE OF YOU! ❜ he screams at you, his/your voice warping as he loses his/your human-ness, reverting back towards something much more INHUMAN. his panic certainly isn't helping yours—goddamn vicious emotions-feedback loop.

❝ i know, i know. ❞ you breathe, sounding downright miserable, but acceptive of whatever wrath he feels. ( but miguel hadn't said anything, he hadn't even opened his mouth. you're talking to your Younger Self, & that... that definitely doesn't look good— FUCK! ) ❝ i-i'm sorry. i-i didn't... i just... ❞ the next words die somewhere on the way out of your throat. your fingers almost ball up into fists, but your Younger Self immediately screams, warning you about ruining the evidence, so you throw silver's mugshot onto the table like you're expecting the paper to suddenly explode. it doesn't.

without warning or any indication, you turn FAR too sharply towards miguel suddenly, a smidge too fast to be human. ❝ no, no. no. just stop. don't look at me like that. i'm not... i'm not losing my mind. i'm... not. ❞ then, louder, before he can even get a fucking word in: ❝ i knew this w-was a mistake, letting you step past the fucking d-door. ❞ you bark out a laugh, but it sounds more like a broken sob.

WELL, THIRD, WHICH ONE IS IT? ARE YOU FUCKING LAUGHING OR CRYING? DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW? DO YOU KNOW WHICH FORM YOU'RE WALKING AROUND AS RIGHT NOW?

ARE YOU SURE TERRY SILVER DIDN'T SUCCESSFULLY KILL YOU?

the words just keep tumbling from your mouth, & you sound hysterical. ❝ god, i'm s-so fucking stupid. i... should've know that none of you would fucking understand. mr. larusso probably e-even wouldn't. i'm the o-only one who does, because i've been the only one who's been MURDERED before. YOU DON'T FUCKING GET IT! ❞ you're ranting, screaming in general, all of the emotions you'd shoved down of the past half-year starting to broil over.

breathing hard, your hands reach out to grab miguel by the front of his shirt, yanking your friend closer to you abruptly, your knuckles an alarming shade of white. you don't move to punch him. your crazed, hysteria-filled eyes burn into his, but your voice drops down to a whisper.

the Silver Voice was right—

IT WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER IF YOU HAD FUCKING DIED—

❝ why did you follow m-me, miguel? why... why? ❞