❝ I wasn’t built to lead the charge—and I’m okay with that. But I know how to stay when it counts. And sometimes, that’s what holds everything up. ❞
❝ I didn’t start karate to be violent. But that’s what it turned me into. And it took something traumatic to realize I hated who I became. I’m still learning how to forgive that version of me. But I keep fighting for the people I love and The Valley now—so no one has to stand alone. ❞
# taughtranquility. — miguel diaz-wilson . indie, private, highly selective & low/sporadic activity miguel diaz from netflix's c.obra kai since 01/23. main-blog to @taughtcutthroat .
❝ If loyalty means staying silent, it’s not loyalty—it’s fear. ❞
carrd. | prompts. | psd credit.
heavily affiliated & single-ship exclusive with @taughtdefense , @taughtpain , @taughtmercy & @taughtcruelty across all verses .
additionally affiliated with all of mine & mads' blogs across all verses . ( blogs tba. )
the concept of telling your husband "you (robby) need to man up, accept that i'm fighting better than you & hand over the captain's headband to me" after the a) institutionalization of their husband, who very recently just got out of a hellish nightmare prison orchestrated by a psychotic former sensei (silver), b) the defection of your shared ex-wife to a toxic dojo after the co-founder (kreese) psychologically tormented tory+targeted people that she loves for two months in order to get her back into cobra kai, & c) the fact that your husband's cousin (seth) who everyone thought was robby's cousin for EIGHTEEN YEARS, is actually his triplet brother who was stolen at birth by his abusive uncle... yeah we don't do that here
like miguel, bestie, read the room. your husband is dealing with compound trauma on multiple fronts - their husband was institutionalized, their wife is being psychologically manipulated by the man who tortured her, their family was falling apart, and his own (non-wilson) family just imploded with the seth revelation.
and you're worried about... a headband? about who's "fighting better"?
it'd have been absolutely WILD & very inappropriate for miguel's behavior to Be That Shitty like in canon, given everything robby has been dealing with. robby would have started swinging & i would have cheered him on. & miguel wants to make it about a HEADBAND & robby needing to "man up"? fuck all the way off with that. robby's been "manning up" by not completely falling apart while his world implodes on multiple fronts. i fear that would've been relationship-ending levels of inappropriate. & i totally think that robby would've been fully justified in losing his literal goddamn shit right there in the hallway, & honestly miguel would've deserved it.
basically that bullshit doesn't happen here & i am throwing canon miguel's full-fledged animosity into the ocean
` * 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 : a mix of dialogue and action prompts. sent "+ reverse" to reverse the roles.
𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 :
➔ you're gonna be okay , just keep your eyes on me.
➔ don't move - you're going to make it worse.
➔ it's not that bad.
➔ you saved me once before , now it's my turn.
➔ you fucking idiot , you weren't supposed to take the hit for me.
➔ i told you not to do that! now look!
➔ you're lucky that i know basic first aid , or you'd be dead!
➔ stay with me, okay? stay awake.
➔ i'll be as gentle as i can be , i promise.
➔ you're bleeding - oh my god , you're bleeding.
➔ you told me it was a scratch , this is not a fucking scratch!
➔ there's so much blood.
➔ next time you want to play here , just don't.
➔ stop fighting me and let me help!
➔ you're banned from doing anything remotely dangerous.
➔ you could have died , what were you thinking?
➔ if you die on me , i'm going to be pissed off.
➔ you didn't have to be so reckless just to prove a fucking point.
➔ the wound will heal but you'll have a scar.
𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 :
[ carry ] sender carries receivers muse to safety after finding them injured.
[ stitch ] sender stitches receivers wound.
[ hand ] sender holds receivers hand during a painful procedure.
[ wound ] sender cleans receivers wounds with gentle and shaky hands.
[ panic ] sender panics while trying to stop receiver's bleeding.
[ patch ] sender patches receiver up using makeshift materials (i.e. torn shirt).
[ fire ] sender drags receiver out of a burning building.
[ pressure ] sender puts deep pressure on receivers wound while yelling for help.
[ mouth ] sender gives receiver mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
[ change ] sender helps receiver change out of bloodied clothes.
[ wash ] sender helps wash dried blood off of receivers face.
[ shower ] sender helps receiver shower after an injury.
[ broken ] sender tries to stabilize receivers broken limb with rope and sticks.
in the cillian!ethan verse i genuinely think miguel pulls An Ethan because the grief is crushing him. he loves his husband & not that Thing that broke up with him & ruined everything good in his life, in robby's life, in sam's life, in tory's life
& by "An Ethan" i mean hallucinations. just full-on hallucination of his comatose husband (his regular, normal, human vessel, not the older one) that he listens to, but the longer ethan's in the coma, sometimes the voice that comes out of "ethan's" mouth is just slightly off, or his own voice. miguel starts having conversations with "ethan" but gradually realizes he's just... talking to himself. comforting himself with his own voice dressed up as his husband's.
because here's what's so devastating about miguel "pulling an ethan": he's doing it because he loves so fiercely that he literally can't accept the loss. he's not hallucinating because he's broken (though he is), he's hallucinating because his heart won't let go.
in season 6 part 1, miguel gains a knife scar running a quarter of the way up the side of his neck from an encounter with the claimers, a gift from ryker hightower / @claimedvalley to signal that he's been "marked/claimed" by the organization; it was after he, tory / @taughtcruelty & liam / @triggersmagic were kidnapped by the claimers, in order to lure out robby, & get revenge on him & the nichols family for leaving them. the knife was far enough from his actual vocal cords & windpipe to not affect his voice or breathing, but close enough to feel threatening.
hot take but the idea that miguel would ever be on the iron dragons
after part 2, the team that has a rapist predator who hurt someone he’s close to, clearly went after his ex-girlfriend in a classist way because she’s rich & tory’s poor, & the guy who gets weirdly intensively possessive over his girlfriend & then fights him about it, & the dojo thats run by the guy who has systematically abused his friends & family & himself for actual years is so… odd to me
To my dear Miguel Tory Sam Robby Henry Harper Talia Dad Mom someone,
The white pills today. Or yesterday. They make my teeth ache and I can’t remember which name I’m supposed to write. I keep starting letters and forgetting who they’re for. All of your faces blur together now like watercolors in rain.
Dr. Alvarez Harrison someone came by. They all look the same now. White coats and disappointed faces. They asked me about my birthday again. I think I had one? June something. Eighteen. Adult. Legal. Meaningless.
Silver visited. Silver always visits. Sometimes I think he never leaves, just sits in that chair watching me write your names wrong. He says you’ve all moved on. College. Jobs. Normal lives. He says that someone won the Sekai Taikai. He won’t tell me who. He shows me pictures and videos and memories but I can’t tell if they’re real anymore or if my brain is making them up to punish me.
I tried to tell them about the shadows today. How they move when they shouldn’t, how they have faces sometimes. Faces I recognize. They increased my dosage.
I think about dying a lot now. Not sad dying. Just… quiet dying. Like turning off a machine that’s been running too long. The blue pills make it feel possible. Natural. Maybe that’s what they want.
But then I remember. Something warm. Hands? Laughter? A voice saying my name like it mattered? I can’t remember whose voice anymore but I remember the feeling of being wanted. I’m deluding myself by thinking it’s Robby’s.
Is that real? Did someone want me once? Or is that the sickness they’re trying to cure?
I hide these letters in my shoes but they always find them. They always find everything. There’s no point but I keep writing because forgetting how to write your names feels like dying faster than the pills.
Maybe I already died for the final time after so many deaths and suffering and because I’m a monster—Daniel was right—and this is what comes after. Maybe I never existed at all and this is just the dream of someone who wanted to be loved.
I can’t remember what you look like anymore. Any of you. But I remember that I loved you. That has to count for something, right? Even if I can’t remember why?
Don’t look for me. I’m probably not worth finding anymore.
Always yours Forever Love
Ethan Patient 314 Nobody
File note: Confiscated by facility personnel on 6/25/2020. Letter number unaddressed/incoherent: 847. Catalogued punishment as per Terrance Silver’s order due to patient defiance: Loss of light for 72 hours, meal reduction, increased medication protocol. Note: Patient approaching final treatment phase. Recommend accelerated timeline per Terrance Silver’s specifications.
Miguel's hands shake as he unfolds the paper. They found it in Ethan's shoe when they finally got him out—one of hundreds they've been sorting through over the past few weeks. This one is different. The handwriting is barely legible, the ink pressed too hard in places that it bleeds through the other side of the paper, letters slanting in different directions like he was fighting just to hold the pen.
To my dear Miguel Tory Sam Robby Henry Harper Talia Dad Mom someone,
The air leaves Miguel's lungs. Ethan couldn't even remember who he was writing to. All those names scattered across the page like he was grasping for anyone, everyone, desperate to connect to something real. Miguel's name is first, but it's crossed out along with all the others. He pictures his husband writing "Miguel," then forgetting, then trying again, over and over until the names became meaningless sounds.
The white pills today. Or yesterday. They make my teeth ache and I can't remember which name I'm supposed to write.
Miguel's jaw clenches. White pills. Blue pills. How many different drugs did they pump into him? The casual way Ethan mentions his teeth aching, like physical pain was just background noise by then. Miguel thinks about Ethan's smile, how it used to light up his whole face, and imagines him sitting alone in that room, pills dissolving on his tongue, trying to remember how to write the names of people who loved him.
All of your faces blur together now like watercolors in rain.
"Fuck," Miguel whispers, and his voice cracks. Ethan liked watching Talia paint. He saw details other people missed, remembered the exact color of Miguel's eyes in different light. For his mind to be so scrambled that faces—their faces—became just watercolor smears... Miguel's chest tightens with something between rage and grief.
Dr. Alvarez Harrison someone came by. They all look the same now. White coats and disappointed faces.
Even the fake doctors blur together in Ethan's broken memory. Miguel wonders if the disappointment was real or just what Ethan expected to see everywhere by then. Had they trained him to expect disappointment? Made him forget what acceptance looked like?
They asked me about my birthday again. I think I had one? June something. Eighteen. Adult. Legal. Meaningless.
Miguel's throat burns. June 13th. Ethan turned eighteen in that place, alone, drugged, so broken he could barely remember it happened. Miguel should have been there. Should have been kissing him awake, making him pancakes, doing something, anything normal and loving and human. Instead, Ethan spent his eighteenth birthday as a prisoner, and Miguel didn't even know he was missing.
Silver visited. Silver always visits.
Miguel's hands curl into fists, crumpling the edges of the paper. The casual way Ethan writes it, like Silver's constant presence had become as natural as breathing. This monster who destroyed the person Miguel loved, sitting in that chair day after day, watching Ethan fall apart. Miguel wants to put his fist through something, but he forces himself to keep reading.
He shows me pictures and videos and memories but I can't tell if they're real anymore.
His stomach lurches. Pictures and videos of what? Of them? Had Silver been documenting their lives, using their happiness as a weapon against Ethan? And memories—how do you show someone memories unless you're fucking with their head so badly they can't tell what's real? Miguel tastes bile.
I tried to tell them about the shadows today. How they move when they shouldn't, how they have faces sometimes.
Hallucinations. They drugged Ethan so heavily he was seeing things that weren't there. Again. Miguel thinks about Ethan's eldritch nature, how he could see things others couldn't, and wonders if Silver deliberately targeted that—made Ethan doubt his own perceptions until he couldn't trust anything his mind told him.
I think about dying a lot now. Not sad dying. Just… quiet dying.
Miguel's vision blurs. The matter-of-fact way Ethan writes about wanting to die—not dramatically, not crying for help, just tired. So tired he wanted to turn off like a machine. Miguel remembers the way Ethan used to curl into his side after nightmares, how Miguel would hold him until the shaking stopped, or how Robby would be the main anchor point in calming him down until his tears stopped and his eyes dried. But this time Miguel wasn't there to hold him. This time Ethan faced the darkness alone until he welcomed it.
But then I remember. Something warm. Hands? Laughter? A voice saying my name like it mattered?
Tears spill down Miguel's cheeks before he can stop them. Even at his worst, even when he couldn't remember faces or names, Ethan held onto the feeling of being loved. Some part of him remembered warmth, remembered Miguel's hands, remembered his voice. It wasn't enough to save him, but it was something.
I can't remember whose voice anymore but I remember the feeling of being wanted. I think I'm deluding myself by thinking it's Robby's.
The words hit Miguel like a physical blow. Even broken and lost, Ethan's heart still reached for Robby first. Miguel knows he shouldn't be jealous—knows this isn't about hierarchy or competition—but fuck, it hurts. It hurts that Robby's voice was the one Ethan most wanted to hear, even when he couldn't remember why.
Maybe I already died for the final time after so many deaths and suffering and because I'm a monster—Daniel was right—
"No," Miguel gasps aloud, his hands shaking violently now. No, no, no, no. Even drugged and broken, Ethan was still carrying Daniel's rejection like a poison rotting in his veins. Still believing he was monstrous, still thinking he deserved this. Miguel can see him crossing out "Daniel was right" but not before writing it, not before believing it.
Don't look for me. I'm probably not worth finding anymore.
The paper slips from Miguel's numb fingers as he lurches to his feet. His stomach heaves, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before everything comes up—coffee, bile, and something deeper that feels like it's tearing him apart from the inside.
He grips the porcelain edges of the toilet, retching until there's nothing left, until his body is just trying to expel the horror of what they did to Ethan. Worth finding. Christ, how could Ethan think he wasn't worth finding? Miguel would have torn the world apart looking for him if he'd known where to look.
But they found him. They got him out. That has to matter.
They still love him.
Miguel sits on the bathroom floor, breathing hard, and thinks about Ethan safe in the next room—still broken, still healing, but alive. Still worth everything.
Still theirs.
Miguel wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, legs still very unsteady as he pushes himself up from the bathroom floor. His throat burns and his chest feels hollowed out, but he needs to see Ethan. Needs to remind himself that the broken boy from the letter is safe now, here, real.
He pushes open the bedroom door and freezes.
Ethan sits perfectly still on the edge of their bed, hands folded in his lap like a patient waiting for an appointment that will never come. His hair has grown long—longer than Miguel has ever seen it, falling past his shoulders in tangled waves that catch the afternoon light streaming through the window. It should be beautiful. It is beautiful. But something about the way it frames his face makes Miguel's stomach lurch all over again, and if he had anything in his stomach to throw up again, he would have.
Because Ethan's face is empty.
Not sad. Not hurt. Just... gone. His eyes stare straight ahead at nothing, unfocused and glassy, like someone pulled the plug on whatever made him Ethan and left only the shell behind. His chest rises and falls with mechanical regularity, the only sign that he's alive at all.
"Ethan?" Miguel's voice comes out as a whisper.
Nothing. Not even a blink.
Miguel takes a careful step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. "Baby, I'm here. I'm right here.. I'm not going to leave you. Robby and Sam are on their way back home with Henry and Harper."
Still nothing. Ethan's hands remain perfectly still in his lap, fingers neither twitching nor fidgeting, none of the restless energy that used to run through him like electricity. He's so motionless he could be a photograph, a wax figure, anything but the vibrant boy who used to curl into Miguel's side and talk for hours about everything and nothing.
Miguel sinks to his knees in front of the bed, positioning himself in Ethan's line of sight. Up close, he can see the weight loss in Ethan's sharp cheekbones, the pale cast to his skin that speaks of months without sunlight. His brown eyes, once so expressive Miguel could read his every thought, now reflect nothing at all.
"I read your letter," Miguel says softly, reaching out to touch Ethan's knee. The fabric of his sweatpants is soft under Miguel's palm, but Ethan doesn't react to the contact. "The one from your shoe. I... fuck, baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry we didn't find you sooner."
Ethan's breathing doesn't change. His expression doesn't shift, even minutely. He might as well be carved from marble.
Miguel's eyes burn as he looks at the boy he loves—the boy who used to light up when Miguel walked into a room, who used to kiss him like he was something precious, who used to write Miguel's name in the steam on bathroom mirrors just because he could, who instinctively used to shield Sam from any danger. He's twenty pounds lighter than he had been and his clothes no longer fit properly.
Now he sits like a ghost haunting his own body, and Miguel doesn't know how to call him back.
"You're safe now," Miguel whispers, more to himself than to Ethan. "You're home. You're safe."
But looking into those empty brown eyes, Miguel wonders if the boy who wrote "Don't look for me, I'm probably not worth finding anymore" was right about one thing.
Maybe the Ethan his husband, his wives, his family, friends and Miguel himself loved is already gone.
miguel is incredibly scared of blake / @taughtpunishment , but he also goes insane around him because he hates that motherfucker with every bone in his body.
someone please come get miguel. he thought about trying to flirt with @taughtpain & then got Shy. he’s blushing rn. ethan & tory are smirking. seth is considering recording it. Help Him
