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Show & Tell
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Today's Document
Kiana Khansmith
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@fcrgery
＃ＦＣＲＧＥＲＹ. independent PROKOPENKO from the raven cycle series. many verses available. a study on devotion and the meaning of existence. dreamt by tara ( 22, any pronouns ). character est. august 2020, single blog est. march 2022
@zukunftsvision › prokopenko › what do you give to a boy who can pull all he needs from thin air? your body, your devotion, your life, if he’ll take them. until then: a key to prokopenko’s front door though he leaves it unlocked every night (an invitation), a length of silky, rich red ribbon (a suggestion), and a tiny engraved compass, smaller than a dime, on a fine, bracelet-sized chain. there’s no explanation, just black ink written on half a sheet of paper torn right out of a notebook: ночь и сон идти одной дорогой
these days kavinsky wakes up with prokopenko’s name burning on his tongue, with his name fueling the fires, or with his name wiped fully from his mind. today, it’s too early to decide if he’ll curse him or if he’ll call him, when he finds the gift proko’s left behind for him, in kavinsky’s very own fashion: sometime, somehow, secret and blatantly unanonymous, without waiting for the immediate reaction but counting on one anyway. it even has a cryptic note that reads ‘ the night and the dream follow the same road ’ in scribbled cyrillic and no other explanation as to what it has to do with anything. the date on his lockscreen ( his game console, his fridge, his digital alarm clock ) is enough of a confession, unavoidable and in-his-face, an obvious nod to all the ways in which k has fucked this up. he regards the compass with a frown, turns it, flips it, shakes it, completely lost on its meaning ( — ironically ). he bunches the ribbon in his fist till it comes out crumpled, slowly unfolding in his hand trying to recover from the aggression, but not yielding any answers. he recognizes the key, and the trust it unlocks, and both his fondness and contempt come to him at once. prokopenko would give everything kavinsky has done nothing to earn.
he puts the compass around his wrist, the key in the pocket of his sweats; the note and ribbon remain on his bed for now, until he decides what to do with them. he’s not made an effort to get proko anything, and why would he? but now he rummages in the drawers of his bedside table that is filled with useless trinkets that may at first glance not at all belong in a bedroom and at second glance not at all belong in this world; he pulls out a small, white mp3 player with tangled matching earbuds. it’s ordinary, but it has no music on it, and if you look closer you’ll see it also doesn’t have any ports to plug it in, neither for charging nor to upload any music, because apparently the battery can’t run out, and there’s nothing to play on it except one track, endless or looped or live broadcast. it’s silence, and the sound of a beating heart. nothing else. no way to pause it, either, unless you turn it off completely or simply stop listening. it’s fucking eerie and k hasn’t listened to it since he dreamt it, though he knows what he’ll hear: the steady rhythm that he feels in his chest and will falter when his heart does, a perfect forgery for this failed attempt. he’ll leave it in proko’s room tonight, tossed on his pillow so he knows it’s a gift. no comment, no explanation. he can ask if he needs to, but he probably won’t.
prophezeiung:
they’ll never know just how much blood his hands are covered in, kavinsky certainly makes sure to keep them painted red — a warning. but he’s as much a visionary as he is a killer, a provider and a protector first. his reputation is as much shield and advertisement as he needs, the true statistics nobody needs to know. not even the feds will ever be able to prove him anything — he is a fortress dressed in white. prokopenko is being let in slowly, door by door, fortified wall by fortified wall. he’s not afraid of the things that he sees and kavinsky doesn’t care. he is just waiting to lock the doors behind him.
his serpent eyes linger on prokopenko though, his inquisitiveness left unmasked but unexplained. there’s a keenness about the other that goes unnoticed, the way that his observation seems unsuspecting, almost innocent, certainly incapable of deducing the cruelty and threat lazily hidden in the shadows surrounding him. in the way he talks, though, shines, through oblivious questions and out of the blue observations, his quick reasoning and sharp intuition. this is one thing that kavinsky likes about him, and he likes that he noticed, and that prokopenko can hang unspoken words in the air and kavinsky will still catch them. you’re so young. you’re so strong, you’re so callous. but i know you better. i know there’s more. yes, kavinsky truly likes him.
“ there are worse fates, ” a knowing look finishes the sentence ambiguously — is he talking about the killing or the dying? he ends this line of conversation with a shrug, it rolls like a wave through his shoulders as if he lets them rather than leads them, a motion expressive enough. “ if there’s one piece of advice i can give you: get rid of what holds you back. no point if there’s no use. of course, ” kavinsky leans forward again, in closer to prokopenko, seemingly grinning at the thought sharing with him this priceless advice “ you have to know what it is that you want. you know, don’t you? ”
in one respect, at least, kavinsky is like most things in life: the more prokopenko learns, the less he understands. he’s hit another dead end in this maze, and there’s only so many times he can turn around and choose another path before it becomes too obvious that he is trying to find what’s at its center. coaxing out secrets, desires, fears, needs, subtly enough to make his target feel like they’re sharing on their own terms has long been prokopenko’s great skill, used as means for kindness and cruelty as if the distinction doesn’t matter, but kavinsky is light on his feet when he dances around the truth, and prokopenko has to work to keep up.
the unprompted advice is an explanation, kind of, though it reveals no more than kavinsky has already told him, just rearranges the pieces and offers them for a different purpose. when he leans forward — seemingly for dramatic effect — prokopenko mirrors the movement even though his instinct is to back away.
what does he want? the question catches him off guard and he’s sure it shows; he’s never had a real answer. his life divides neatly into chapters defined by whichever headstrong friend or self-assured fling he’d chosen to cling to to give it meaning, a magnet to keep him turned away from the emptiness in his own psyche. but these things are always finite, and ultimately he is directionless, stranded in an unmoving ocean, always looking for the next lighthouse to move towards or the next anchor to keep him grounded. doesn’t matter where it takes him; sinking down to the sea floor is better by far than stillness.
“ do i? ” it’s an admission, fragile in its delivery, and he feels naked, exposed, less because unclear motivation is an obvious hole in his persona than because it’s embarrassing — the visceral, intimate kind — to let kavinsky know. prokopenko despises this position — showing more than he’s seeing — but the moment passes, and he shrugs off the feeling as quickly as it came. “ maybe, yeah, i do, ” he continues, with a good deal more certainty, “ but isn’t why you want what you want just as important? ”
nah bc i cannot string a single sentence together and its so fuckin frustrating :///
im gonna keep it false with you chief. im gonna lie to you.
𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.
→ PROKOPENKO
spice: rosemary (symbolizes remembrance, loyalty, love, also it smells like the man version of lavender idk)
weather: dreary, misty rain, the kind you think you can survive without an umbrella but ends up soaking you to the bone anyways, cold enough to be uncomfortable without a jacket but not cold enough to complain, you can see thunderstorms on the horizon, but they haven’t reached you yet
colour: this exact purplish gray that i put everywhere
sky: dusk, when the prettiest most photo-worthy part of the sunset has faded and the sky is draining back to blue or purple, with hints of pink and orange from the sun still reflecting off the clouds (like this, but less vibrant, darker, and with streaky clouds instead of fluffy ones)
magical power: emotional manipulation :/
shoe: doc martens & vans
house plant: agave (symbolizes security, slow to grow but strong and sturdy. also u gotta rip it open to get to the soft/sweet part)
social media: twitter 🤡🤡🤡
makeup product: the green and yellow concealer that goes under regular concealer to hide things that are red and purple 🤡
candy: anything you can suck on
fear: being forgotten
ice cube shape: the small round kind with the little hole in the middle
method of long - distance travel: car, preferably with someone else driving
art style: post-impressionism but also surrealism
historical period: the 90s
mythological creature: a banshee, a devil bird, or anything else that forewarns death
piece of stationery: a nice heavy 4b pencil
three emojis: s(imp), pensive clown, is for me?, + whatever this is (these are under the cut)
celestial body: the moon
tagged by: stole from @robobe
tagging: @kosmogramm @celestiel @mythae @prophezeiung @proditeur @wahrsagung
Keep reading
*sighs dreamily* what is Wrong with him
st.ranger thin.gs spoilers
i COULD give proko an actual writeable stra.nger thi.ngs verse or i could just. make him the kid that died in fred’s car accident ,,,,,,,,, it fits so wellllll
WHAT KIND OF ART WOULD SOMEONE MAKE ABOUT YOU?
MUSIC. you are a breath of fresh air. you are soft and free. you disappear as quickly as you appear, and everyone wishes you had stayed around longer than you did. your voice is what makes people fall in love. everything you say is in harmonies and codes, and only the most experienced listeners can fully understand you. your presence is always enjoyed but you aren’t always given the praise you deserve; people will let you stay in the background. all you want is for someone to really listen to you.
tagged by: stole but i don’t remember from who
tagging: @prophezeiung @sainthey @siennabook @proditeur @celestiel @dvnities @afteribm @lantsovheir
prokopenko for taurus season because i believe in taurus proko/cancer kavinsky supremacy
nah bc the only thing stopping me from finishing almost done replies is that i still havent made icons or even found a psd lmaooo
i called this love a home with it’s broken windows and crumbling wallpaper i’m still wondering if i’m looking for a way out or building locks for all the doors desperately hoping to keep you in
siennabook:
sienna’s not trying to eat air, is she? that’s the point — you can’t survive on air or love or anything alone. she’s making that point because it feels like kolya is trying to survive on love. it was sweet, at first. sweet and sad and tragic, and sienna felt terribly sorry for him. now she just feels irritated. okay, grow up, get over it. stop being an insufferable simp. she’s about to say that when he knocks the words out of her mouth. her jaw drops — actually drops — and she stares at him.
❛ that… doesn’t sound right. ❜ bertrand isn’t that much older. he’s fifteen years older than sienna, which is basically ten, which can be rounded down to seven, which is like saying he’s five years older than her. and sienna is much older than nikolai. she’s four years older, which is like saying six, which is like saying eight, which is like saying she’s ten years older than him. his mother can’t possibly be younger than bertrand. no, she isn’t. nikolai must’ve done his math wrong, or maybe he’s fucking with her on purpose. yes, that must be it. he’s fucking with her to distract her from his drawing. something about kolya and fingers in people’s mouths! why are teenagers so horny these days!
❛ and stop drawing shit like that! ❜ she snaps, which is unfair because his drawings aren’t shit and he shouldn’t stop, but she’s tense today. tenser than usual. ❛ this is exactly what i want to talk about. delphi’s been stealing and selling my shit again. you need to be careful. ❜
“ well it is, ” nikolai’s eyebrows quirk for half a second, but he catches himself before his surprise shows on his face. he hadn’t expected that sienna wouldn’t actually know this exquisitely fun fact — he really just pointed it out because he thought it would get on her nerves. “ you’re four years older than me. my mom was seventeen when i was born. that means she’s thirteen years older than you, and two years younger than your boyfriend, ” he knows he is opening himself up to his mother being called a slut, but he also knows that the problem is actually that sienna’s boyfriend is just a weird old pervert, so he doesn’t care. meeting sienna’s eyes pointedly, nikolai shifts the position of his drawing pad and resumes exactly what he was doing.
these situations are difficult, because delphi actually stealing stuff is just as probable as sienna misplacing things and convincing herself that it’s delphi’s fault. it actually doesn’t make sense for delphi — who also has an unlimited supply of money even if she burns through it twenty times faster than the rest of them — to be selling things, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t stealing them for other purposes. “ what is she stealing? ” he asks, trying his best to sound curious and not like he thinks she’s nuts. nikolai’s personal problems and delphi stealing stuff are not at all logically connected, but drawing attention to that is likely to cause a frenzy. “ i haven’t seen delphi in months, ” he says, and then hastily adds, “ not that she hasn’t been around, just… saying. ”
kosmogramm-a:
a chuckle; no comment. yes, it’s sienna and her silly little half-truths and pills. across from her, it’s nikolai and his silly little half-truths and empty copies. what’s a half-truth? wasn’t for him to answer, but here he is, channeling bruce in response. it’s the effect of growing up under bruce’s wing; it’s the way nikolai and delphini were silly little science experiments molded directly to serve the wayne family’s purpose. and who is the wayne family? it’s bruce. it’s all bruce. he’s about as wayne as you can get. it’s a pity he dragged nikolai and delphini into the pain with him.
nikolai hasn’t got bruce whispering (or yelling) into his ear now, though. sienna wants to hear what nikolai is thinking. actually, she doesn’t, but given the choice between hearing bruce’s thoughts and nikolai’s, she’ll take nikolai’s. the bar’s underground, of course, but this life is about surviving, not living.
“is it bad to make you reach your own conclusions?” it’s a serious question. sienna wants to know why nikolai frames it so negatively in his mind. “has bruce brainwashed you so much that you don’t ever think for yourself? picture this: you wake up in the morning and you’ve got bruce telling you what to do and what to think. you go through the day as bruce’s puppet—half of a dream team—and you’ve saved the day. except the day’s not over, and you’re not saved. you’ve still got to go home and put yourself together every night and hear yourself and—”
—and that’s why sienna can’t ever have a normal fucking conversation.
it’s because she wants to talk. she wants to say what she has to say, but she’s always interrupted. and the worst part is that she can’t even tell people to shut the fuck up because they can’t control their thoughts. the quietest people are the absolute worst because they think so much. sienna drops her pillow and puts her hands over her ears, squeezing tight, but it doesn’t do shit, because nikolai’s words aren’t in her ears. they’re inside her head. and now that she’s lost her own train of thought, her thoughts are mixing with nikolai’s and she doesn’t know which are hers and which are his.
she grabs her pillow and pulls it over her face. whenever a room is too bright, that always helps. except now her eyes are closed and she can see only out of nikolai’s eyes. she feels two sets of hearts beating. and he’s thinking, he’s thinking and all sienna can feel is what he’s seeing. she sees adam and bruce. they’re fighting. adam’s words are twisted with venom, yet there’s truth in every biting word. sienna glances over in the memory. delphi is beside her, eyes welling up with tears at adam’s words that they’re not supposed to be hearing.
and then she’s hanging out with her friends—except she doesn’t have any, so these must be nikolai’s memories—and bruce is fucking calling again. she sends thirty-three copies of herself, but they’re disposable. they were disposable, she finds out at the end of the day, and they were all disposed. all thirty-three. and delphi barely made it out alive. a part of her doesn’t want to split herself anymore. she wants to do normal shit. she’s eighteen, and she wants to live.
she thinks back to prom…
sienna forces her eyes open and pulls the pillow away from her face. the room is still too bright, but she’s just going to have to deal with it. she blinks her eyes twice and looks at nikolai. he’s sitting across from her and she is sitting across from him. her name is f. sienna wayne and she is a real person. that is nikolai wayne and he is also a real person. he is her “brother” and he can tear himself apart at bruce’s will. sienna hugs herself and looks away, taking deep, deep breaths and trying to separate nikolai’s thoughts from her own.
she barely remembers what she’d been saying.
something rolls off her cheek and sienna realizes she is crying. she is crying for nikolai and for every single memory. imagine ripping yourself to pieces and seeing them die. she doesn’t need to imagine it, though, because she remembers it. sienna’s hands shake as she reaches for the pill bottle and they’re still shaking as she swallows thee more.
“don’t remember what i was saying,” she manages, and her voice is trembling, but it’s not like she can hide it. it doesn’t matter; she’s seen much more of him than he’s seen of her. “all i know is—it doesn’t matter what you were made for. i mean, it does, nikolai, it does, but it matters on an emotional level. y-you don’t have to—you should take delphi and run. adam and i ran.”
and adam’s powers are frightening. sienna had no idea. she tries to remember them, but it’s difficult over nikolai’s incessant thoughts. she’ll have to think about it later. the entire dynamic is different now that adam’s got powers. this could be an issue for her, but it could also be an issue for bruce.
but that comes later. she’s in the present now.
“and we were right to run.” that’s for herself, too. she looks at nikolai again. she can still feel his heart beating. in fact, she can feel his heart more than she can feel her own. “you can always run away from prescribed meaning and give meaning to yourself. whatever those two monsters envisioned when they made you is—forgive me, but i’d set their graves on fire if i could. fuck whatever they wanted. fuck whatever bruce wants. what do you want? do you remember prom? graduation?” she bites her lip, hard, to remind herself that she is sienna and he is nikolai and all of those memories were his. “go do that. this world needs saving, but you can’t save it if you’re just acting as an extension of bruce. it isn’t sustainable; you’re already tearing yourself apart in so many ways. so go do what you want and let bruce kill himself trying to do whatever it is he’s trying to do.”
harsh words, maybe, but sienna doesn’t have it in her to speak nicely. she takes another breath and wipes at her eyes. enough is enough. she needs to check on the tea, anyway.
when he was little, bruce and adam both used to sharpie a big ‘x’ onto the inside of his wrist to at least somewhat keep track of him and stay a step ahead of his mischief — the first nikolai would wear the mark his copies would remain bareskinned. when he was sixteen, nikolai went through a phase where he did the same. he wanted to be certain at the end of each mission that the bodies on the ground were copies. if that were true and one of the alive nikolais were the original — the real one — he retained his humanity. ( he stopped when the original was almost crushed under a building and six copies were left searching for the corpse in a blind panic. he turned out to be alive, just about, and after months of healing broken bones and damaged internal organs, he decided he was better off being uncertain.
but that’s the full extent of the pain his powers cause him. he is a walking identity crisis, but only because he is caught up in life-threating situations multiple times per week. nikolai and delphi’s powers aren’t the double edged sword that most people’s are: they can’t be consumed by monsters of their own creation while they sleep or accidentally set their home on fire or drown their entire family when they lose control. their pain is extrinsic; if the world was a better place, their lives would be simple and happy. the same can’t be said for truly useful powers, and maybe that alone is enough to explain why they were chosen over other infants with more lucrative powers.
for someone who thinks so much, thirty times over if he’s got thirty bodies on the go, he is notably bad at thinking for himself. the amount of thinking for himself he’s had to do since uncovering lab is exhausting in a way he had never experienced before. the muscles are undeveloped, and just like anything else, picking up the momentum to get good at it is not very fun.
bruce could more than likely find the record of the flight he took, if he knew to look for it, but at least he wouldn’t get a fucking notification saying exactly where he was going and when. nikolai is known to keep spontaneous company, anyway; it’s not too far-fetched that he’d take take a quiet weekend off to go to the beach on the west coast and redirect to inland europe, though he’d usually ask first, or at the very least, text delphi an update as plans change. perhaps he could have left half of himself at home to keep questions and suspicion at bay — each time the number of copies he can make increases, he keeps some secret, for himself, just in case — but there are limits to his power, it weakens the further away he gets from himself. while the difference is unnoticeable within the confines of new jersey, and even as far as d.c. and massachusetts as he’s gotten stronger, spreading himself halfway across the world is simply too thin. the dip in performance would definitely catch more attention than a brief absence. besides, this conversation may be going surprisingly well, but there’s no telling how many of himself he’ll actually need.
in the space of a moment, sienna goes from explaining his own life to him to crying, and he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do besides sit there and wait for her to stop. “ is that safe? ” but she’s already taken more pills before he finishes the sentence, and he’s left blinking dumbly in their wake. nikolai didn’t think his thoughts were that upsetting. he has to keep them under control, except he thought he was already doing that. apparently they’re not under control enough. adam learning to meditate a few years before sienna left, he used to say it was to shut her out. it always seemed kind of stupid, because showing her nothing was not the same as stopping her from entering; nikolai never learned to turn of his thoughts, he can’t just not think, but he draws a box around the things he wants to keep out of his head for the time being, and pushes it as far away as possible.
“ but wouldn’t it be — ” what, wrong? lazy? selfish? at least half a dozen times that he and delphi have made a bad situation worse by getting involved come to mind. if anyone can save the world, it isn’t them.
adam has already told him something similar, though it was framed around what he was missing instead. there’s more to the world than that city, you know, he’d said, the summer before nikolai’s last year of high school. that’s easy for him to say. he was somewhere in brazil at the time, turning barren, overworked farmland into back into the oasis it used to be. the world bends around him, he can make a difference. sienna could too, if she wanted to. if she were a more reliable witness, she could solve just about any mystery the world has to offer, or at least contribute to its solution. realistically, nikolai’s powers are best suited to getting his homework done, going for a run, and cobbling together something for dinner without missing out on whatever his friends are doing. his brain is structured in a way that allows him to retain exponentially more memories than the average person, and that’s really the most exceptional thing about him.
prom and graduation were a fluke. nikolai hadn’t applied to any universities. not that he needed to — him and delphi have received hundreds of still-standing offers between the two of them, from schools all over the world, and it’s not like money would have been an issue for the handful that didn’t waive their tuition. now, most people his age are nearing their first round of finals, and most of those people would probably tell him that he’s lucky not to have to suffer through it — success in every sense of the word is a given for him — but he still feels like he’s missing something fundamental. there was no giddily waiting for acceptance letters on results day, no freshman orientation or moving into dorms or trying to make friends on the first day of class. there was no feeling of leaving the nest whatsoever, and he’s never quite sure if that makes him more of a child because nothing has changed or more of an adult because the nest was blown away years ago.
truthfully, nikolai doesn’t know what else he’d do if not this. it feels like it’s too late to do anything else.
“ thanks for the advice, ” he says carefully, when sienna gets up to return to the tea. even though he knows she can hear, see, feel everything that crosses his mind, it’s somehow easier to breathe freely when he isn’t under the direct scrutiny of her gaze. there is no one else he can talk to ( even if he trusted delphi to keep secrets from bruce, she probably wouldn’t grasp the depth of the issue, both logistically and emotionally ), so he continues, just to get it out, before it starts swirling around in his head and ends up making sienna cry again, “ i have a mom, you know. i mean, i always wondered about her, but all i knew was that she was super young. younger than us, ” her file is in the car. it’s kind of weird, but he takes it everywhere with him. sienna would be rightfully horrified if she read it. “ she went to prison when she was pregnant. just some minor fraud charge, nothing extreme like delphi’s parents. she lives in brooklyn still. do you think it would be weird to try and contact her? last time she saw me i couldn’t even hold my head up. ”
pensive and defeated, he adds, “ leaving doesn’t make up for lost time, does it? ”
