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Yana Bortnik + public instagram

[yanabortnik]

[yanabortnik]

emmahayashi​:

■

“Yeah,” was all Emma could think to say in response to Yana, trying to pass off her short reply as simply being too distracted with scanning the floor at the moment. Kind of a dick move to be so succinct when the other Junior made an effort to connect and shit but she was already feeling weird about the topic of home and all of the weird sentiment and complications that came with it. Plus, dads were a touchy topic for her. Like, awesome. Yana has a cool lame relationship with her dad. Whatever. “I guess,” Emma replied with a sigh, offering another disappointing one word response. Again, she really wasn’t trying to be the world’s worst conversationalist here but home and family just weren’t the greatest things to talk about with her. There hasn’t been a single holiday she’s returned for that she’s enjoyed since starting at Broadripple. It’s always awkward and tense, and Emma had the habit of retreating to her room once she’s had a bit to eat. And if not her room, then just walking over to her best friend’s house to spend it with his family – who felt more familiar to her than her own as of late.

Bracelet. That was something she could focus on. “What does it look like?” Emma asked, making an effort to contribute to the conversation since she’s been pretty shitty about it till now. “I’ll keep an eye out for it. I mean, there’s shit all over the place. Wouldn’t surprise me if we found it like two steps from the outhouse or something.” And Emma hoped she wouldn’t find it there. The Melleray junior briefly wondered how attached Yana was to this bracelet. Because she wouldn’t want to keep anything that’s been within five feet of that outhouse.

“If this is a senior prank, someone’s getting a foot up their ass,” Emma muttered in annoyance, finding a pair of black pants on the floor that she knows is hers. She snatched it up and chucked it on the bed, blowing out a frustrated huff afterwards. Then she sighed, hands on her hips as she tilted her head back to stare at that ceiling she swore was due to collapse any day now. “I swear… This school manages to find a way to get worse every year. It’s such ass that graduating from here gives you all of the opportunities it does.” It was the only reason to stick around and tough it out. “One more year,” Emma reminded herself with a nod, meeting Yana’s gaze again. “That is if it doesn’t burn down first.” She bent down to scoop a worksheet with her name on it up.

•

Yana wasn’t stupid. She kept a folder filled with every assignment she received a letter grade less than an A on, but she wasn’t dumb. For one, that folder was a tool to drive her toward improving herself and her marks. Sometimes a reminder of failures pushed someone forward to a success. Or it made them stew and spiral a little but that side of the coin was largely irrelevant, since it marred Yana’s theory. But for two, she knew Emma well enough that Yana had definitely been rebuffed, or was in the process of being rebuffed. One-worded replies weren’t out of the norm, but these were strategically placed. They were counter-measures and while Yana didn’t want to take it personally, she couldn’t quite help it.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find it,” she said, as reassuring as she could. “Out of everything a person could take, what’s the use of a postcard? It doesn’t sound like a you-thing to keep it around if it had anything incriminating written on it. So blackmail’s out.” She scanned the floor for more stray items but it looked like Emma had mostly found and moved most of her things. So Yana reached for a pile that appeared to have been nudged haphazardly against the wall, and pulled out a paperback book. She flipped the pages, hoping the postcard might fall out, but came up with nothing. She was grateful to have a task. Busy hands, busy mind.

“It’s a beaded bracelet made with Honey Tiger’s Eye. Yellow and brown, a sort of a golden-y color. It’s supposed to bring brightness and optimism,” Yana continued, in a tone that conveyed I know you probably think that’s bullshit. She mostly thought it was bullshit too. “And insight into your problems. So if you start to suddenly feel introspective, happy, or enlightened, then you might be close. Stay emotionally present, please.” At Emma’s next words, Yana snorted a laugh—a sudden, unflattering sound.

“Thank you for the reminder not to get on your bad side,” she said lightly, then moved to toss the paperback into the school stuff pile. Right before she let go, she stopped herself. The book could’ve been for leisure reading but as someone who avoided reading most things that she hadn’t been assigned, the thought hadn’t initially occurred to Yana. Her bookcases were filled with textbooks and almost all of Brené Brown’s published works. Novels weren’t really in her wheelhouse. “My gut tells me you’d know how to hide all the evidence.” She held up the book and tapped her fingers against the cover, finding a little passing pleasure in the sound. “Do you read any crime novels? Like... who’s that lady that wrote the Orient Express book? Willem Dafoe was in the movie? Bet she could give you some ideas.”

[yanabortnik]

' # '

what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone

Catherine-Ann

what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone

(cath is in fact the demon yana would like to trap in a circle of salt... but lovingly)

what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone

Standard again rip.

my muse’s last text to your muse

(sent during a free period on campus hence... signal <3)

[10:30 AM] Quick question. I noticed a lot of the mess on your side of the cabin is still alive and thriving.... which I celebrate! But do you need help with it or.......... ? 🙃

[yanabortnik]

# for arlo and yana ( don't mind the anon arlo's blog is sideblog and i can't send asks! )

what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone

Arlo Porter (previously: Arlo 💚)

what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone

what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone

That bonkers “By The Seaside” one that sounds like a Mario Party song was set as a leetle joke to set him apart and it remains that way to this day.

my muse’s last text to your muse

[4:23 PM] Hi I just found a couple of your things

[5:01 PM] Let me know when you have a free moment and I can bring them over?

[5:05 PM] Sorry if you’re busy

[yanabortnik]

# luna and yana ( again, sideblog )

what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone

La Luna 🌙

what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone

what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone

Standard ringtone unless Luna has a special request. <3

my muse’s last text to your muse

[1:23 PM] Co-Star: “How does your baggage affect your ability to love or be loved?” 

[1:23 PM] Me:

[yanabortnik]

gundersonlogan​:

location: outside senior cabin time: monday 13th of july 3:46 am  starter: open @ba-central

It took a lot to stir Logan from a slumber, while his other classmates complained about the constant noise that came with the retreat, he found it soothing, reminded him of nights on the road with his parents. He found himself lulled into a deep sleep by the buzz of activity around him, it was a sign that he wasn’t alone, which comforted him. 

The sound that couldn’t be described as anything other than a clatter was not comforting. He sat up in his bed quickly, his head instantly going to the accident, and he had to take a few deep breaths to realize that he wasn’t back in the van but safe in the cabins. At first he thought that he had dreamed up the sound, it wouldn’t be the first time he dreamed about the crash, but then he realized his classmates had also awoken, rubbing sleep out of their eyes and getting up to investigate what had make the sound. 

He made his way towards the senior cabin in his pajamas, the pink hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up. Logan didn’t scare easily but he couldn’t denying the eerie feeling in the air. “This is giving me a weird feeling man.” He said to the person closest to him, rubbing his arm that was covered in goosebumps despite the warm weather. 

•

Yana believed she was engineered from a young age to react to every sudden sound or movement like the threatening creak of an incoming avalanche before it torpedoed itself down a mountainside. She jumped when someone called out hey! from behind her; she twitched when a teacher closed the classroom door too firmly; and she flinched considerably and yelped aloud when her roommate would burst abruptly into their room. It was a misguided, tangled up sense of self-preservation, she figured. Her fight or flight response always on high alert and ready to make her bolt, clearly partial to the latter half of its name. She hated it. 

Back on campus, she had a white noise machine to get her through the night. It played the sounds of a gentle rain shower—no thunder—and lulled her to sleep. She was in no such luck out in the cabins, destined to settle for chirping crickets and fluttering leaves. She wished she had brought earplugs, at least, because then maybe the loud crashing sound wouldn’t have reached her ears, jolting her immediately from sleep. Her heart jerked painfully, adrenaline shocking her into complete awakeness. She pushed her sleeping mask up into her hair, gave herself a moment to catch her breath, and then felt the wall out into the hall. After ill-defined panic, a more clear kind of worry settled in. What happened? Was someone hurt? Did part of a cabin finally deteriorate and break away from its foundation?

The sun had yet to rise when she stepped outside but the sky looked the tiniest bit lighter from where it lied in wait below the horizon. Logan Gunderson’s pink hair wasn’t as vibrant as it was in broad daylight, but it was still unmistakable. The dull, bluish light from the moon rendered it a more purpleish hue. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack,” Yana said back, and she still sort of felt like she would. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest, and she held a hand to the base of her throat. “If some senior hasn’t at least fractured an ankle, I’m going to be so pissed.” It was then that she took stock of Logan’s body language that came paired with his words, and she placed a hand on his elbow to slow him. “But everything’s probably fine. If I had to guess, some idiot tried to sneak out through their window and ate shit. We’re likely dealing with a broken tooth and some tears.” But even as she said it, a nervous prickling feeling danced across her skin.

[yanabortnik]

emmahayashi​:

■

Yana Bortnik. A lot in her own right but still the most tolerable of the Juniors in Emma’s opinion. She worked hard, had a plan for… usually everything, and always delivered whenever you were paired with her. Emma had no complaints. If she had to call anyone a friend, it would pain Emma the least to mention Yana’s name. (Yes, even with the knowledge of those light blue Crocs the girl wore around.)

“Tell me about it,” Emma huffed in response, hoping if she kept scanning the floor of room she’d somehow find the postcard peeking out from beneath a bunk or a piece of clothing or something. The Melleray junior only nodded when Yana informed her that she hadn’t seen of such a thing, almost expecting the disappointing answer. No one else she’d asked had seen it.

The idea was a good one. Emma was mostly chucking things onto her bed when she’d come across something that was hers. It was a fucking mess but she knew exactly what was in said mess, every single item in the chaos mound of belongings atop her bed. “Not a bad idea.” Another reason why Emma was partial to Yana: she was painfully organized. It was something Emma learned to appreciate and not be intimidated by once she got to know the other junior better. “Clothes pile,” Emma only repeated, giving a single nod of her head. She didn’t really have the energy to refuse help at the moment.

“Leave it to you to ask the most complicated question…” Emma muttered, her words followed be a slight sigh. For once, she didn’t mean to be an ass with her words. In fact, she’d actually meant them fondly. In Emma’s experience, Yana had the tendency to ask questions she didn’t think about. It’s what made them good partners. But this question, Emma wasn’t entirely keen on answering. Mostly because she didn’t know. “I don’t know,” she admitted as such. “Portland’s a mixed bag for me.” That much was true. “It’s not like I look at it before I sleep and pet the thing for comfort, but I like having it around.” It reminded her that there were people in Portland that she didn’t hate. And that even if she didn’t like being at home, Portland was still home. It was whatever – complicated. She didn’t like thinking about it.

“Did you lose anything or..?” Divert the attention. Classic move from Emma when she got uncomfortable. “I’m guessing you’re here because you’re done finding your own shit.”

•

A potential reputation for asking complicated questions didn’t disappoint Yana, though it would definitely make it harder to get the complicated answers she aimed for when they were personal. She merely smiled for a moment—reassuring, friendly, supportive—and nodded along as Emma spoke. Active listening was key, even for people who didn’t know they wanted to be heard. Besides, she did want to hear what Emma had to say. And what she said made sense. Yana thought briefly of Marquette and the house she grew up in: small, picturesque, and lonely. She missed Michigan in the way someone might miss childhood, as the two things were obviously intertwined, but she always assumed that feeling would have followed her no matter where her parents might’ve ended up. She didn’t really miss the state, but she did miss certain moments there. It was only a little complicated.

“I think I get it,” she said with a final nod, then dropped the mascara on the middle of Emma’s bed. Makeup pile. Her eyes scanned the floor, and she snatched up a notebook left open and a little beat up. From a quick glance at the notes inside, it looked like it was for Emma’s English class. Yana straightened a couple bent pages, then closed it. “It’s definitely nice to get away from home and family and stuff, but—” But... it’s familiar? Comfortable? Memory-laden, for sure. “It’s still home. Like my dad totally rags on me whenever I first get back around Christmas or Thanksgiving. It’s basically a shitty stand up routine. He has all his classic zingers.” She rolled her eyes at that. It was practically the only real form of communication she and her dad had ever managed to have. He pokes fun at her, she has no choice but to laugh it off, and he never asks the names of her teachers or her friends or what classes she’s taking. She couldn’t be mad if it’s never been any different. “I don’t love it, but I miss it sometimes.” She placed the notebook by Emma’s pillows—school stuff pile—then laughed a little, quiet and short. “But maybe that’s just because I’ve developed a Pavlovian response since it comes hand-in-hand with a giant meal or presents. Who knows?”

Yana placed her hands on her hips and sighed. One missing item was annoying, two was a possible pattern. If Cath was missing anything, Yana hadn’t stuck around to find out. “It’s the Case of the Missing Postcard and Bracelet, it looks like.” The bracelet itself didn’t have much meaning beyond what the employee at The Gathered Earth told her it held: insight, confidence, and balance. She wore it when she felt confused, primarily about her own self, and she couldn’t cite any direct results it yielded but it had always been a comfort anyway. And truth be told she was mostly peeved because it had been an impulsive purchase, which led her to continue with: “That’s fifteen bucks I’ll never get back now.” Her nose wrinkled up. “If this is some elaborate senior prank, then don’t you think they should be messing with the staff instead? That’s basically the whole point of those things.”

[yanabortnik]

orioncarlson​:

𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐆 — partly his fault, he presumes, only because his ambivalence is constantly looking for any deviation from the norm. Hell, he’d been the one disagreeing with her. There’s no other way to put it: his constant deflection had always been his best defense mechanism. One that’d refused to let someone acclimate to his controls, steer his ship to their tune. “All right, so we’re both weird. And maybe… I was the one trying to argue with you. Happy?” A moment of clarity, surprisingly admitted by Rion. If anyone should get his honesty, it’s Yana, who’s been working on him for the past half hour. Maybe she deserved the win.

So he actually listens now, gives her his eye contact and intrigued nods and everything. Rion exhales, cheek resting in his palm. Quite funny, actually, with what she’s doing with her face, and a hint of a grin flies across his face. Almost cute and all-too distracting, but he’s always collected the strange, subconscious habits of his acquaintances and today is no different.  “Well, go on then. What would draw you to look at someone’s post on Instagram?” Classic Rion, throwing her a sly gaze almost as if he’s challenging her. “Who’s to say all our brains aren’t wired to look at mindless Instagram posts in the same way?”

But again, he is surprised by her coherence. A pop-up shower and a hot spot would be nice, even if he didn’t care as much about his social media presence as much as some other classmates did. “That’s… a good idea,” he admits, nodding. “Concrete; gives admin something to work on.” It’s rare that he offers up even a sliver of praise to anyone, but damn, is she convincing. Quite frankly, he’d never really listened during Speech and Debate Club, but he makes a mental note to finesse a partnership with Yana when he got the chance. “So who else do we wanna get on board?” 

"Extremely,” Yana replied, then shot Rion a little smile like See? Over the moon. She liked being right as much as the next person, after all. “But you admitting your own weirdness was way more satisfying than anything else.” Most of the time she didn’t actually find him weird in the strict sense of the word. He was a man of few words, and that could be interpreted as brooding, or a little haunted by something carefully tucked away into some far-flung corner of his mind. And maybe that was true, but when Yana usually thought of Rion—his quiet presence, his lonesome figure, a paperback book in his hands—she thought of the word shy. Not in the ordinary bashful, blushing way, but in a way that was more subdued. Somber. She didn’t feel like she had to pull him out from under whatever gray cloud followed him, but she was curious nevertheless. She liked getting to the bottom of things—and of people. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? I might’ve had to strong-arm you a little, but still.”

She took a second to think on his question. “Depends, I guess. I mostly follow friends and family, and then some news sources and a psychic from Texas. Couple of meme pages and celebrities.” More accounts dedicated to ‘famous’ pets than she was willing to admit too. “If it’s a news story, a really striking or shocking photo of the person or event or whatever the story is about catches my attention. So we definitely need to think about the kind of imagery we want to use, because no one ever really wants to read some wall of text on Instagram. So the shitty bathroom, maybe? Or the tightly-packed beds in one of the cabin rooms...” When it came to celebrities, they mostly just had to be good-looking. And she sort of mindlessly liked all her friends’ and family’s photos of whatever they posted as she scrolled through her feed. She snorted. “Individuality, mainly. I mean, we have all obviously been hardwired from a freakishly young age by capitalism to froth at the mouth on command, but I know some people are angrier about certain things than others. We should specifically address them. That might make everyone feel... seen, or understood.” Yana nodded toward him. “Name three things you’ve heard people complain about.”

Her grin turned wide and genuine at good idea, and she dropped her hands from her face. “Emma Hayashi. I can’t imagine she’s very passionate about our next steps here, but I do think she’d help. She’s a friend. And a great photographer.” She paused, cracking a couple knuckles on her right hand. “Lucy Gunderson, too. We’re both in Women of Broadripple and she’s pretty political. I don’t know how she feels about all of this, but she might like a cause to get behind.” She straightened and pressed her lips together. Arlo might’ve helped if she asked him—and a simple picture of his face would likely catch enough attention to get people to swipe to the next photo in hopes of another, only to be met with their soon-to-be-penned mission statement—but she didn’t want to poke that particular bruise. “Francis Montgomery? He’s VP. He’d definitely have some sway with the admin. What do you think?”

[yanabortnik]

[yanabortnik]

orioncarlson​:

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄, 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇, their interaction is increasingly sounding like the ones they had during Speech and Debate — and if Rion knows anything, it’s that he hated being in that club. Perfectly reinforced little points, said with a dramatic, impassioned flair, it’s virtually the opposite of how Rion feels at all times. It’s nice, seeing someone so… taken by a cause, but he’d draw the line at getting pulled into it.

It’s only natural that she cites a study in casual conversation, and if he hadn’t committed to his stoic vibe, he would’ve laughed. Exhaling, he finally returns his gaze back onto Yana, forehead wrinkling in exaggerated confusion. “You do know we’re not in Debate right now, right? Just talk to me like… like, I don’t know, a normal person?” It isn’t meant to be rude, though he hastily attempts to correct himself, not wanting the girl to be even more upset at him than she already seems to be. “Just - I don’t know. Is this how you argue with people all the time?” Rion looks away, staring off into the thick brush just behind the infamous cabins. “You’re asking a lot of questions right now,” he continues, a purposeful deflection off his own psyche.

He half-rolls his eyes, tapping his feet on the picnic bench. “You want me to edit and post stuff on Instagram,” he repeats. It’s only after he says it out loud that Yana’s really not asking him to do much at all — and frankly, he could use another distraction other than his books. Even the sixth re-read of The Shining had lost it’s proverbial shine ( no pun intended ), and he supposes that hanging out with Yana beat hanging out with some other people on campus.

Ultimately, she’s right. But Rion is too full of pride to admit it right away, especially since he’s sure that she’s not above being all smug about it. “All right, Let’s say I agree with you. You write some shit to the administration, we get some of our great classmates on board… and then what?”

“I totally talk like a normal person,” Yana immediately replied, rapid and flat, though her brow had furrowed in that determined, wrinkled way that it always managed to do during Speech and Debate. “And this is not arguing. We’re not arguing.” At least she hadn’t meant to make it seem like they were, or like she was gearing to start an actual fight. Sure, his ambivalence had annoyed her but she liked discussions, and she liked planning things out—and sometimes that could take a certain intense direction, but. Her goal wasn’t genuine contention, especially not when she wanted people on her side. Sometimes that got lost in translation.

“I don’t want to argue. I just want to... help you see things from a certain angle. From my angle. I hate sitting around and doing nothing.” And feeling useless. Yana slumped down even further, shifting her elbows onto her knees as she leaned forward. She rested her head in her palms and stared down at the trodden grass, crushing a dead leaf with her shoe. She huffed a little and looked back over at Rion. “And not to blow your mind but talking like a normal person includes answering questions too. You’re not exactly the pinnacle of normalcy here either.”

Okay, reductive, she wanted to say, but she bit it back. That might have been a little too argumentative-like. “Yeah, that’s sort of the gist. I’d like it if you looked over the letter, primarily, and—helped me brainstorm a social media strategy. My online presence is pretty low-key, and all of my profiles are private. You’re a second pair of eyes, and a different point of view.” As she spoke, her fingers unthinkingly pushed at her cheeks and smooshed her face a little. It was a mindless move, and a likely unflattering one. “Something that would draw me in might not necessarily catch your attention. And what I choose to say might be how you’d choose to say it. You know what I mean? We need a happy middle. Something that caters to our very varied audience.”

She tapped her fingers and sighed with a halfhearted shrug. That’s where things always got bogged down: bureaucracy. “Obviously it would be easy for them to just ignore us or whatever, so relentlessness is important, but the first key steps are listing our demands and opening up a conversation.” That’s what television and movies taught her, after all. At seventeen Yana had fantasized about spearheading more change than she managed to make actual changes just yet. “Hopefully it would only have to go that far and we can come to an easy, temporary agreement until we can get back into the dorms. A few of those portable pop-up showers and a mobile hot spot for each cabin, at least. They can definitely afford those things easy.”

[yanabortnik]

lunaturners​:

Luna closed her eyes soaking in the warmth of the fire, they were at a safe distance yet the heat felt somewhat hotter when she closed her eyes, as if she was physically closed to the bonfire. She breathed in, even with her eyes shut she could see the brightness of the fire. There were many things she disliked about the Retreat, but this? Yeah, this wasn’t one of them. 

A familar voice pulled out of her own head and brought her back. “Uh?” She muttered opening her eyes, it took her a moment to adjust to the brightness of the fire, now that her eyes weren’t shut it was more abrasive. As she leaned her head on her hands she chuckled at Yana’s words. “Yeah she did, she told me to tell you to stop asking for premonitions without paying upfront.” Luna playfully punched her in the arm. It was a lie, of course, her grandmother adored Yana despite the fact that she had yet to meet her. Luna was certain that if they had each others phone numbers she woud call her friend more often that she called her own granddaughter.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “She wasn’t too happy about it but,” She trailed off. The truth was that she was more than not happy about it, she hadn’t said anything but Luna knew her better than she knew herself and she knew when something was bothering her. “I don’t know. I think it’s just because she doesn’t like me being gone, even though she would never say that.” Luna hugged her legs and rested her head on top of them, she looked down at the way her shoes were now more dirt than actual shoe. Adjusting her gaze she caught Yana’s hands, her nails were almost completly gone. “Hey,” Her voice barely above a whisper. “You know it’s gonna be fine, right? I’m pretty sure the worst thing that will come out of this is someone having a breakdown because they can’t upload a tiktok, or something, but that’s it.”

Yana folded her arms with a good natured roll of her eyes, but bit back the sorry that sat heavily at the back of her throat. While it was clear Luna was playfully messing with her, the gut instinct reaction to feel burdensome always stuck around like a bad smell. “What’s the point of personally knowing a psychic if you don’t get a couple freebies every once in awhile?” She joked. She had been sure to offer to Venmo Luna’s grandmother on more than one occasion, of course, but—complimentary readings were preferable and hard to come by in general. Yana’s money was carefully managed and while she didn’t come equipped with a heavy dose of skepticism in regards to Luna’s family business, socially-accepted logic mocked her for wanting to drop twenty dollars for a tarot reading. “Doesn’t that sort of thing breed customer loyalty?”

She watched the sparks fly from the bonfire as the flames licked toward the sky, and pressed the palms of her hands against her knees. With a glance over at Luna, her brow furrowed at her friend’s words. For one, they weren’t super promising and for two—she doesn’t like me being gone set off a little pang in her stomach. With a quiet sigh, she squeezed at Luna’s hands when they enveloped her own. A little tension leaked out of her body, and she held on.  “I know,” she answered, her own voice unwittingly matching the volume of Luna’s own. “I know. I just... I can’t stand this already. It’s my junior year, which my guidance counselor has been adamant in reminding me is an incredibly important one. I want things to go well and this is—not great. For me.” And as per usual, she had been jumping and flinching at every unexpected noise or movement in her periphery. It was exhausting. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable if we had been given some kind of timeline, I guess. An end date. Something to mark off on my calendar, instead of this total limbo state we’ve been dropped in.” She rolled her shoulders back then shook her head. “Distract me. You complain about something, so I can look less whiny.”

[yanabortnik]

emmahayashi​:

@ba-central​ ; LOCATION: Junior Cabin

You have got to be fucking kidding. It was already a load of horse shit that they had to stay in run-down cabins and now this? Emma had no idea why so many kids at this school believed in God when things like this happened. She was going to kill whoever did this. She’ll go straight to juvie, she didn’t even care. The worst part of it all was that she had to talk to people now. Because whoever did this was fucking thorough. It was like a hurricane blew through the place and everyone’s crap was all mixed up. For the most part, Emma has found most of her things. It wasn’t difficult. If something was black, it was usually hers. And she didn’t have too many things. But she was missing something. Something… dumb but it was important to her so she figured she’d ask around for it.

“Hey, have you seen like, a postcard?” Not like a postcard, a postcard. She was just fucking exhausted. Not to mention through-the-roof irritated. It was Friday. She just finished and submitted a bunch of shit at school. All she wanted to do this weekend was hole-up and watch some movies she downloaded while at the library. Hunting and collecting all of her crap off of the cabin floor was not part of the plan. “It says Portland on it.”

Though her privacy had been flagrantly violated, Yana couldn’t swallow down the little pebble of vindication when they walked into the mess that awaited all of them. She knew it! She knew that this entire setup came with more potential issues than the school and its staff could prepare for. Cabins out in the middle of the woods? Minimal security? Rampant teenage roguery? It was a disaster waiting to happen. But she bit her tongue as she cleaned up her cabin floor, side-eyeing Cath—who simply sat around, looking like she waiting for some magical cleaning gnomes to do the work for her—and carefully folded up her clothes. She hated that someone touched her stuff. When she righted her bedside photo of herself and Misha, an uncomfortable churning took hold in her stomach. She hated someone getting their hands on her life. She didn’t bring much into the cabin but what she did bring was hers, and a certain honey-colored Tiger Eye bracelet was missing.

Once her side of the room was relatively straightened out, she went to see how the other rooms in the Junior cabin were faring. “You’re missing something, too?” She scoffed in disbelief, her hands coming up in an of course gesture. Not only was there destruction of property, but theft as well—and a mass theft, at that. Did everyone lose something? “God, they can’t even guarantee our things will be safe. This is ridiculous.” She glanced around Emma’s room. There were more people staying in it, so the mess was... well, it was a lot worse than the one that awaited them back in hers. “Sorry, I haven’t seen it,” she finally answered, realizing she probably should’ve said so before she fully delved into her complaints. “Maybe we can re-sort all of your stuff into piles, so you can really take stock of everything. It’s what I did.” And she still didn’t find her bracelet. “Clothes, jewelry, textbooks, loose papers and stuff...” She plucked up a black tank, and placed it near the foot of Emma’s bed. “Clothes pile?”

A tube of mascara lay discarded halfway under the bed and Yana grabbed for it next. For as long as she knew Emma, the other girl never gave off a huge sense of sentimentality, but this postcard obviously meant something if she was so determined to find it. She wasn’t a time-waster. Yana had always liked that about her. She straightened and tapped the mascara against her open palm as she spoke. “So a postcard from Portland. Does that help or exacerbate any sense of homesickness?” 

[yanabortnik]

orioncarlson​:

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 what Yana is saying is true, and even if his phone hadn’t been dead, Rion wouldn’t have bothered anyways. There’s a reason that she’s in the Speech and Debate Club with him, and as the least active member in the club, he had no desire to go up against her, even if she is a junior.

Anyways, the rooms were terribly cramped. He didn’t care much about the shitty bathrooms and lack of WiFi (Rion was one of the few kids that appreciated the disconnect), but the lack of privacy had been annoying. Hand moving to his head, fingers combing through his hair, he exhales. “All right, all right. So you’ve got a point. What makes you think a bunch of high school kids making a stink would do anything?” The frustration gets to him, and he supposes that had been Yana’s endgame all along — which only serves to agitate him even more. “Don’t people have rich ass parents to deal with shit like this? Write them letters, threaten to withdraw their donations or whatever? I don’t see how this is our responsibility,” he grumbles.

Baby blues flitting over to the girl, he throws her a pointed look. “No. No reason.” His shoulders jerk up once, and he looks away, letting the heels of his sandals drag along the dirt. Any semblance of his coy nature is long gone, revealing something harder, unyielding to her curiosity. “Decent, I guess. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?” Side-eyeing Yana, he sniffs, wishing he’d just sucked it up and stayed in bed. The price he pays for fresh air. “What, don’t tell me you want me to compose a letter of our demands for the administration…”  That was sounding dangerously close to homework. 

“Young people who make a stink about things have been at the forefront of countless movements not only in this country, but in countries across the world. The voice of the youth has always been incredibly impactful,” Yana said, perhaps with more conviction than her words were warranted given the context they were placed: Broadripple Academy. The school, as an extension of the Catholic Church, wasn’t exactly notorious for considering new or different points of view in ways that played out in real, actual change. If her Religion classes taught her anything in her time there, the biggest most recent changes seemed to go down back in the 60′s and not much has happened since. And one of the choices had been to finally transition Mass from Latin to the native languages of worshipers—and even that sounded like it kicked up some backlash.

“Our futures, our responsibility,” she said decisively, then briefly grimaced. Okay, that sounded a little too YA dystopian novel for her tastes, so she quickly tacked on: “We can’t rely on our parents forever. What’s the point of boarding school if not to better foster our independence? Security nets are not a guarantee—not for everyone, at least.” That Yana knew all too well. No. No reason. She fought back the initial urge to snort at the response. There was no doubt that Rion was well-practiced in distance and detachment, but no one could give consistent Oscar-worthy performances all the time. He visibly clammed up further, which had previously seemed impossible, and it was an obvious tip-off. She was always looking for little tip-offs. She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, though the tone of her words were in direct contradiction with it: “Sure. No reason. You know, there’s a study that says our personalities stay relatively the same throughout our entire lives, and that they’re usually pretty established by the first grade. Were you all this—” she passed a hand over her face, letting her expression go blank. “—since then?”

Yana shook her head. This was her idea, she was going to follow through and she wanted credit for it. The last thing she wanted to do was to delegate the most important bit to some guy. “I didn’t score in the ninety-fifth percentile on my PSATs just to lob this task to you. No. No, no. I was thinking you could take more of an editing role. You’re a pessimist. I can trust you to nitpick. Or maybe...” She snapped her fingers, then pointed toward him. “How many followers do you have on social media? Twitter, Instagram—whatever. When we’re on campus, we can spread word that way. Maybe come up with some copy for the caption.”

She slumped down further on the bench, her elbow digging into the zafu. Her shoulder twinged, and she became aware of the tension that had pooled there as she spoke. To think that ten minutes ago she was trying to look inward and regulate her attention. She pressed her thumb and forefinger together and tried to feel the touch from inside her fingertips, then tried to follow that up to her wrist, and then to the crook of her elbow—and finally the hinge of her shoulder. Yana let out a breath, and her muscles loosened the tiniest fraction. Massages worked a lot better than mindfulness. “Look, I’m not gunning for some coup d'etat here. I just think that we, collectively, have put in a lot of work and a lot of money to be here. We are definitively owed more than all of this.”

[yanabortnik]

[yanabortnik]

@lunaturners​

Yana had already bitten her nails down as far as she could, which left her fingertips sensitive and tender. She had spent most of her time at the Retreat engaged in neurotic habits: complaining about inconsequential body aches, overanalyzing every thought that popped into her head, stewing in envy at her peers who took to their newfound lifestyle with such ease. And then guilt—always with the guilt. She was ungrateful. She expected too much. Why couldn’t she just accept what she was given? She had already been given far more than she deserved. The self-reproach was on a feedback loop whenever she let her mind wander, and without modern distractions like TikTok and Instagram that were just a swipe away, her mind was wandering a lot more than she was comfortable with. She just wanted answers. Definitive answers. Where, When, How’s and Why’s were comforting. They were stabilizing. And no one—no one—seemed to be in full possession of them.

“Did your grandma ever say anything?” The bonfire seemed to be one of the only semi-consistent rituals other than the awful, long lines to the horrific-smelling bathrooms and the nonstop chattering in the cabins late into the night. It was definitely the only one she liked, but even that was taking things just a bit too far. It was slim pickings, after all. There was comfort at least in sitting with Luna. She always felt listened to in those moments, in a way she rarely experienced. “Before we hauled ass into the woods. Any insight? Any sort of... premonition? Because I just need to know if there will be at least one positive thing to come out of this whole ordeal.”

[yanabortnik]

orioncarlson​:

𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄, she certainly is now, and Rion immediately feels the brunt of her heavy-handed sarcasm, aimed straight towards his staunch apathy. He sighs, eyes fixed on her impassioned face, his forehead rising as she rattles barb after barb towards him — and really, he doesn’t mind it all that much. He can certainly recognize that she has a point, with good intentions, as far as he could tell. Rion thinks he has good intentions too, but intent didn’t  equal action.

“You know, ‘bare minimum’ is my middle name.” Stoic, not a hint of a joke despite the fact that it is, but he can tell Yana’s not in the mood to joke around. As predicted, it doesn’t help his case; instead, propelling her into a tirade about how serious the problem is, and he exhales again, lips pressed together in a straight line as he half-listens to her speak, when —

“Hold up, hold up — who said anything about black mold? Or my GPA?” Suddenly, Rion shifts from his position, sitting upright, head turned towards her, face reflecting one of full confusion. No, he hadn’t been absorbing all of her thoughts as intently as he could, but he’s almost positive that nothing about a bit of smelly mildew connected to potentially harmful strains of mold or his academic record. Leaning back into the bench, he shakes his head, shoulders moving up in a casual shrug. “Maybe. I haven’t tried trying yet, so it might.”

“I’m saying something,” Yana replied, with a twirling hand gesture that sought to convey the message duh. “They’re both fungi. It is entirely possible that where there’s mildew, there could be mold.” Which... maybe. She wasn’t actually sure, and the article she read was more of a horror story detailing a woman’s extensive health issues and less of a scientific rundown of mold itself. But she reasoned it couldn’t be that far from the truth anyway. Crops up indoors, the presence of humidity, et cetera—it added up.

“And don’t you think that this environment, and all of it’s stressors, could have an adverse effect on your schoolwork? The number of roommates have multiplied eightfold in some cases; the bathroom is one step up from a hole in the ground; and there’s no internet. Our surroundings can have huge ramifications on our lives.” That she knew to be a legitimate worry, at least for her. Yana always tried to carefully cultivate her space. She needed a place that could be calming, or at least quiet, and hers. Something that could sort of be a step away from the outside world. The cabins were decidedly none of those things.

“Is there a reason for that or are you just lazy?” Sure, she had her own bouts of lethargy when she was totally burned out, but the concept of being in a mental space that didn’t yell go, go, go most of the time went completely over her head. But maybe there was some explanation behind Rion’s indifference, some genesis that made him into the monosyllabic, impassive person he was today. Everyone had a story. “Because I think this could be the perfect time to test the hypothesis that effort is a genuine threat to your mortality. How are your writing skills?”