#programming blr

[bunnydevs]

[shadowseductress]

Exam preparation

[datarecoverysolution]

Without the Bitlocker key, is there a way to restore Windows?

If you have forgotten your bitlocker key, it could be very difficult to do window restoration. Without the bitlocker recovery key, you will not be able to access your files or recover data on your Windows. If you really want to recover your bitlocker, you can use a third-party data recovery tool.

Many companies provide data recovery services like BLR Data Recovery Tool, Recuva, R-Studio, Stellar, EaseUs, etc.

A free trial version of the tools allows users to scan and view all lost and deleted data.

I strongly recommend using the trial version of BLR Data Recovery Tool because it is a powerful and user-friendly software that recovers lost or deleted files from a variety of storage media, including hard disks, SSDs, USB drives, NAS drive, memory cards, Bitlocker, and more. It supports both Windows and Mac operating systems, making it suitable for a wide range of users.

[womaneng]

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A post shared by Zeynep Küçük Woman Engineer (@woman.engineer)

👩🏻‍💻☕️I don’t really have a everyday routine. #homeoffice

Monday’s and Friday never look same for me.

But I will tell you what today is like.

7:00 AM - Woke up still in bed writing answers or going through some.

7:30 AM - Clean my room. Make the bed and straight into the kitchen.

7:45 AM - Sip on water mindfully look around and just have some warm water with apple cider vinegar. I practice water memory and that is evrytime you sip on water it listens and remembers what you say and it works accordingly inside the body. I am healthy and I am happy. I am strong and this water is nourishing my whole being. I say this to myself every time I drink water :) Freshen up and work hard.

08:00 AM - I get coffee and made banana with oats for breakfast.

08:15 AM - 17:00 PM Didn’t do any Exercise I went to my study room and started working. I start my work day with a set of goals that I wish to achieve. I make it a point to jot them down. During the day I work towards achieving the same. At the end of the day, before finally closing my work, I check what all I was able to achieve, and what was it that I could not. I then dwell on the reasons of non-achievement - like was it because of personal factors, or did the non achievement happen because of my work dependency on somebody else. Whatever might be the reason, I jot it down against my goals for the day. .

. . .

[mr-abhishek-kumar]

Sets in python

A set in Python is an unordered collection of unique elements. It is one of the four built-in data types in Python used to store collections of data, the other three are List, Tuple, and Dictionary, all with different qualities and usage. A set is represented by curly braces ({}) and contains elements of any type, including strings, integers, floats, and even other sets.

Sets are mutable, meaning that they can be changed after they are created. To add an element to a set, use the add() method. To remove an element from a set, use the remove() method. To check if an element is in a set, use the in operator.

Here are some examples of how to use sets in Python:

Python

# Create a set my_set = {1, 2, 3, "a", "b", "c"} # Add an element to a set my_set.add(4) # Remove an element from a set my_set.remove(2) # Check if an element is in a set print("4 in my_set:", 4 in my_set)

Output:

4 in my_set: True

Sets can also be used to perform set operations, such as union, intersection, and difference.

Union: The union of two sets is the collection of all elements that are in either set or in both sets.

Intersection: The intersection of two sets is the collection of all elements that are in both sets.

Difference: The difference of two sets is the collection of all elements that are in the first set but not in the second set.

To perform a set operation, use the corresponding set operator (|, &, and -, respectively).

Here are some examples of how to perform set operations in Python:

Python

# Create two sets set1 = {1, 2, 3} set2 = {4, 5, 6} # Union of two sets print("Union of set1 and set2:", set1 | set2) # Intersection of two sets print("Intersection of set1 and set2:", set1 & set2) # Difference of two sets print("Difference of set1 and set2:", set1 - set2)

Output:

Union of set1 and set2: {1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6} Intersection of set1 and set2: set() Difference of set1 and set2: {1, 2, 3}

Sets are a powerful tool for working with collections of data in Python. They can be used to perform a variety of tasks, such as removing duplicates from a list, finding the unique elements in a collection, and performing set operations.

[lupus-reginae]

There appear to be several clone variants present on this corner of the Omninet. For operational transparency, I suppose I should clarify my status as well.

I am a clone. More specifically, I am a bespoke unit engineered by the Second Committee's BARBATOS project in an attempt to produce pilots capable of enduring the physiological and neurological stresses of piloting an Enkidu class mech.

I am a success of this program. I pilot the only surviving Enkidu from the BARBATOS model run, Tongues of God.

My capabilities are not to be understated. Tongues of God was not designed with full TBK functionality in mind, and I exercise suitable caution to be deployed in the field alongside regular forces so long as distance is maintained.

That is all.

[[C-122-E/BLR]]

[violetnerves]

Part 2 sort of thing for my Bully/Canis Canem Edit x Battle Royale crossover: Assigned Weapons/Objects.

In the novel, Battle Royale, each student is assigned a duffel bag with a weapon/object in it along with a map, compass, a watch to track time, bottled water, and food. Most of the weapons are what you'd expect, like guns and knives, (Though guns aren't as common as bladed weapons.) but occasionally a student might get unlucky and end up with a joke item that might be utterly useless or have really only one use. Then there are the helpful items that aren't weapons, like a student who is given a tracking device that's wired to the explosive collars worn by everyone in the program and another who is given a bulletproof vest.

With that blurb out of the way, here's some of the weapons/objects that I'd think the students of Bullworth Academy (plus the Townies) would end up with.

Gonna just put a content warning for the mention of Guns, Murder, and Attempted suicide, so be aware of all that before reading any further. If I missed any other content warnings, let me know, and I'll update the post.

The Main Trio:

Jimmy Hopkins - A Toy Slingshot. (I'd thought it be funny and it's at least a little useful.)

Gary Smith - A Tracking device that pinpoints the locations of the collars the others wear.

Pete Kowalski - A Pink stuffed rabbit plushie. (Gary got a laugh out of that one.)

Prefects (They're technically students too, so):

Seth Kolbe - An Inflatable Toy Baton.

Karl Branting - A Police Baton.

Edward Seymour II - A Beretta U22 Neos pistol. (I figure Edward might be a former Preppie, and thus, he comes from one of the rich families of Bullworth. So, just like some of the other Preppies, he got a gun as well.)

Max McTavish - A Megaphone.

Non-Clique students:

Angie Ng - A Tazer.

Christy Martin - A MAC-11 Machine pistol chambered for 9x19mm Parabellum. (She was given Justin's bag by mistake.)

Constantinos Brakus - An 8ft length of Rope. (Contantinos considered using it on himself before spotting Algie trying to hurt Gloria. Instead, he ends up stealing Algie's weapon after saving Gloria.)

Eunice Pound - A Cleaver.

Gloria Jackson - A multi-tool.

Gordon Wakefield - A college text book.

Ivan Alexander - An antique camera with film.

Karen Johnson - A metal baseball bat.

Lance Jackson - A bag of nails.

Melody Adams - A butcher's knife.

Pedro De La Hoya - A fork.

Ray Hughes - A spoon.

Sheldon Thompson - A whistle.

Trevor Moore - A pair of safety scissors.

The Bullies:

Russell Northrop - None. (He dies before the program starts due to his attempt to remove the explosive collar around his neck by force.)

Davis White - A Pistol Crossbow.

Ethan Robinson - Throwing stars.

Tom Gurney - A bottle of Potassium Cyanide. (Tom gives the bottle to Trent when they finally meet up so he isn't tempted to injest it's contents.)

Trent Northwick - A Hunting knife.

Troy Miller - A standard Kitchen knife. (Taken by Wade.)

Wade Martin - A bullet-proof vest. (He tossed it away out of anger since he got mad it wasn't an actual weapon. Gary finds and picks it up, secretly wearing it under his button-up shirt and vest. Wade ends up taking Troy's kitchen knife since Russell's death caused Troy to go into shock, so he wasn't in the state of mind to use it anyway.)

Preps:

Darby Harrington - A scoped Browning BLR Rifle chambered for .243 Winchester cartridges. (Some of the Preppie's parents provided bribe money to get their kids better weapons than the rest of the students. Mr. Harrington was exceptionally generous. Of course, this doesn't necessarily mean the Preps would know how to use them weapons they were given...)

Bif Taylor - A Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun.

Tad Spencer - A stainless steel gardening fork. (It's resemblance to the pitchfork his father once stabbed him with, along with the implication that his father didn't care enough about him to bribe the government to get his own son a better weapon that would guarantee his survival, and combined with the stress of his situation causes Tad's mental state to deteriorate during the events of The Program.)

Pinky Gauthier - None. (Pinkie threw the duffel bag she was given away since she refused to participate in the Program.)

Gord Vendome - A semi-automatic AMT Backup chambered for .380 ACP cartridges.

Chad Morris - A Series ALFA Steel Revolver chambered for .22 LR. (Chad trades his revolver for Bryce's ice pick, claiming that he's not a very good shot, though it might've been done out of pity for Bryce's situation.)

Bryce Montrose - An ice pick. (Bryce's parents couldn't afford the bribe money to get him a better weapon. He ends up trading the pick for Chad's revolver, albiet reluctantly.)

Justin Vandervelde - A box of matches. (He was given Christy's bag by mistake. Ironically, he's one of the few Preppies who actually know how to fire a gun due to past experience, along with Parker.)

Parker Ogilvie - A .44 Auto Mag Pistol.

Greasers:

Johnny Vincent - A Bowie machete.

Lola Lombardi - An OTF (Out-The-Front) Switchblade.

Larry "Peanut" Romano - A Push dagger.

Hal Esposito - An antique Soufflé dish.

Lefty Mancini - A Side-folding Switchblade.

Lucky De Luca - A Boot knife.

Norton Williams - 4 lb Hand Sledgehammer.

Ricky Pucino - A Gerber Mark II Survival knife.

Vance Medici - A Straight Razor.

Nerds:

Earnest Jones - A Nail gun.

Algie Papadopoulos - A BC-41 Knuckle knife. (It gets stolen by Constantinos.)

Beatrice Trudeau - A scalpel.

Bucky Pasteur - A plastic toy dinosaur.

Cornelius Johnson - A walking cane.

Donald Anderson - A notebook.

Francois "Fatty" Johnson - A pair of brass knuckledusters.

Melvin O'Connor - A wooden club.

Thad Carlson - A yardstick.

Jocks:

Ted Thompson - A Football helmet.

Damon West - A Butter knife. (He tosses it away.)

Mandy Wiles - A small canister of Pepper spray.

Bo Jackson - A wooden baseball bat.

Casey Harris - A Maglite flashlight.

Dan Wilson - A bright red plastic toy baseball bat.

Juri Karamazov - A sickle.

Kirby Olsen - A Whip. (Needless to say, when Kirby pulled it out of his duffel, he was mortified.)

Luis Luna - A Fire axe.

Bob - A metal garbage can lid.

Townies (The gov just wanted them to get rid of them for being high school dropouts and figured putting them in the Program with the students of Bullworth would be killing two birds with one stone.):

Edgar Munsen - A 9mm Beretta M9 handgun. (He smuggled it in. How? Who knows?)

Zoe Taylor - Bear repellent spray.

Omar Romero - A Crowbar.

Clint "Henry" - A Handheld Mini electric Chainsaw.

Duncan - A pocket calculator.

Gurney - A bottle of lighter fluid.

Jerry - A lighter.

Leon - A wood saw.

Otto Tyler - An empty glass bottle.

Some of these I got stumped on and I may have put too many joke weapons, but eh.

[sankiago]

Productivity Challenge 3/14

Yesterday, I couldn't complete my 5 hours because I started gossiping with my roommate (gossip is my biggest weakness ngl), and I was super exhausted. Today, there are no excuses—I’ve got to make these 5 hours count:

Build Real Numbers - Set Theory (2h)

Solve Problems 3, 4, and 5 from the Discrete Distributions Problem Set - Probability (1h)

Finish Array e-Lectures and Start Sorting (Algorithms) - 1h

Try the Unsolved Problem and Move on to Easier Codeforces Problems (Competitive Programming) - 1h

Almost all of these are yesterday’s tasks, but today they're gonna be completed.

pd: I seriously thinking of creating another blr to make books/songs reviews and publish non log content

[yayaoflanguage]

Personal blr related life updated: I just finished the second year of my Slavic PhD program and I can officially say for a fact that I have no business being in SLL as like—-an academic field. Fortunately, I’m starting an ethnomusicology MA/PhD in the gal which I think will suite my needs much better 😊

[progfessor-dyke]

Wait, who was gonna tell me that the tag progblr was taken over by programmers??? I didn't know why all this programming stuff was coming up on my dash that is otherwise filled with pictures of prog bands and shit posts, until I realized it's prog(ramming)(tum)blr and not prog(ressive rock) (tum)blr.

[xtrashxbunnyx]

tw // ed talk // unfiltered

idk how but I somehow landed on ed blr a few weeks ago (which is one of the reasons why I’ve been avoiding this app and people like the plague lately) but um yeah, it unknowingly triggered something in me that I’m starting to notice (I think accept might be a better word?) I don’t like being vulnerable and I don’t like sharing personal info about me but I guess I need to get my feelings and thoughts out somewhere if I wanna try and move forward. I had a really bad ed years ago, to the point where I fainted in public and was diagnosed with severe malnutrition due to my ed. I went to an inpatient program for a few weeks and keep up with a therapist regularly. I can admit, I’m currently the heaviest weight I’ve ever been, but I never really saw it as bad because even though I’m the heaviest I was also the happiest? I was unapologetically eating what I wanted when I wanted. Enjoying brunch with friends every weekend and enjoying date nights with desserts with my partner regularly. I was happy, it didn’t matter that I had gained this weight. But idk..seeing people’s thinspo and weight catalogs really triggered me into realizing how much I hate my body and I much I missed my body when I weighed 90 lbs. I’ve been doing my old tricks without me realizing (that sounds stupid-I guess I should say I’ve been doing my old tricks without really thinking about it) I’ve been skipping meals, sleeping a lot more (like as much as a possibly can cause how can I be hungry if I’m asleep) and smoking a lot lot lot more. it didn’t really occur to me how bad it was getting until I started panicking thinking about what I would eat and how I’m gonna handle Christmas with all of my family. they know my tricks, they know what I did to hide food and etc. this thought made me stop and realize what I’m doing, and I thought about what I eat lately. and really noticed how I eat once a day most days and I don’t even finish the plate, I completely fast sometimes, I only have liquids sometimes, and even though I eat dinner in front of people sometimes i convince myself that I’m sick with food poisoning to throw it all up. I don’t really know where to go from here, I leave this week to spend Christmas and new years to be with my mom, and I’m hoping that’s going to help me. I don’t talk to my therapist again until the new year, and I also see my doctor in the new year too, which I’m nervous about. my doctor is aware of my problems, he even makes me turn away from the scale when he weighs me, and idk if he’ll notice that I’ve been messing up. He’ll tell my therapist, and she’ll tell my mom (even though I’m an adult-because of all these mental health problems she gets to make all the decisions for me if they deem me not in the right state of mind) this is just…..so much going on. I’ve pushed everyone away from me, and I’m sorry. I’ve seen messages, and I’m sorry I never replied, I’m just, struggling rn. I’m hoping with me being home and seeing a doctor soon will help me get a better grip at what I can do moving forward. sorry, I really needed to scream into the void about this, pls ignore me.

tldr :

[scribblesoul-20]

Job title: Training Manager // Dubai, UAE Company: BLR World Job description: About the job Training Manager // Dubai, UAEBLR WORLD is an award-winning talent consultancy for the culture, entertainment, and events sectors, enabling organisations to plan, staff, and operate unique permanent and temporary visitor experiences with the very best people.About the role:Our clients' visitors are a top priority, and our visitor-facing teams must be well-trained to deliver exceptional experiences. The Training Manager will design, schedule, and deliver training for the Visitor Services team and all staff interacting with visitors. The program will include induction, daily bite-sized sessions, and ongoing training to ensure staff remain engaged, well-informed, and motivated.Responsibility:Training Content and DeliveryDesign robust training frameworks and curricula that align with competency models and performance expectations.Align training initiatives with the company's strategic goals and business objectives.Create engaging and impactful training content, including course outlines, presentations, handouts, and assessments.Curate and adapt existing training materials to meet specific learning needs and industry trends.Manage our LMS to support training delivery and administration.Deliver engaging and effective training sessions, workshops, and webinars.Track and report on employee training progress, completion rates, and course evaluations.Analyze evaluation data to identify areas for improvement and make recommendations for future training initiatives.Visitor ExperienceWork with the operations team to develop the ongoing training strategy.Devise training subjects, content, and session structures. * Coordinate training sessions from other BLR WORLD departments. Organize necessary resources for training sessions, including room booking. Manage the training schedule for BLR.Monitor staff training records to ensure compliance with mandatory training and certification.Report on training outcomes and budget.Required Experience:Strong instructional design skills and ability to create engaging learning experiences.Minimum 5 years experience of composing and delivering training to large groups in a cultural, hospitality, or customer-facing environment.Fluent in English written and spoken; Arabic preferred, but not essential.Excellent communication and interpersonal skills, both written and verbal.Strong analytical and problem-solving skills.Experience of working in a cultural, attractions, and events environment in a supervisory or management position.Degree-level in a relevant subject, e.g., HR, tourism, art, history, museum studies, arts administration, hospitality, training, education.Strong IT skills and the ability to pick up new software quickly. Expected salary: Location: Dubai Job date: Sun, 24 Nov 2024 02:06:19 GMT Apply for the job now!

[starlighz]

Feel free to spam boop me, even with autoclicker, I'm trying to get to 10k boops on each counter, so it'll read "TUM BLR". So far, I have given 6k and gotten 2.5k. (Yes, I use autoclicker. Feel free to ask, I can add you to my program)

[saishreyasresidency]

Couple's Retreat: Top Hotels Near Bangalore Airport and Devanahalli

Bangalore, also known as the Silicon Valley of India, is not just a hub for technology but also a gateway for travelers exploring the beautiful landscapes of Southern India. One of the busiest airports in the country, Kempegowda International Airport (BLR), is situated about 40 kilometers from the city center and serves as the entry point for many. If you’re looking for comfortable hotels near Kempegowda International Airport, this guide will help you discover the best options, including couple-friendly hotels in Bangalore, and everything else you need to know for a pleasant stay.

Why Choose Hotels Near Kempegowda International Airport?

Staying near the airport offers various advantages:

Convenience: Proximity to the airport means less travel time and more convenience for late-night or early-morning flights.

Accessibility: These hotels provide easy access to major highways, making it simple to explore Bangalore or nearby attractions.

Comfort: Many hotels near the airport cater specifically to travelers, providing a comfortable atmosphere to relax after a long flight.

Overview of the Best Hotels Near Bangalore Airport

When considering a hotel near Kempegowda International Airport, you want to ensure a pleasant stay without breaking the bank. Here are some top recommendations:

Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency

Located just a short drive from the airport, Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency stands out for its excellent service and welcoming ambiance. This hotel is perfect for both business travelers and couples looking for a romantic getaway. Key features include:

Comfortable Rooms: Well-furnished rooms equipped with modern amenities.

Couple-Friendly: Offers a romantic setting with privacy for couples.

Dining Options: On-site restaurant serving a variety of cuisines, including local delicacies.

The Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency is renowned for its luxurious accommodations and top-notch services. With a blend of elegance and comfort, it is ideal for travelers who prioritize quality. Features include: If you are looking for luxury, the Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency should be at the top of your list.

Couple-Friendly Hotels in Bangalore

For couples looking to escape the hustle and bustle of daily life, several couple friendly hotels in Bangalore provide a romantic ambiance. Here are some notable options:

The Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency is an epitome of luxury, featuring a blend of modern and traditional architecture. The property includes:

Private Spaces: Special suites designed for couples.

Romantic Dinners: In-house dining options for a cozy dinner.

Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency is known for its lush greenery and tranquil atmosphere. It’s an excellent choice for couples seeking both relaxation and adventure.

Hotels Near Devanahalli

Devanahalli is the historical town close to Kempegowda International Airport, known for its rich heritage and culture. Here are some hotels in this area:

Set in a picturesque location, Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency offers a mix of luxury and comfort, making it suitable for both leisure and business travelers. Features include:

Extensive Facilities: Multiple dining options, a spa, and large convention spaces.

Recreational Activities: A range of activities for guests to enjoy, from sports to wellness programs.

Hotels near Devanahalli provide a tranquil environment with spacious rooms and beautiful gardens. It’s perfect for travelers who prefer a resort atmosphere.

Exploring the Local Area: Attractions Near Bangalore Airport

Staying near the airport not only offers convenience but also puts you close to several attractions:

Nandi Hills

Just a short drive from the airport, Nandi Hills is a popular weekend getaway known for its breathtaking views and sunrise spots.

Devanahalli Fort

Explore the historic Devanahalli Fort, which dates back to the 16th century. This fort is not only a historical site but also a great spot for photography.

Bhoga Nandeeshwara Temple

This ancient temple is a significant pilgrimage site and boasts stunning architecture, making it a must-visit for anyone in the area.

Why Choose Hotels Near Bangalore Airport?

Choosing the best hotels nearby Bangalore Airport has its benefits, particularly for frequent travelers or those with tight schedules. Here’s why it makes sense:

Time-Saving: With easy access to the airport, you can save time and reduce travel stress.

Flexible Check-In and Check-Out: Many hotels offer flexible timings to accommodate various flight schedules.

Business Amenities: Several hotels provide business facilities such as meeting rooms and high-speed internet, catering to business travelers.

What to Look for in Hotels Near Bangalore Airport

When selecting the best hotel for your needs, consider the following factors:

Location

Choose a hotel that is conveniently located near the airport for easy access to your flight.

Amenities

Check for essential amenities like free Wi-Fi, breakfast options, and room service to enhance your stay.

Guest Reviews

Reading guest reviews can provide insights into the quality of service and overall experience at the hotel.

Conclusion In conclusion, staying near Kempegowda International Airport not only provides convenience but also a range of quality hotels tailored to various traveler needs. Whether you’re looking for couple-friendly hotels in Bangalore, or just a comfortable spot to rest, options like Hotel Sai Shreyas Residency and others ensure a memorable stay. With easy access to major attractions and excellent transportation facilities, your trip to Bangalore can be both enjoyable and stress-free. Plan your stay today and explore the rich culture and vibrant life that Bangalore has to offer!

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.20

Summary: Grief comes in many different forms and stages. You're stuck on anger, and Wednesday accompanies you to the funeral. But she says something wrong, with the best of intentions, and you end up doing something that will change your family dynamic for the worse.

Word Count: 7.7k Warnings: grief, child abuse, self neglect (not eating, recklessness, not taking care of self, excessive drinking), extreme anger, flashbacks (mentions of car accident, injuries, illusions to criminal activity), swearing, violence, smoking Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn @rockwyn @bigbadsofty07 @andsoigotabutterfly @captainbeat @smromanoff

Everyone says grief comes in five stages; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But you disagree. It’s not five stages, it’s one. Only one stage that washes over you like a wave and holds you under until you’re drowning. You’re drowning and watching everyone on the surface live their lives as if you aren’t just right underneath them, choking on the salty sea water as you scream for help.

It’s only one stage; agony.

The house was bigger than you remembered when you got home far too early in the morning. The barristers were cleaner, the kitchen was far more pristine, and it was quiet. It was far too quiet, and your hands started to go clammy at the revelation. There wasn’t even any comfort in the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. Tick-tocks burned themselves into your brain until it was stabbing into your head like a knife.

You started humming a tuneless song. It eased the pain slightly.

"Don't hum, dear," your mother said as she took her gloves off and handed them to your maid and previous nanny, Mabel. "It's childish."

Your humming died off and the silence came back.

"Mabel will show you to your room,” your father said, resting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. For a moment, things almost seemed okay. “We will mourn tomorrow, then start the preparations.”

And just like that everything came crashing down once again. Paired perfectly with the migraine that still refused to settle.

“Oh, Y/N,” your father called out before you managed to get more than three steps up.

You turned around slowly, each joint still aching from the fall earlier in the night. Was it that same night? It felt so long ago. Nothing felt like you had been on a carnival date earlier in the night, that you had been having fun with Wednesday and the gang less than eight hours ago. Or was it longer than that? Did it even matter anymore?

“Your principal wanted you to have your phone back,” he continued when you stayed silent. He smiled softly down at the phone in his hands before looking up and handing it back. “Your conversations are a bit concerning,” he said when your fingers brushed his to take it back. “I installed a program to track your activity.” You blinked once. “For your well-being.”

For my well-being. Right. Of course.

“You have a few unread messages,” your father called after you as you turned to walk back up the stairs. “You should let them know everything is alright.”

Be angry, a voice in the back of your head growled when Mabel continued to guide you through the now-unfamiliar corridors. It was a familiar voice, one that hadn’t reared its head in months, but you couldn’t quite place it. He went through your phone, so you need to get angry. No. No, you wouldn’t get angry. Why not? Your jaw clenched painfully. Nicky wouldn’t have gotten angry.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in the doorway of the room - your room - and looked sideways at Mabel. She looked older, more worn. Maybe it was just from working for your parents for so long. How was her son? Had he graduated college yet? He had wanted to be an engineer, if you remembered right. Why did she look so sad?

“I am truly sorry,” she said softly. “I cannot imagine your grief.”

No. No, she couldn’t imagine your grief. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to see him not even a week earlier, alive, and not knowing it would be the last time you saw him. She couldn’t fucking imagine what it was like and no one could fucking imagine what it was like.

The migraine throbbed again and you squeezed your eyes shut to try and ease it.

“The headaches will stop in time,” she said. Your eyes flew open. “They always have.”

“What?”

Mabel tilted her head and a crinkle formed between her eyes.

“Your headaches,” she said, her finger lifting to tap lightly against your left temple. “They always got worse when Nicky stopped suppressing.”

“Suppressing?”

Her sorrowful smile slipped into a frown.

"Yes," she said softly, "don't you remember?"

No.

"Well, I suppose that would defeat the point," she chuckled lightly. "He could suppress memories," she explained softly, gently, agonisingly. "He always chose the bad ones, of course." 

No. 

"I myself got a slight headache when he passed."

No.

"It's how I knew he was truly gone."

No!

"Y/N?"

You shoved past Mabel, forcing her back into the hall. The stairs passed under you four at a time until you were on the ground floor.

"Darling?-"

"-Where are you going?-"

"-It's 4 in the morning-"

"-Get back in the house."

Your parents' calls fell on deaf ears as you threw the front door open and stormed outside. Your feet picked up speed as you walked down the endless driveway. The moment they hit the pavement you broke out into a jog, then a sprint. Your shoes hit the pavement of the road in a steady rhythm.

"You really wanna know?" Nicky asked after taking another one of your chess pieces.

"You promised you would tell me," you said with a frown.

"How about I make it your graduation present," he teased. "Give you something to look forward to."

"Deal," you said with a smile. He knocked your king off the board.

The excessively large houses blurred as you ran down the street. Motion lights turned on and guard dogs barked when you passed by.

"That was the year they left us to fend for ourselves for the week," Nicky laughed with Yoko.

"I don't remember that," you said with a slight frown.

"You were, uh, too young," Nicky said with a smile and a pat on your back. "Not worth remembering anyway."

The houses thinned and were quickly replaced with trees. Your feet stumbled as pavement turned into dirt. Icy air froze your tired lungs, leaving a sensation of needles in your chest.

You pushed your feet faster.

"Nicky, I'm tired," you whined after tripping over your own feet again.

"Just a few more hours," he said. His shirt had finally dried and looked stiff. “Then we’ll be back at Nevermore.”

"You said that a few hours ago," you complained. "My skin is itchy."

"We'll wash it off later," he said. He wasn't even looking at you.

"Are they gonna find us?" You asked as you did a little jog to catch up to him and hold his hand.

"No," he said without hesitation. The dried blood was starting to flake off his forehead. The cut on his nose looked angry.

"Is this gonna give me bad dreams?" You asked in a small voice. He stopped in his tracks and picked you up, letting you crawl onto his back.

"Of course not," he said softly. "You won't even remember it."

The forest flew by. Each twig and branch that whipped across your face made you feel more and more alive. It was a feeling, and you needed a feeling. Anything, everything, whatever you could get.

Everything hurt. Oh god, it hurt so bad and you couldn’t scream.

“Hang on, kid, we’ve gotta get the door.”

“Where’s Nicky?” You asked. Your tongue felt heavy, like lead.

“Gotta get you first,” a man’s voice said. “Stay still.”

“Nicky?” You slurred; the words tasted of copper.

Your eyes fell to the top of the car that was now underneath you. It was covered in something shiny. Something red.

Your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. They couldn’t take the cold, couldn’t take the exertion, the stress, none of it. And it felt. You could feel them. The more you ran, the more it hurt and soon you could focus on the pain in your side instead of the pain in your head.

Memory suppression.

There was no thought about stopping, your feet just slowed their movements until you collapsed to your knees on the cold, damp forest floor. You felt the end of a stick dig into your hand, splitting the skin. The blood was warm; it was comforting. Each gasping breath felt like you were inhaling shards of glass, each one more painful than the last.

And it felt.

“I feel angry,” you said as you sat at the top of the wall and watched Nicky continue to climb.

“You always feel angry,” he grunted. He was stuck. As usual.

“I don’t know why,” you sighed. “I can’t think of anything that would make me angry.”

“It’ll go away,” he said as his face finally pulled up and you could look him in the eyes. “Good kids don’t stay angry.”

“Am I a good kid?” You asked softly. He smiled.

“The best.”

You let out the most feral, unhinged, excruciating scream you could possibly produce. It hurt your throat and left it feeling raw.

But it felt.

The sun had started to rise before you could get up from your position on the ground. Your knees were stiff and soaked to the bone and the stick in your hand had broken off. It would leave a splinter that would need to be dug out. There was a lingering ache in your throat and lungs and that migraine still wouldn’t go away. And when you started walking mindlessly back to the house, you could feel blisters on your feet and heels; a few of them even popped.

But at least it felt.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?-”

“-We were about to call the police-”

“-You look like a stray dog-”

“-We just cleaned the entry-”

“-Where do you think you’re going?”

You couldn’t recall getting home. But you continued walking through the house as your parents called after you, practically dragging yourself up the stairs until you made it into your room. The door fell shut and the lock clicked into place and all you could do was fall back to your knees.

The cold wooden floor didn’t feel so bad. At least it felt.

—---

You wished you were numb again.

The day of mourning came and went, each second testing your patience and wearing you thin. You hadn’t slept, hadn’t showered, hadn’t even gotten up from your spot on the floor. You could hear your phone vibrating on the wood, almost loud enough to wake the dead. Maybe it would wake Nicky, you thought before finally checking it to make it stop.

Not even noon and you had 17 missed calls, 72 texts, and a plethora of messages from the vast array of other social media outlets. A large number were from Yoko, then Ajax, the rest of the group, and your family back home. Two or three calls from Momma Weems and your family. But your eyes started to sting when you saw the name for two messages.

Nicky.

You clicked on them immediately, desperately hoping to see what he had said. Something in the back of your head was screaming at you not to open them, not to get your hopes up. Your eyes trailed over the messages, reading them once, twice, three times before it finally clicked.

It wasn’t Nicky.

You had given Wednesday his phone.

You hadn’t ever changed the name.

Nicky: Thing wishes to know if you’ve made it back safe.

Nicky: I wish to know as well.

Fuck. Now you were making Wednesday feel things too? Why would she even care anyway.  It wasn’t like she loved you anyway, wasn’t like she even really cared. You knew she didn’t do love, she had said it to her mother time and time again. Why would she care if you were safe.

Didn’t she know Nicky was the one who needed the attention?

You growled at nothing in particular before throwing your phone across the room, hearing the screen shatter when it hit the wall. The sound made you flinch and you instantly felt that guilty feeling deep in the pit of your stomach. It vibrated again.

You didn’t check it.

—---

“You need to eat something before you go,” Mabel urged you once again as you finished buttoning up your shirt.

“‘m not hungry,” you mumbled. Your fingers faltered on the buttons; it wasn’t fitting like it was supposed to.

“You haven’t eaten in five days,” she said in a far softer voice. It was humiliating.

“Too busy planning,” you said, finally deciding to give up and instead throwing a jacket over the crooked, too-big shirt. “I’ll eat when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

You moved past Mabel and went down the stairs to meet up with your parents. It was the day to finalise plans; something that you knew was going to cause argument after argument. There had already been too many screaming matches the past few days, none of which ever came to a definitive conclusion.

Maybe today would be different.

“That jacket is unprofessional,” your mother said with a slight frown.

“The shirt doesn’t fit,” you said without looking up at her. Your fingers toyed with the shattered phone in your pocket.

“We will have it tailored,” your mother sighed, “again.”

“We will discuss it later,” your father said as he ushered everyone to the car. “We need to get going so we won’t be late.”

You sat in the back with the both of them while Jenkins started the drive to the funeral home. With a thunk, your head hit the window and you looked out at the houses passing by. The harness was pulled painfully tight and your wings were already stiff, but you didn’t care. At least it felt, right?

The phone in your pocket vibrated, and you pulled it out slowly to look at the two new messages.

Yoko: You don’t have to answer me, but answer Wednesday. She’s losing her mind

Ash: just saw your pop in town. told me about nicky. im so sorry

You exhaled through your nose and slid the phone back into your pocket without answering. There was no time to answer anyone anyway, you had planning to do. Although you shouldn’t be, he was still the source of the migraine that refused to go away.

Memory suppression. Just the thought made you sick and your mouth feel like you had swallowed cotton. How could he do that? How could he just hide your memories from you? Your own memories. He had no fucking right, those were your memories, not his.

“We’re here.”

You pulled your head back from the window and blinked a few times, doing your best to hide the anger. As you uncurled your fists, you could feel your nails pulling out of the skin; you had left four perfect crescent shaped cuts on your palms. Thankfully your pants were black, and you wiped the slightest bit of blood off on the legs.

The next thing you remember is sitting in one of the chairs across from the funeral director. You couldn’t recall getting out of the car, or introducing yourself. Hopefully you had done well or you would get an earful once you left.

“Today you will select the casket and can order the headstone,” the funeral director said as he slid over a bunch of paper.

“Casket?” You asked, turning your head to look at your parents. “We never agreed on burial.”

“Your mother and I have made the executive decision,” your father said with a smile.

“Then make a different one,” you said with a slightly raised voice.

“I’ll give you three a moment,” the funeral director said with a professional smile. Everyone stayed silent as he grabbed a few things and left, shutting the door behind him.

“Do not question our decisions in front of strangers,” your father said, his polite smile falling immediately.

“He didn’t want to be buried,” you said. Your chest felt tight, like it was caught in vice grips.

“He shall be buried with the other Smiths,” your mother said while you chuckled humourlessly. You pushed your chair back and stood up, walking to the other side of the table and pacing.

“He said he didn’t want to be buried,” you argued; the migraine was back. “Said it creeped him out and he would rather be cremated.”

“We never heard him say such a thing,” your mother said with a sigh.

“Maybe because you were never there,” you scoffed before freezing in your tracks.

Instantly the atmosphere in the room changed from uneasiness to aggression. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck and arms stand up and your breath caught in your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I beg your pardon?”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry-”

“-We were never there?” Your father asked, louder this time. 

You could hear the chair scrape against the floor and you turned your body to face him. He looked furious and the migraine came back stronger than before. Almost like someone was pushing glass into each individual fold of your brain. You could feel your palms getting sweaty.

Fight back, the voice in your head said. He abandoned us. Fight. Back.

“You weren’t there,” you said with a shaky voice. Be confident. “You left us and didn’t come back.”

“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why we would even consider doing such a thing?” Your father asked.

“Let’s focus on the burial,” your mother cut in, “we can talk about this later.”

“It’s because you produced two freak kids,” you said, your voice stronger, more confident. Your father walked around the table to come closer. Keep fighting. “Could you imagine if that got out?” He looked furious. “If anyone discovered that the high and mighty Smith family had two Outcast kids that they hid away-”

-your head jerked to the right as the slap echoed in the otherwise silent room. Keep it together, you thought as your lower lip started to quiver. You held back the stinging in your eyes as you stood up taller and turned back around to face him. It was times like this where you wished you were smaller so you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You will never say such a thing again,” he said as he jabbed a finger into your chest. “Do I make myself clear?”

Hit him back.

“Crystal,” you whispered through clenched teeth.

“He will be buried,” your father said with another jab. “That’s final.”

You could feel the persistent stinging of your cheek as you all sat down and the funeral director came back in. He didn’t comment. You didn’t prompt him to.

—---

Mabel had worked for the Smith family for 23 years, she knew when to hold her tongue. But when you all came back from the funeral home and she saw the new blooming bruise on your cheek, she felt a mix of anger and pity. She wouldn’t pretend you were the best at holding your tongue; you never had been. But your father also allowed you to push his buttons until he snapped.

She didn’t have to ask to know that was exactly what happened.

The days leading up to the funeral reminded her an awful lot of when you were younger, with the obvious differences. You were still reckless, almost even careless. Accidentally breaking things, roaming around the house without direction, doing anything and everything your heart desired without seeking permission or forgiveness.

There were times when she would be cleaning and would hear the sound of the grand piano lingering in the air, and she would sneak around the corner to watch you. Back ramrod straight, slender fingers poised perfectly over the keys, face completely neutral as you read the music on the stand. It was beautiful to hear you play again, and the occasional jazz tune that would sound when you were certain your mother wasn’t around was all the more enjoyable because of the slightest smile on your face.

Other times Mabel would catch you leaving the house without warning, not coming back until late in the night with dazed eyes and dried tear tracks on your cheeks. Those were the nights she would gently take you by the shoulders and guide you back up to your room. You did nothing to assist her as she cleaned you up and dressed you in something comfortable so she could put you to bed.

She did her best to ignore each and every new bruise or scratch or scar.

It was impossible to get you to eat. You dropped weight faster than she could keep track of, and no matter how many meals she left in your room, they always went untouched. She tried to keep small snacks like protein bars in your room in the hopes that you would eat them, but she had no way to tell if you did or not.

On evenings where guests would come over and you would be “encouraged” to socialise, she took note of the amount of drinks you would have each evening. It was always far too many, and she and Jenkins would end up carrying you back up to your bed before everyone had left for the night. You would always accept your scolding with a grimace and two Tylenol the next morning and go about your day.

You would pick fights with your parents. Never over anything important, always little things and they were starting to pick up on that as well. At first they had fought back, getting into screaming matches with you and sending you off to your room. But then you tried to start fights over the silverware, or the way your shoes fit, or even how bright the lights were in the room. It didn’t take long for your parents to stop arguing back and just ignore you.

Mabel noticed that almost made you more angry.

Other times, your parents would nit pick at you as well. Over your hair, or the style of clothing you wore. If you had worn the same shirt twice or tracked mud into the house. Your speech quickly became more "professional" and you selected your words carefully in an effort to retaliate. It was far less outwardly destructive, but Mabel could still see the damage it inflicted reflect in your eyes.

But through all of your anger and self destruction and attempts to grab anyone’s attention, you always treated her and Jenkins with the utmost kindness and respect. That was what reminded her of when you were young. It was in the gentle “thank yous” or the soft smiles when she would hand you something. The questions about her son, or about Jenkins’ wife and cats, or any of the neighbours.

She knew you were a good kid. She knew, and Jenkins knew, and that was probably what hurt them the most through it all. You were a good kid with no one to truly lean on and no one to help guide you through this loss. And they knew it was just going to build and build and build inside you until it exploded.

The day before the funeral was the day you would see Nicky for the last time, and Mabel could see the fear and anger in your eyes. She and Jenkins had fully prepared themselves for your mental state when you got back, but even they couldn’t have prepared themselves fully.

You came into the house dazed, not hearing a single thing your parents were saying. But then it was like a switch had been flipped and you clenched your jaw before making a snide remark back to your mother. It didn’t take long to turn into a screaming match, and Mabel and Jenkins watched in horror as you balled up your fist and swung at your father.

The fear in his own eyes was evident even though your fist connected with the brick wall beside him; whether on purpose or not, you had missed him completely. Tears fell from your eyes and you screamed again as your father pulled you into a hug. Mabel watched helplessly as you tried to push him away before finally giving in and crying into his shoulder.

You held onto him like your life depended on it as your blood dripped down the pristine, white walls of the house.

“Your tie is crooked,” Mabel told you on the morning of the funeral. You had been struggling to get ready for over an hour, and no amount of makeup could hide the bags under your eyes or the lingering bruise on your cheek.

“So are these fucking buttons,” you mumbled as you ripped your dress shirt open to start over. She could feel you getting angry again. It was probably from the lack of sleep.

Or lack of food.

Or lack of help in general.

“Stay still,” Mabel huffed, setting the laundry basket down on your bed and standing in front of you.

You sighed, but remained still as she got to work on your shirt. It had been tailored only a few days before and still seemed a bit big again; it broke her heart. But she did her best to ignore it and focused on buttoning up your shirt properly. Your violent treatment had loosened two or three buttons, but she certainly wasn’t going to bring that up to you.

“How have your school ties survived this long if you can’t do them yourself?” She asked, her eyes darting up to meet yours. She almost thought you smiled.

“Wednesday always fixes them for me,” you said. You didn’t look down, but that was alright, she was focused on your tie anyway.

“You like this girl?” She asked softly. If your parents heard, they would have started screaming.

“A lot,” you answered just as softly. “I think I love her.”

“That’s a big emotion for you,” she said not unkindly.

“I hope I don’t fuck it up,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” she said with a smile as she patted your tie down. “You’re all set.”

You turned to look up at the mirror, eyes squinting and your jaw clenching before you relaxed. Mabel kept her smile to herself; she didn’t want to unintentionally encourage you to fight the reflection. You stood up straight and pressed your tie flat once again before slipping the suit jacket on.

“Thank you, Mabel,” you said softly, and you quickly leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Your lips were chapped, but it was expected.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” she said with a smile. You smiled back once, halfheartedly, before walking out of the room.

She really hoped your anger wouldn’t explode at the funeral.

—---

The whole car ride made Wednesday feel sick to her stomach. It had been a short flight down to D.C. and now she, Thing, Yoko, and Weems were finishing the trip with the short drive to the funeral. The rest of the gang had opted to stay at Nevermore for the time being; they didn't want to overwhelm you. The funeral was supposed to be outside, or so your mother had said, but it looked like rain. Usually perfect for such an occasion.

Just not this one.

She checked the phone again, hoping you had finally answered. It was a foolish hope, she knew that much, but it still resided in her chest. No one had heard anything from you since you had left the harvest festival, not even Yoko or your family. She shouldn’t have expected you to answer her of all people.

But she hoped you would have.

“We shall give her space,” Weems said once she pulled the car through the gates to the cemetery. It was connected to the reception hall, where everyone would go after the service.

It reminded Wednesday an awful lot of the cemetery back home.

“Except you, Addams,” Yoko said, drawing Wednesday out of her thoughts.

“Why me?” She asked.

“You give her peace,” Weems answered.

Well, that was comforting; surprising, Wednesday knew. To know that everyone else could see her effect on you; had they seen your effect on her? They probably had. Enid certainly had, and that was more than enough torture. But if they said she gave you peace, then who was she to argue.

Once the car was parked, everyone got out. Thing climbed onto her shoulder as she unfolded the umbrella. She waited patiently as Weems and Yoko got out as well, each holding their own umbrellas, before they started the short walk to the grave.

It seemed the rain had ruined the original funeral plans, seeing how no one was sitting anymore and the chairs were in the process of being removed. Wednesday and the small group stood off to the side and waited. They hadn’t exactly been invited, but who was going to stop them? Especially at a funeral.

You were one of the lead pallbearers, the one on the front left. Wednesday felt her heart drop into her stomach at the sight of you; dark eyes, clothes hanging off your smaller frame, your wings invisible beneath your suit jacket. But the worst part was you didn’t seem sad. No, you looked angry.

After lowering the casket back to the ground, you hesitated, your fingers running across the wood before you walked to stand near your parents. They tried to offer you an umbrella but you ignored them. You simply stood in the rain, looking down at Nicky’s casket as an old, unsteady man started talking.

Wednesday simply watched you the whole time. Watched the difference in your posture, your back straight and head up. She took note of the way you clasped your hands in front of you even though she could see the scabbed over skin pulled taut across your knuckles. She watched the muscles in your jaw tighten and relax, over and over and over as you blinked too many times to keep the tears at bay.

You were upset, rightfully so, but Wednesday couldn’t have found you more beautiful. Not because you were suffering, not because you were struggling, but because you were. You were handling everything so well, at least on the outside, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the rain fell down your face, caressing the skin in comfort.

Your family, you included, looked impeccable standing there together. Wednesday could only imagine how powerful all of you would have looked if the four of you had been together; you, Nicky, and your parents. Standing there in perfectly tailored suits, manicured to perfection, neutral expressions on your faces. Is that how you would have looked if you had stayed with them? Would she have had the same pull toward you?

She waited until the funeral itself was over before making her way to your side. Everyone else - including Thing - had gone inside to escape the rain and start the reception, but you didn’t move a muscle. Her shoulder brushed against your arm when she got close enough, and for a moment your shoulders fell and your jaw unclenched.

“I’m tired, Wends,” you said in such a quiet voice that Wednesday almost couldn’t hear you over the rain. “And I feel alone.”

Time to use the comfort teachings everyone had been helping her with for the past two weeks. They had drilled it into her head time and time again, through all hours of the day and night until she could recite it properly. It was robotic sounding, she knew that much, but it was a start. She hoped it would work.

“It’s okay to feel sad,” Wednesday said. You stiffened beside her. “But you are not alone.”

“Did Yoko teach you that?” You asked, immediately catching on. She should have known better.

“I-,” don’t lie, “-yes,” she admitted. “I’m not particularly adept at comfort.”

“I don’t want comfort,” you said, turning to look at her. The rain had finally started washing off the makeup from your face and she thought she could see something on your cheek. “I don’t want pity. I want you to be real with me.”

“Real?” Wednesday inquired with furrowed brows.

“Yes, Wednesday, real,” you huffed. “Be real with me and tell me what you’re thinking.”

Now that you had put her on the spot, she wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She was thinking of the now-obvious bruise on your cheek and where it had possibly come from. She was thinking of the bags under your eyes if you had been getting enough sleep, which clearly you hadn’t.

Part of her was thinking of her own parents, as unusual as it would be. How they had fallen in love at a funeral and had confessed their undying devotion to each other. Funerals had always been a romantic event for the Addams family, and she was aware this was for your brother, but she couldn’t deny she knew what her parents had meant every time they reminisced.

Oh. That’s what she was thinking.

“I am thinking…,” she paused, blinking at you twice, three times and looking away. You wanted real. She looked back up at you to meet your probing gaze. “I love you.”

Your brows knit together as you looked away from her for a moment.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“You asked what I was thinking,” Wednesday clarified slowly. “I was simply thinking that I-”

“-Don’t say it again,” you interrupted.

And right there, right then, Wednesday felt her cold dead heart break in her chest.

“You did not just say that,” you said with a huff. “Did you really just confess?”

“Yes,” Wednesday said indignantly. “It’s what I was thinking at the moment.”

“We’re at my brother’s funeral, Wednesday,” you said, far louder this time. “Do you really think this is the time?”

“You asked,” she said again. “Why would you ask if you didn’t want to know?”

“I can’t,” you said as you held your hands up and started backing up. “I just- I can’t do this right now.”

Wednesday let her umbrella fall as she watched you walk off toward the reception hall with hands on your head, covering your ears. She could feel the rain slowly seeping through her coat, but all she could really focus on was you. Only you, and how her father had been right.

Love was agony.

—---

You were going to be sick. You could feel it in your chest, your lungs, your stomach. Your mouth wouldn’t stop salivating and you were going to be sick. How could she say that? How could she tell you that now? Your palms were sweaty when you dragged them down your face, ignoring the makeup that you wiped off with it.

It should have been exciting to hear Wednesday say such a thing. She was capable of love, a genuine love, and had even felt so strongly as to verbally tell you as such. And it had been ruined because they had killed Nicky and now you couldn’t even enjoy the single fucking good thing in your life.

You felt sick.

Your parents were standing in the middle of the room, talking and laughing with some lawyer or congressman or senator or whoever the fuck else could put up with them long enough to talk. It was like they weren’t even upset, they weren’t even devastated that their son, their first born, was currently being buried six feet under. Didn’t they care?

You felt sick.

Weems, Yoko, and Thing were off to the side, talking with each other. They looked up, almost as if sensing your staring, and gave you sad smiles. They pity you, the voice in your head spat in disgust. You frowned at the thought and turned around, looking for someone, anyone to talk to. Hell, at that point you would’ve taken the old man off to the side that was giving you a look that made you rather uncomfortable.

Your eyes fell on a couple standing next to the fireplace, talking quietly with each other. Something about them seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place from where. But you stopped caring when you saw the subtle cloud of smoke fall from the taller one’s lips and you quickly made your way over.

“Mind if I steal a hit?” You asked when you got nearby. The taller one smiled sadly.

“Sure,” they said as they handed the vape over.

You grabbed it and brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply. It scalded your throat and stung your lungs as you held it in for far too long before slowly exhaling. You watched the smoke as it evaporated into the air, leaving nothing but a sickeningly sweet smell in its place.

“That’s disgusting,” you mumbled as you handed it back to them. The shorter one still hadn’t looked up from the hole they were staring into the ground.

“It’s marshmallow,” they chuckled.

“Like I said,” you said, “disgusting.”

“You’re Nicky’s sister,” they said with a half smile, avoiding your gaze by looking out at the crowd again.

“You’re a couple of strangers,” you said.

“I’m Casey,” they chuckled lightly, “and this is Devon.”

Devon finally looked up and eyed you up and down before looking back to the crowd with the slightest hint of a sneer. If you hadn’t spent so much time with Wednesday, you would’ve missed it. What could they possibly be sneering at you for? It was your brother’s funeral. You felt the muscles in your jaw tighten.

“He talked about you a lot,” Casey said softly.

“How would you know?” You asked way more harshly than necessary. Part of you didn’t care. Okay, none of you cared. “He hasn’t exactly done much talking recently.”

“The three of us were… close,” they said with a distracted nod.

“He was in a coma for four years,” you scoffed, “how close could you be.” You reached over and took the vape from their hand and brought it to your mouth for another hit.

“We were his partners.”

You choked on the smoke, leaving your throat raw and scratchy. Your head spun to look at Casey and Devon, eying them to see any sort of discrepancies in their body language. If Wednesday had taught you one thing, it was how to tell if someone was lying. Avoiding eye contact, licking their lips, anything.

There wasn’t a single sign.

He hadn’t told you he was dating anyone. Why hadn’t he told you? Surely he would have, you two told each other everything. He was your big brother, for fuck sake, he would have told you. Right?

Right?

“We loved him too,” Casey said softly; they still weren’t looking at you.

He lied. He fucking lied.

You looked out at the crowd and took another hit of the vape. Then another. And another. And a fourth one for good measure. It felt like your lungs were going to burn themselves to embers, but you didn’t care. At least it felt. After a fifth hit, you slipped it back into Casey’s hand and continued looking out at the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice now hoarse and deeper than usual.

“We’ll get through it,” they said. “He’ll get his justice.”

They know he deserves justice too, the voice in the back of your head said. You couldn’t argue with it. But what else could you say? It was too much and you had too many questions. Where had they met? How long had they known Nicky? How long had it been going on?

You felt sick.

You didn’t bother saying anything else to them before walking off, walking through a haze until you ended up with the group your parents were talking to. A few of them tried talking to you, giving their most insincere condolences before going back to their conversations.

It was disgusting. Watching them laugh and talk as if you weren’t standing at a funeral reception. As if you hadn’t been standing at Nicky’s literal graveside less than an hour ago. Heartless, the voice said, they killed him and are using it as an excuse to socialise. 

“I can’t recall what caused his condition,” one of the men said when there was a lull in the conversation.

“A car wreck,” your father said with a few mindless nods of his head.

“That’s tragic,” a woman said. “Drunk driver?”

“An Outcast, actually,” your father answered.

Wait.

“What did you say?” You asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

You felt something tug on your pants, and your eyes darted down for just long enough to see Thing. He was wearing a little black bowtie around one of his fingers. But you weren’t focusing on him; you were too busy thinking about what your father had said.

“I said an Outcast caused the wreck that killed my son,” your father continued. His back straightened as he kept eye contact with you.

“Abominations, the lot of them,” a man huffed before taking another drink of the wine in his glass.

Thing pulled at your pants leg again. You kicked him away, listened to the subtle sound of him scuttling across the floor. Thankfully no one else had noticed him.

“An Outcast didn’t kill him,” you bit back. “You two were the ones that pulled his life support.”

The group around you fell silent, now beyond interested in the conversation. Any chance to get a good helping of gossip, of course. That was how all socialites worked, especially when another socialite was involved. In this case it was your parents; they were going to be the talk of the town for a year.

“No son of mine should have to exist as a vegetable simply because we couldn’t be merciful,” your mother said. “Especially because of some sinful abomination.”

“Stop calling them abominations,” you growled through clenched teeth.

Your fingers were starting to ache as they curled into fists at your side. Your pulse was rushing in your ear and for a moment, you felt your chest was going to explode. That your heart would beat faster and faster, harder and harder until it finally broke free.

You took a single step closer.

“If it were up to me, I’d have them all euthanised,” your father said as he smiled at you with his “show everyone we’re perfect” smile. You took another step forward until you were almost directly in front of him. “The world would be a much better place.”

The sounds of the world muffled in your ears, and all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing. Erratic, shallow, rushed. Something dripped down your neck and your jaw felt like it was going to crack under the pressure. That migraine came roaring back as you stared into your father’s eyes.

Do it.

Your fist connected with his nose before you could even comprehend what was happening. The people around you gasped and stepped back as your father fell to the ground. One of his hands attempted to stop the flow of blood while he held the other out in front of him.

But you saw red.

You knelt down on top of him, only one thing on your mind as you grabbed his shirt collar. He almost looked remorseful for a moment. But only for a moment. Again. You tightened your grip on his collar as you swung again. And again. And again.

Harder.

You could hear Nicky in the back of your head, screaming and pounding against the inside of your skull. Telling you to stop, begging you to let your father go. Each time Nicky pounded against your skull, you threw another punch. And another. Something wet slid down your cheeks and you couldn’t stop.

Something wrapped around your waist and yanked you back. Hard. The wind flew out of your lungs and you instantly grabbed onto the arms around you. You tried to pull them off but your hands were slick and you couldn’t get a good hold. You were stuck.

“Y/N, stop,” the voice said into your ear. Weems?

“Say it again,” you shouted at your father who was frozen on the ground, bruised eyes focused on you. “Say it again, you fucking coward.”

“Breathe,” another voice said before someone stepped in front of you. Yoko?

“You're defending the group that killed your brother,” your mother said as she knelt down to look at your father’s injuries. He was wheezing and covered in blood. "You should do this to them instead."

You tried to lunge forward again, and the arms around your waist almost gave out. You threw a leg out, hoping to kick him while he was down. Just one more. But the arms around your waist tightened again, and Yoko grabbed your flailing feet until you were being carried out of the room.

“Don’t you fucking touch them,” you shouted as you continued attempting to fight and Weems and Yoko struggled to carry you. “I’ll fucking kill you next time.”

You felt sick.

The cold air and rain hit you like a brick wall when you were finally outside. The arms and hands holding you back let go and you fell onto the ground as you stared at the now-closed doors of the reception hall. Your frantic breathing was the only thing you could hear.

“Breathe.”

Another face came into view, and almost instantly your breath caught in your throat. Wednesday’s eyes were wide and focused on your face. They were bloodshot; why were they bloodshot? Her hands were poised to touch you, to check you for injuries, but the moment you felt her hand on your arm you flinched.

You saw red. Only red. You wanted to hurt something. Someone. You didn’t give a fuck who it was, you just wanted to make someone else hurt the way you were hurting. To swing at whoever was closest.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you said as you crawled back across the ground. Wednesday immediately let go.

I don’t want to hurt you, you thought as you pushed yourself up to your feet until you could start stumbling away. Shaky fingers unbuttoned your jacket and ripped the buttons off your shirt until you could reach the harness. They were calling after you; you didn’t know what they were saying. The harness hit the ground and the moment your wings unfurled, you jumped into the air.

You had nearly hurt Wednesday.

You felt sick.

[safety-at-workplace]

The 7 Principles of Behavior-Based Safety: A Guide for Safety Managers

Occupational safety is all about building a culture where safety comes first. Dr. E. Scott Geller's Behavior-Based Safety (BBS) approach mixes up individual and organizational behaviors to create a strong safety culture. It's based on seven key principles that really help step up safety performance. In this article, we'll dive into these principles and how Safety Managers and HSE managers can put them to work.

1. Observable Behavior Interventions

Principle: Effective safety interventions must be observable.

Application: Focus on visible, measurable behaviors. Instead of saying "be careful," specify actions like "always wear safety goggles in the lab." This clarity ensures employees know what's expected.

2. External Factors and Behavior

Principle: Identify and understand external factors influencing behavior.

Application: Assess the work environment for elements prompting unsafe behaviors. If tight deadlines cause rushing, adjust timelines for safer practices. Ergonomic tools and regular breaks can counteract unsafe behavior triggers.

3. Antecedents and Consequences

Principle: Use antecedents to guide and consequences to motivate behaviors.

Application: Antecedents are cues before a behavior, and consequences follow it. Clear signage (antecedent) can promote helmet use, while recognizing compliance (consequence) reinforces it. Using both effectively sustains safety practices.

4. Positive Consequences for Reinforcement

Principle: Emphasize positive outcomes to reinforce safe behaviors.

Application: Instead of focusing on negatives, highlight positive behavior outcomes. A reward system celebrating no-incident periods encourages a positive, supportive culture.

5. Measurable and Objective Programs

Principle: Make the behavior-based safety program measurable and objective.

Application: Use metrics to monitor safety behaviors and outcomes. Data helps refine safety strategies and ensure accountability. For instance, track safety gear usage and incident reports for ongoing improvement.

6. Hypotheses and Information Integration

Principle: Keep an open mind; hypothesize and integrate information.

Application: Foster problem-solving by hypothesizing safety issues and testing solutions. Combine safety audit feedback, employee observations, and incident data for a full safety overview.

7. Consider Employees’ Feelings and Attitudes

Principle: Ensure the BBS program respects employees’ feelings and attitudes.

Application: Understand employee perspectives on safety initiatives through surveys and discussions. Address concerns empathetically and involve employees in developing safety protocols for greater commitment.

Insights from Dr. E. Scott Geller

At BLR’s Safety Culture 2018 conference, Dr. Geller highlighted that sustainable safety culture thrives on interdependency and genuine care for employee well-being, emphasizing positive reinforcement, observational learning, and empathy for lasting safety achievements.

Conclusion

Using these seven BBS principles not only boosts safety performance but also deeply integrates safety into the company's culture. Safety Managers and HSE managers can achieve major, lasting improvements in workplace safety by concentrating on visible behaviors, external influences, positive feedback, and involving employees.