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cacmsinsitute · 1 year ago

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Techniques that Work Well for Software Development Debugging and Troubleshooting

Debugging and troubleshooting are essential abilities that no developer should be lacking in the field of software development. A software's overall performance and dependability are enhanced by the capacity to quickly detect and fix problems, which also speeds up development. In order to greatly improve the debugging process, we will examine several efficient debugging and troubleshooting procedures in this blog.

Approaching Debugging Methodically:

The process of debugging is methodical research rather than ad hoc. Determine which module or function is causing the problem by first replicating the issue in a controlled environment. To understand the behavior of the programme while it is running, use debugging tools or logging statements.

Using IDEs (Integrated Development Environments):

Robust debugging tools in modern IDEs make the procedure easier. To comprehend the flow of your code, make use of watch variables, step-through execution, and breakpoints. Error sources can be more easily identified thanks to the visual representation of the call stack that IDEs give.

Effective Logging Procedures:

For finding problems and comprehending the behavior of the programme during runtime, logging is a very useful tool. To monitor the flow of execution, provide meaningful log statements in your code. To enable a thorough study, include timestamps, error levels, and pertinent data.

TDD, or test-driven development, and unit testing:

Potential problems can be found early in the development cycle by implementing a Test-Driven Development methodology and creating reliable test suites through unit testing. Automated tests are a safety net that helps developers quickly identify regressions in addition to acting as documentation.

Using Issue Tracking with Version Control System (VCS):

Git and other version control systems are useful for tracking issues in addition to helping manage code versions. Creating a clear history of code modifications and tying contributions to particular issues makes it easier for team members to collaborate, which helps with debugging.

Working Together to Debug:

Debugging is a collaborative effort. Promote team brainstorming and idea sharing during collaborative debugging sessions. Code reviews and pair programming are two examples of tools that might help find problems that a single developer might miss.

Memory Profiling and Tracking of Performance:

It might be difficult to locate memory leaks and performance bottlenecks. To detect resource-intensive operations, use performance monitoring tools and memory profiling tools to examine memory consumption. By fixing these problems, the software's effectiveness can be greatly increased.

Exception Logging and Error Handling:

Include reliable error-handling techniques in your code. In order to facilitate post-mortem analysis, record exceptions with thorough information. Crafted error messages improve the user experience overall and help developers with debugging.

Analytics and Monitoring:

To track user interactions and real-time performance, integrate analytics and monitoring tools into your applications. Issues can be foreseen and resolved before they affect a larger audience by analyzing user behavior and system analytics.

Post-mortems as a Tool for Continuous Improvement:

Once a problem has been resolved, analyze the situation retrospectively to determine the underlying cause and talk about countermeasures. Creating an environment where learning from mistakes is valued can help the team grow more proficient in debugging.

In conclusion:

Developing high-quality software requires mastering efficient debugging and troubleshooting techniques. Developers may expedite the debugging process and produce software that is dependable, durable, and robust by using a methodical approach, utilizing strong tools, and encouraging teamwork within the development group.

Are you ready to advance your programming skills? Join CACMS Institute in Amritsar for hands-on, practical programming instruction. Expert advice and extensive programming language lessons can help you realize your full potential. For further information, please contact us at +91 8288040281 or visit http://cacms.in/Programming-Language/ Take advantage of this opportunity to develop your programming career at Amritsar's finest programming institute. Your coding journey begins here!

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deepak-garhwal · 2 years ago

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Top 5 Python training courses in Nanagloi, Delhi

Looking for the best Python courses in Delhi? Explore the list of the top 5 Python Courses in Nangloi, Delhi that are known for comprehensive Python courses, practical training, modern facilities, cutting-edge technology, and knowledgeable faculty are all employed to train students.

#Python course in Nangloi #Python courses in Nangloi #Python training in Nangloi #Python training institute in Nangloi #Python coaching in Nangloi #Python course in Delhi #Python training in Delhi #python training institute in delhi #python certification #python classes near me #python coding

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noredemptionhere · 14 days ago

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𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢𓍼ོ

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛: 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚔𝚊 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚊𝚓𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 [𝚘𝚌], 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 [𝚘𝚌 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍], 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖, 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚙.𝚜. “𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢” 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚙𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍/𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐. 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍.

you weren’t okay.

neither of you were.

you were dying.. slowly, cruelly. your body had turned against you in a way no one could undo. it was a quiet kind of betrayal, coded deep in your own cells, unfolding piece by piece as you faded. and sevika was dying too. just slower. just loud enough to scream every day and still be alive the next morning.

she had proposed to you three years ago, with trembling fingers and a heart too full to beat steady. those years that followed were the only ones she would ever call good. the world had collapsed to the size of your body in her arms. you were her home, her anchor, her peace. you were the only thing she had ever loved without fear, without restraint, without wondering if she was meant to.

she didn’t propose the way she’d first planned. the original idea had been… obscene. filthy, even. she had thought about slipping the ring into your mouth mid-rimming, letting you taste the weight of forever on her tongue before you ever saw it. she’d thought it was funny, honest. but she knew you. knew you would have killed her for ruining something sacred with something so vulgar. so instead, she swallowed the laugh, bent the knee, and offered you everything in the most clichéd way possible. it wasn’t what she wanted..

..but it made you say yes.

it was supposed to be your happy ending.

but six months ago, your body wrote its own ending instead.

your immune system began attacking you. your cells, the very things meant to protect you, no longer recognized you. they saw you as a threat. a stranger. an enemy. and so, they tore you apart. your liver was the first to go, eaten alive by the thing designed to save it. sevika—who’d once laughed in the face of fire, who’d spit blood and come out swinging—had no weapon for this. no fists could fix it.

because it was the cruelest thing she’d ever witnessed. and for the first time in her life, sevika knew that whatever was happening.. was bigger than her.

but if the sickness is bigger than her, then it isn’t for others who knew it. for doctors.

she poured every coin of brass she had into treatments, into comfort, into time. precious, dwindling time. but there was no cure. no relief. just the slow, suffocating reality of watching you slip through her fingers no matter how tightly she held on.

when science failed, she turned to violence. screamed at doctors until her throat bled. held every surgeon in zaun—and piltover—at gunpoint. demanded miracles, begged for anything that would buy her another day with you.

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

the hospital smelled like bleach and blood and plastic. too clean. too fake. like they were trying to cover up the rot of truth with chemicals and clipped voices. it was the most luxurious and groundbreaking medical institution in all of topside.

so if this failed.. something would break even more in her.

sevika stormed through the hall like a storm on two legs.

nurses moved out of her way before she even raised her voice. one look at her—the trembling jaw, the too wild eyes, the blood on her knuckles—and they didn’t ask questions. they just vanished behind swinging doors and flimsy curtains.

she found the head surgeon near the nurse’s station. some older man with tired eyes and a clipboard. he turned, startled, when she grabbed him by the front of his white coat.

“you’re not doing enough.”

his mouth opened, but she didn’t give him time.

“you told me she had weeks. it’s been days. she’s in pain. she’s getting worse, not better. and you’re sitting here filling fucking paperwork?!”

“miss—sevika, please—you have to understand, this disease isn’t cu-“

“that doesn’t matter.” her voice cracked. she wasn’t yelling anymore. she was begging through her teeth. “fix her. i don’t care what it takes. tell me what you need. a new fucking liver? organs? just say it.”

he hesitated.

and she saw it.

the pause. the flicker of defeat in his eyes.

and something inside her snapped.

she shoved him hard against the wall, her forearm pressing into his throat, the other hand already reaching under her coat for the cold weight of the pistol she hadn’t carried in years. not since she’d left the undercity behind.

“you don’t get to give up,” she hissed. “not when she’s still breathing. not when she still opens her eyes and looks for me.”

“call the security-” he shouted at the nurses.

“let them come,” she growled. “i’ll kill everyone in this building if i have to. just to buy her another fucking hour.”

the silence was sharp. ugly. one of the nurses had started crying.

the surgeon didn’t move. didn’t fight back.

because what could he say? what could he offer?

there were no miracles here.

only machines. beeping. slowing.

sevika’s hand trembled. she slammed the gun to the wall beside his head, metal clattering to the floor. her breath hitched. once. twice. then broke apart completely.

“please,” she whispered, chest heaving. “i’ll bring you anything..”

“please.. she doesn’t deserve to die like this.”

the surgeon swallowed, gently easing her back. “i’m sorry,” he said softly. “we’re doing everything we can.”

but it wasn’t enough

and she was getting scared.

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

the door slammed open.

sevika stumbled through, reeking of smoke and stale liquor, her steps uneven but somehow still deliberate. blood, dark and flaking, crusted her knuckles. her cloak hung crooked off one shoulder, dragging behind her like it had barely survived the night.

she kicked the door shut, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. her eyes swept the space. the couch, the kitchen, that corner where you sometimes curled beneath a blanket like a ghost too tired to move on.

“baby?” her voice cracked low, rough around the edges. shaky, like she wasn’t sure it still worked.

silence answered.

she stepped deeper inside. something cold and heavy coiled in her chest.

then, from the bedroom.. barely above a whisper

“sev..?”

she was already moving. “yeah. i’m here.”

you were sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, your hands trembling in your lap. but it was your eyes that stopped her in her tracks. wide. distant. not fixed on her.. but through her, like she wasn’t even there.

you blinked. once. twice. slow and uncertain, like you were trying to clear a fog that wouldn’t lift.

“i think.. i think something’s wrong,” you said, voice thin and distant, like it had wandered far from your body.

“everything’s dark.”

“what?”

you swallowed hard. “i can’t.. see.”

she crossed the room in two strides, dropping to her knees in front of you. her metal hand curled gently around your thigh while her other reached up to tilt your face toward her.

“baby,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “you’re lookin’ at me, right?”

a pause. “..no?”

her chest tightened. her hand shook as it traced your cheek, your jaw, then cradled the back of your head like you might shatter in her hands. “it’s okay,” she lied. her voice split open on the second word. “it’s just the meds. or your sugar. we’ll fix it. i swear.”

you didn’t even realize you were crying until your lips trembled and warm tears rolled soundlessly down your cheeks. “i don’t want to go blind, sev.”

she pulled you into her chest like she could hold your body together with pressure alone.

“you’re not,” she murmured into your hair. “you’re not. i won’t let it happen.”

“what if i-”

“don’t,” she cut in sharply. her voice fractured at the edges. “don’t you fuckin’ say it.”

she gripped you harder. her embrace was soft, too soft, meant for comfort— but her flesh hand was growing colder. colder than the metal one.

then she pulled back, just enough to take your hand and guide it to her face.

“memorize me.”

your heart clenched. your throat closed. you couldn’t even find the breath to speak.

“right now,” she whispered.

your fingertips brushed over her brow, slow and careful. down the slope of her cheek. across the scar that tugged her mouth into that permanent scowl. you touched her lips. she kissed your fingers as they passed, barely holding herself together.

“i got you,” she whispered. “i got you. i got you.”

over and over. like if she repeated it enough, the universe would have no choice but to obey.

and you believed her.

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

a few days later, it was gone.

..no flicker behind your eyelids. no shape. no shadow. just… nothing. a still, heavy black. like sinking into an ocean without a bottom.

you heard sevika sitting beside you.

she hadn’t left the house since. no drinks. no visits to the knuckleheads. she hadn’t been out to the harbor. hadn’t seen silco in almost six days.

you didn’t speak for a long while. just breathed. counted her exhales when your own turned shaky. listened to the soft scrape of her thumb dragging across your wrist.

“still with me?” she asked quietly.

you gave a slow nod.

“good.” a pause followed. “let’s talk.”

you furrowed your brow. “talk?”

“yeah,” she said, gently. “i’m gonna tell you everything in the room. everything you can’t see. and tomorrow, i’ll tell you about tomorrow. and the day after that. and every day after that too.”

“okay,” you whispered.

she adjusted on the mattress. you felt the shift in weight, the warmth of her body beside you.

“there’s a mug on the windowsill. the one with the chip on the handle. you made me keep it after i said i’d throw it out.”

you smiled, barely.

“there’s sunlight on the floor. it’s yellow. looks like a ribbon.”

a long silence stretched out between you.

“the sheets are blue,” she added, her voice quieter now. “they smell like you.”

your hand twitched under the blanket. she reached for it and held it in hers.

“i feel like you’re tired,” you murmured. “you sound tired.”

“yeah,” she breathed. “i’ll live.”

her thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and steady.

“you know what else?” she asked, leaning closer, her voice husky and low beside your ear. “you’re still the prettiest thing in this whole fucking room.”

you let out a broken laugh. then cried a little.

not because you were afraid. but because she made it okay to be.

sevika held you through it. she kissed your temple and rubbed slow circles into your back while your shoulders trembled.

“my angel,” she whispered, “..sent down just to save me.”

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

January Third.

the night was cold and quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against the windows and filled the corners of the room. shadows stretched long across the walls. outside, wind drifted slow over rooftops, soft and aimless.

you whispered her name.

“hold me.” your voice was faint, frayed at the edges, barely more than breath.

sevika stopped breathing. and not for just a second.

she knew then. in the weight of your whisper. in the silence that followed. it settled in her chest like a stone, that aching shift in gravity. like the world had tipped, like something irreversible had just happened and was still happening all at once.

she didn’t cry. didn’t scream. her body moved before her mind could catch up.

she gathered you into her lap with both arms, held you like a prayer, like something sacred. her forehead pressed against yours. she was trying to share breath, to push life back into your skin through closeness alone.

“you can rest.” she said.

the words tasted like blood. tar. poison.

it broke her, saying it. the hardest thing she ever let herself speak. a mercy, and a blade. but you needed it. needed to know it was safe to let go. that she would not hold it against you. that her love wouldn’t die with you, but stretch on, root deep, grow wild through every breath she took without you.

she didn’t know if you heard her.

but you smiled. Just barely.

you wanted to say thank you.

you wanted to tell her you loved her.

you wanted to promise that you’d find her again, in a gentler place. a softer world. one where you wouldn’t have to be sick. one where her hands could hold you without shaking.

but your body wouldn’t let you.

so instead, with the last ounce of strength left in you, you moved her hand from your cheek and brought it to your lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. It was soft. barely there. like something remembered more than felt.

you’d kissed her hand a thousand times. sometimes messy and loud, sometimes slow and reverent, but never like this. never like it was the last thing you had left to give. you always had more love in you. you always did.

but then you went still.

your chest stopped rising. your mouth didn’t move. your lashes didn’t flutter.

sevika didn’t understand, not at first. she sat there, still holding your body, still waiting for you to lift your head and say something sweet. some tired joke. some soft little, “i’m still here.”

but you didn’t.

the silence stretched. heavy. hollow.

“no.”

it came out low, rough.

he pressed her fingers to your wrist.

her other hand shook as she touched your throat.

“no.”

louder now. almost a snarl.

her hands moved—shaking, frantic, useless—as she cradled your face.

“don’t fuckin’ do this.”

she was supposed to be prepared for this. but something cracked. something she’d been holding in the whole time you were sick.

she pressed her forehead to yours. her voice cracked. her whole chest heaved like it was too full of something she couldn’t swallow down.

“don’t fuckin’ do this to me, baby.”

she rocked you. once. twice. like movement could restart you.

your mouth hung open a little. your eyes, still closed, like you were just asleep.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t.

“no. no, no—no!”

the sound that tore out of her didn’t sound human. it was broken glass, and gravel, and something wounded beyond repair.

she held you tighter. clawed you against her chest like she could keep you in her arms forever if she just didn’t let go. her lips smashed against your temple—again and again—as if kissing you hard enough would make you come back.

“i told you,” she whispered. her voice was soaked in grief, barely a breath. “i told you i’d take it. whatever it was. give it to me instead. why didn’t you—why the fuck didn’t you-”

her breath hitched. her hands slipped from your back.

she couldn’t finish the sentence. couldn’t find a version of this that didn’t end in her alone.

sevika held you until her arms went numb.

held you until the light outside changed.

held you until she felt the weight of you shift—not because you moved, but because something final had passed between you.

held you like she was trying to mold you into her. so that whatever took you from her.. would see her a part of you and take her with you as well.

she stayed like that for hours, cheek pressed to yours, whispering all the things she hadn’t said

⋆｡˚ ✧˚ 𓍼 ⋆｡˚ 𓍼 ✧˚ ⋆｡˚

sevika stopped living.

she didn’t call it grief. it was something worse. something black and permanent. the people around her noticed. they moved out of her way, avoided her eyes, said her name like a warning.

she was colder now. less human. more monster. and she liked it that way.

she broke what didn’t need breaking. killed instead of capturing. drank until her throat was raw. slept on floors. woke up in alleyways.

and still, each morning, her chest split open all over again.

because you’d made her promise to keep living.

and she hated you for it.

really fucking hated you for it.

she wanted to take those words out of your mouth with her hands. crush them before they landed. pretend she’d never heard them. never nodded. never kissed your temple and said, “i will, baby. i promise.”

but here she was.

and sevika knew.. it was a matter of time before she breaks that promise.

April First.

she stumbled through the front door, half a bottle down and the other half clutched in her fist. her fingers were numb. her throat burned. her body ached with the kind of pain nothing could touch.

she didn’t plan to wake up again.

but she didn’t even make it to the couch.

she slid down the side of the kitchen counter. sat there, back against the cabinets. the cooler beside her was empty. always was.

and then the air changed.

warm. thick. familiar.

a smell.

soup.

yours.

her favorite.

the scent wound through the room like your arms used to. soft and quiet and filled with things she couldn’t name.

she didn’t breathe. didn’t blink.

not until she saw you.

at the stove.

stirring. humming.

healthy. not blind. and still the prettiest woman she has ever seen.

barefoot. in that stupid sweater she always said was too big. your hair pulled back. smiling to yourself like nothing in the world had ever hurt you.

and sevika didn’t hesitate.

she got up like it hurt.

walked straight to you like you were gravity.

her arms wrapped around your waist.

her face pressed into your neck.

and she breathed. for the first time in weeks, she breathed.

“hey,” you said softly.

your voice landed on her like mercy.

“don’t you think you drink too much-”

“no.” her voice cracked. “you shut up.”

her grip tightened.

“you shut your mouth and let me have this.”

you went quiet.

her hands slid under the hem of your sweater, palms flat against your stomach. just to feel. just to know.

and then her mouth was on your neck.

slow. starving.

a kiss, then another. then another.

down the column of your throat. up beneath your jaw.

she kissed you like she was trying to memorize you. like her mouth could map you back into existence.

“i love you,” she whispered against your skin.

one more kiss.

“i didn’t say it enough.”

another.

“i love you so much.”

you turned in her arms, soft hands cupping her face.

“i know,” you whispered, brushing your nose against hers. “i love you too.”

then you kissed her. gentle. warm. real.

and she whimpered. actually whimpered into your mouth.

because she missed this. missed you.

and she knew it couldn’t last.

you rested your forehead against hers.

“we need rosemary,” you said.

she smiled.

“yeah?”

“i wanted to make you rosemary bread,” you murmured, smiling. “it goes well with peach tea.”

and that’s when everything broke.

her dreams never remembered details like that.

not the bread, not the tea. not they your eyes shined with all the love in the world.

she opened her eyes.

you were gone.

the stove was still on.

the soup was still there.

the smell still clung to the air like your hands had clung to her face.

she moved. lifted the lid.

steam hit her cheeks.

it was hot.

it was real.

she dropped to her knees and ate straight from the pot, greedy and desperate. it burned her tongue. she didn’t care.

and when it was gone, when there was nothing left,

she reached for the bottle again.

because if drinking could make you come back,

she’d keep going.

until she could feel you again.

until she could smell rosemary again.

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x fem!reader #sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevika x you

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on-a-lucky-tide · 6 months ago

Note

Your tags make me want to read Price getting to pat Nik. Please? 🥺

Nik's hair is a reflection of his character.

cw: none (partly inspired by a post by @panchulien with a young Nik and Price).

Price realised he was obsessed with Nik's hair quite early on. When they'd met, it had been a harsh buzz cut; a number two all the way over at the very longest, paired with a clean shaven jaw. It hadn't suited him. Not even in his blue uniform and cap. His eyes were too warm for the austere, minimalist impression the rest of ensemble was trying to communicate. It was like his internal conflict had manifested in his physical appearance; the severe officer battling the warm-hearted Russian patriot.

After Price had "liberated" him, or rather, encouraged him to turn informant and cut his own path towards liberation, Nik had grown his hair out. Price remembered seeing him for the first time after freeing him from the detention centre in which his own government had been about to execute him. Nearly a year had passed, and Nik's hair had grown into an unruly mane. Close to a mullet, but with erratic, thick black curls paired with roguish facial hair. He'd reminded Price of a musketeer or a Renaissance poet; the sombre misery had been replaced by an almost manic charisma.

That had suited him. It set off the wildness in his eyes. But that wildness had manifested in other, more dangerous ways. Price and Nik had fed off of each other's anger and penchant for violence in those early days. When they were on op together, their lack of boundaries had led them to dark places; Nik, without direction or purpose beyond point and shoot, and Price with a chip on his shoulder.

Price had watched those thick curls fall across a blood smeared face after Nik had beaten a man to death with his bare hands more than once, the crooked smirk that followed revealing a flash of something raw and in pain beneath the surface. They crossed lines, violated boundaries and codes of ethics, telling themselves it was for a higher purpose that not even they had much of a handle on.

Mac had tried to keep them apart. Had warned Price away and told him to get a grip. Dogs that bit the hand that fed them were put down eventually, one way or another. But Nik had been intoxicating. His rage completed and complemented Price's in the worst and best ways.

Nik needed to heal. They both did. It took years. Years of dancing around each other, of finding the limit of what they would do for the "greater good", working out what that even bloody meant in the first place. They carved out their own morality, separate from the hypocrisy of the institutions that had made them, and slowly, slowly, the rage, the bleeding wounds inside Nikolai, had healed. Price had fallen in love with that wild, uncontrollable maniac, and he had stayed in love with him once he'd found enough peace to stop his own self-destruction.

Price sat across from him in the little boat they had hired for a tour down the River Oder. Nik had wanted to show Price Wrocław, the Venice of Poland. Twelve little islands connected by over a hundred little bridges, with one of the biggest markets in Europe huddled in the centre. Nik had spent the morning dragging Price down side streets to find some of the three hundred odd little bronze gnomes scattered throughout the city. "To commemorate the Orange Alternative movement," Nik had explained, his big hands gesturing expressively towards the Gothic Town Hall, tone excitable and boyish, "they used absurdist humour to protest against communist rule in the eighties."

Nik was at peace now. Nearing his fiftieth birthday, his hair was receding into a deeper widow's peak, smoothed back and neat, with slight curls at the back and beneath his ears. His stubble flattered his jaw and Price liked raking his nails through it when they kissed. Not too wild, not too austere. A perfect balance that reflected the equilibrium in Nik's heart.

"John?" Nik asked, his eyebrows raised. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, comrade," Price said, flashing rueful smile. "Just thinkin' about old times."

"Ah." Nik scratched up his bare forearm to the fold of the sleeve at his elbow. "Well then," he picked up his glass of krupnik and Price did the same, "to old times."

"And all the good times to come, cheers." Price knocked back a mouthful of the liqueur and grimaced. "Jesus fuck, Nik, this shit is fockin' 'orrid." He tipped the remainder of the glass overboard. "Could murder a man for a decent stout."

Nik rolled his eyes. "You take the Englishman out of England, but..."

Price kicked his shin. "Yeah yeah, Mr World Wide. I'm a simple man with simple tastes, not all of 'em good."

"Oh, I don't know," Nik hummed. "You are dating me after all."

And there, just for a moment, was a flash of that wild, curly-haired man that had first stolen Price's heart in the devilish little grin on Nik's face, and Price's blood ran hot in his veins.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #prikolai #meta-ish headcanon ramble #sorry Rogue this went off piste #but it is hair related!

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stoat-party · 2 years ago

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Fallout 4: Where is the Lone Wanderer?*

*a vague conspiracy theory which doesn’t actually answer the question at hand. We all have our own ideas of how the lore should go, and I’m sure yours is very canon-compliant and valid, but this is mine and I have support for it. Looooongpost.

First off: What do we know about the canon Wanderer?

We know they activated Project Purity (or had a companion do it) without the FEV and were inducted into the Brotherhood. We know they’ve met with MacCready (you can’t finish the game if you don’t), and he has dialogue indicating they had further contact. They also took the Brotherhood’s side at Adams Air Force Base.

We don’t know what happened with The Replicated Man, but since the canon Wanderer appears to have good karma, and info from 4 implies Zimmer’s disappearance was more recent than ten years ago, it seems likely they took the boring ending, which secures their membership in the Railroad.

Why aren’t they in Fallout 4?

The Doylist answer is that they’re highly customizable, and so they have no canon appearance, personality, gender, etc. But in-universe? Something happened.

“Accepting outsiders like yourself has proven disastrous in the past.” - Kells

“I've seen other soldiers come and go. Some were brave, some were honest... hell, some were even downright heroic.” - Danse

“Every doctor I've talked to was worthless. [] I don't need them... I need someone like you.” - MacCready

When Duncan first got sick, “someone like you” would have meant the Wanderer. This suggests (to me) that they’re not in the Capital Wasteland anymore. But they’re certainly not in the Commonwealth either.

The weird thing is that the Lone Wanderer is all over this game - they’re the namesake for a male hairstyle, a perk, a DCR song, a motorcycle brand… and the codename of Deacon’s mission to save the Railroad from certain destruction by recruiting the Sole Survivor.

Someday We’ll Find It, the Deacon Connection

Oh yeah, I’m going here. Desdemona’s terminal entries confirm it was always Deacon’s plan to get you onboard and use you to destroy the Institute. There are Railroad lookout posts near 111/Sanctuary and Red Rocket, and of course he followed you in Goodneighbor, Diamond City, and Bunker Hill (at least). His court jester vibe hides it a bit, but he’s manipulating you more than he’s manipulating Desdemona in the intro scene. And do you notice he rarely gives you a firm verbal disapproval unless you’re hurting the Railroad?

What could have caused Deacon’s interest in you, unless he’s made the connection between you and the Lone Wanderer? He’ll vouch for you if you haven’t accomplished anything yet, or even if you’re a Brotherhood member. A Pip-Boyed stranger emerges from a vault in the middle of a crisis, gaining friends, skills, items, and special abilities at a suspicious rate? Probably with the same gender and playstyle as the previous one? Heck, when he first heard the rumors, he probably thought you WERE the Lone Wanderer.

There are other indications the Railroad has been in contact with them — Desdemona mentions the Capital Wasteland as their primary destination for synths, and Deacon references Harkness’s recall code. If you refuse to pick a codename, Desdemona even assigns you “Wanderer.”

So what happened, then?

I think the answer lies with the Brotherhood, specifically in Deacon’s hatred of them. Sure, ideology is enough to hate them for, but Deacon sure seems suspiciously happy if you nuke their base of operations. (Some of) his comments on that:

“The Brotherhood... well, I met them on an op in Capital Wasteland a few years back. But now with Elder Maxson... Let's just say, not a fan.”

“That bastard Maxson really screwed them up. The Brotherhood used to be the good guys. Well, goodish.”

[Who’s Elder Maxson?] “He’s a piece of work, is what he is.”

And on his time in the Capital:

“Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Capital Wasteland? Now there's a tale.”

“Capital Wasteland. Exports: purified water, some decent tech, oh, and an insane suicidal cult that worships radiation. Thanks, guys.”

“I miss Capital Wasteland. You can actually drink the water there.”

And a few lines I’ve decided (with no evidence) directly refer to LW:

“Last partner I had wound up going... well, a little insane. I think it was all my show tune medleys.”

[After Maxson orders you to hunt Danse down] “See? This is what the Brotherhood's really about.”

And my favorite: “I’ve been looking forward to kicking the Brotherhood’s teeth in. I owe them.” This line comes before Glory is killed, so he’s not referring to that. The Brotherhood only recently arrived in force in the Commonwealth. He’s talking about something that happened in the Capital Wasteland.

So Here’s What Might Have Happened:

In early 2286, Deacon moves to the Capitol Wasteland for awhile, probably to get a face change and lay low for a bit. He contacts the Lone Wanderer, who has barely heard from the Railroad in nine years. They begin to work together.

(In context, this journal entry looks like he’s somehow gathering intel to predict when Vault 111 will open, but I can’t think of a way for him to get that information or know why it’s important, so I’m not going to believe it just yet.)

The Wanderer is still a knight, maybe a paladin. Maxson has been elder for 2-3 years and is monitoring the Institute. Meanwhile, the Lone Wanderer and Deacon are setting up infrastructure to receive escaped synths.

And then the Brotherhood finds out about one of the safehouses. With their limited understanding, they believe that the Institute is holed up there and attack. The Wanderer intentionally throws the mission — maybe disobeys orders, maybe downs a vertibird or collapses a subway tunnel, or maybe even attacks their brothers to protect the synths.

And, well-

Either they were killed, or they escaped court martial and execution by a hair’s breadth and fled the Capital, leaving Deacon to believe Maxson had them killed.

There you have it. That’s why they aren’t in Brotherhood dialogue or records. Their accomplishments couldn’t be recognized because they’re a traitor. And that’s why it’s personal for Deacon.

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yallthemwitches · 3 months ago

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It's funny you mentioned in the tags students from different nationalities being in the same school when in Fleur school ( I don't can't remember how to write the name at this point) french, spanish, portuguese and italian wizards learn magic together 🤣 it's funny to imagine that happening .

So! Just doing a google because it was on the brain, apparently some countries had schools (Hogwarts: UK/Ireland and Beauxbâtons: France/ Belgium/Luxembourg/Switzerland for example) that clumped same native languages together but then when I looked up other countries with differing languages (because the Italian border is 15 minutes from my house and allegedly Beauxbâtons is also near-ish to the Spanish border (The Pyrenees). It said that Spain/Italy HOMESCHOOLED because they don't have an official institution????

Like, Ok. You're gonna tell me that Turin, one of the most believed magical cities in the western world just...homeschools their kids?

Also where does Germany go? Greece? And if Durmstrang is in "Northern Europe" (so, I presume a scandinavian country) why the fuck was Viktor Krum ( a Bulgarian which is South East Europe) going there and why is the school so heavily slavic coded ???? Geographically and culturally Krum would probably fit more into Koldovstoretz in Russia. So explain JKR! Have you ever even looked at a map? Thought for a second about geocultural barriers?

And don't EVEN get me started on how the whole continent of Africa has just a SINGLE school. And CHINA doesn't get a school??? Or India???? Wtf?

The whole thing slaps of a colonialist, western mindset.

#hp meta #I don't know why this gets me so worked up #learn geography people #tay speaks

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hemantrowdy · 2 months ago

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tccicomputercoaching · 1 month ago

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Which Programming Language Should You Learn in School?

If you're in school and wondering which programming language to delve into first, well, you're not alone. One can say that the world of code is vast, but let's make it simpler and break it down, allowing you to consider what might go into this choice of language.

Start with the Basics: Why Learn Programming in School?

In school, people learn how to program to develop their problem-solving skills and logical thinking, and in the process open themselves to a variety of career choices. Instead, one might wonder: Which language should be the first one to get started with?

Best Languages to Learn in School

1. Python-The All-Rounder

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Building a website or application? Then JavaScript is the application layer for the web and really opens up opportunities for frontend or full stack development.

4. Scratch-For an Absolute Beginner

Middle schoolers and beginners will find Scratch a wonderful visual tool to understand coding logic before moving on to text-based programming.

5. C Programming – For Competitive Coders

It gets students on track in understanding the nuts and bolts of programming: memory management techniques, the logic behind it, and system-level thinking. This makes an excellent choice for those who want to do competitive programming and delve into some basic computer sciences.

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So: Which One Should You Pick?

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Concluding Thoughts

Choose a language according to your goals, but anything very easy (like Python) will get you a quick confidence boost. Upon that, you can later go on to more sultry languages or just explore. Remember, the intention is not to learn everything right there; it is to take the first step and keep moving.

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taweretsdagger · 4 months ago

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"he walks among us, but is not one of us:" lost's tragic, (probably) autistic doctors

have been thinking about jack, juliet, and their relationship so much lately, inspired by so much good jack analysis from @eponine119 and @lost-inanotherlife, as well as @youmovedthenachos' discussion of viewing jack as autistic. the more i think about it the more i see this for both him and juliet.

i also think there are some specific differences in how the two behave which can be (at least partially) explained by how autism manifests/is interpreted depending on gender presentation and socialization, but in this post i'll stay focused on their similarities since i can already tell it's gonna be a long one!

both characters similarly display the following signs of autism: strong internal sense of justice (and disregard for social/institutional norms in favor of this), hyperfocus/competence in areas of interest, and a persistent sense of social isolation.

one of the reasons jack and juliet's relationship is so intriguing to me is that they project these traits onto each other, turning the other into a receptacle for the things they want for themselves but cannot bring about on their own. it's a tense, often unpleasant dynamic to watch--somewhat like two mirrors eerily reflecting back and forth into infinity. but the mutual understanding and mutual desire to heal beneath the surface of this tension keeps me hooked and rooting for them.

i'll start off by discussing two of these traits together (hyper-focus/competence and sense of justice/disregard for norms), since i think these are shown most clearly through their lives pre-island, while their social isolation is primarily shown to us on-island.

jack and juliet are doctors who are miraculously gifted in their respective fields, accomplishing medical feats which should be impossible. both sarah and rachel are in seemingly unrecoverable physical conditions which are reversed through jack and juliet's interventions, against all odds. ben and richard also become aware of juliet's prowess as a doctor/researcher due to her success impregnating a male field mouse.

we learn from juliet that jack graduated med school a year early, and i tend to believe that juliet might have done the same (or graduated college early/skipped a grade/etc.), considering that finishing med school at age 26 would leave her only 4 years before being recruited to the island in 2001.

so, we have two people who are near-prodigal in one specific area, but whose lives outside their work are something of a mess. they struggle with personal relationships, struggle to feel confident and secure in their abilities, and are easily influenced by nefarious actors (christian for jack, ed for juliet) who take advantage of their skill and their trusting nature. these dynamics definitely contribute to their sense of isolation/lack of belonging, which i'll come back to in a bit.

both of them also blur (at minimum) the doctor-patient relationship with personal relationships and interact with institutional rules as an afterthought, prioritizing what they personally feel is the right thing to do. juliet steals lab supplies on rachel's behalf (likely for months on end), while jack waffles on whether to turn in his father for operating while drunk, only deciding to do so once he learns that the patient who died as a result was pregnant.

it's a common misconception that the "autistic sense of justice" is part and parcel with a universally-keen moral compass, but in reality this "justice" gets doled out based on whatever specific biases the person possesses. jack's case illustrates this especially clearly; rather than turning in christian right away (because operating under the influence = immoral), he needs a reason to act which aligns with his personal moral code, which certainly has a good bit of misogyny baked into it.

ok, let's move to on-island, and discuss jack and juliet's social isolation and desire to belong, which relates to the title of this post (the translation of jack's tattoos, though n.b. that he does say this is "not what they mean").

it's common for autistic people to feel "alien" in the presence of other humans, and there's research showing that allistic people experience an uncanny valley effect within seconds of meeting an autistic person, due to micro-differences in behavior which are not picked up on consciously. this effect can also contribute to autistic people being susceptible to abuse, since abusers will quickly clock these traits and seek to use them to their advantage.

we are shown the relevance of jack's tattoo translation largely in the context of his (often reluctant) leadership position among the survivors, but it's interesting that juliet also describes in a therapy session with harper that the attention she receives from their society makes her feel isolated. it's significant to me as well that harper immediately interprets this discomfort as juliet being self-important/arrogant. this sort of misunderstanding is a common experience in autistic women in particular, and distinguishes her position among the others from jack's position among the survivors (again, more on this another time).

formation of societies/communities and what makes someone "one of them" vs. "one of us" is a recurring theme throughout the show, and i think that part of why jack defends juliet so adamantly to the survivors is due to the kinship he feels in their shared desire to belong and their incapability of experiencing this belonging. of course, this is tied up with the affection he feels for juliet due to her resemblance to sarah, as well as his stubborn (again, largely misogynistic) desire to "fix" or "save" her like he did sarah.

really, these motivations go hand in hand, and i'd argue that much of jack's compulsion to save juliet is a sign of the projection i described earlier. jack grew up lonely and abused, seemingly without any allies around the way juliet had an ally in rachel. correctly or not, he sees himself in juliet, and yearns to save her the way he wishes he himself had been saved.

jack's plan a = him and juliet escaping the island (and the forces oppressing them both) on the galaga, which is... ahem... foiled by locke (who--you guessed it! serves as a foil to both characters... in disparate ways... that can be viewed as a, uhh... foil-within-a-foil... buuuut that's another post for another day).

a tough break to be sure, but jack's hero complex perseveres. plan b = bringing juliet back to the beach camp, the place where jack kind-of-sort-of belongs, but not quite. this poses a new challenge, a new opportunity for projection. if jack can successfully integrate juliet--an other--into the survivors' camp and bring about belonging for her, then maybe he himself can finally feel that belonging, too.

another plot point worth mentioning here is the "pre-plan a" plan, or juliet's plea for jack to kill ben during surgery. i honestly have a tough time parsing out her exact motivations here (GOD i love juliet's villain era <3), but this can be read as a type of projection as well. juliet cannot save herself from ben, but she can project her desire to be saved onto jack, who has the specific skills needed to botch a complicated spinal surgery without anyone being the wiser.

to close out, we'll discuss the dynamic present in the survivors' camp at the end of season 3. this is one of my favorite stretches of episodes in the show, in part due to the brief gasp we get of jack's positive character growth before things begin to devolve for him at the start of season 4. i think the success he finds in his quest to secure belonging for juliet is a huge part of this growth being possible.

after juliet comes clean about ben's plot, the camaraderie jack waxed poetic about in his "live together, die alone" speech is finally realized. the survivors have managed to correctly assess an outsider as a threat and win her over into defecting from her previous loyalties. (in classic LOST fashion this all happens pretty messily, but regardless, it shows that the survivors have established a true, functional community.) as a result, jack feels more comfortable than ever stepping into the leadership role he's been grappling with for months.

with juliet at his side, he leads the group in mounting a defense against the others and evacuating the beach. we even see him willing to let go of his possessiveness over kate while still expressing his love for her, as he literally ascends to the radio tower. his people--his society, the place where he finally belongs, and, significantly, where juliet belongs--are right beside him.

from there, two things happen which topple us into the next phase of jack and juliet's relationship: first, juliet lies to jack about a gun cache so jack will let her and sawyer return to the beach (a descent, if you will, and i think it's significant that this is the first time we see sawyer and juliet interact amicably), and second, our old foil-friend locke comes out of the woodwork yet again--this time to kill naomi.

at this point, the differences between jack and juliet start to manifest, and from here on out their relationship will be dominated by these differences. they will continue to project their traits onto each other the way they did their similarities; however, rather than this projection culminating in a sense of shared belonging and communal purpose like it did in season 3, it turns more adversarial/destructive and contributes in part to both characters' tragic ends.

so, apart from their initial difficulty experiencing belonging, what do jack and juliet's relationship and on-island experiences have to do with autism? well, another hallmark of autism is a weak internal sense of self. many autistic people struggle to name their emotions, physical sensations, desires, etc., and instead rely on external inputs to identify these. in my view, this is the purpose jack and juliet's relationship serves for them--it beings about a "necessary other," through whom they can identify their own wants and needs.

when jack and juliet meet, they are both locked (LOCKED?) into roles they want out of (jack, literally, as a prisoner, with juliet as a captor trapped under ben's influence). both are desperate for someone to save, or for someone to save them. maybe a little of both. i wouldn't say they find healing in each other, exactly, but i think their relationship is a catalyst for what healing and growth they are able to find elsewhere, despite it also catalyzing their demise.

#juliet burke #jack shephard #lost 2004 #lost tv series #long post #lost meta #my meta

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