#ormone

[lady--vixen]

Ore 17.17

Devo andare in farmacia? Vado in farmacia.

Tu che devi fa'? Andare in Comune? Ti accompagno in Comune.

Te? La spesa? Andiamo a far la spesa.

In Posta non ci deve andare nessuno? Strano. Ah, tu ci devi andare, eccerto. E allora sali in macchina.

Altri? Altro? Ah, sto lavoro che non vuole nessuno lo proponi a me? E come no... tanto non c'ho un cazzo da fare, certo.

Questo è terrorismo psicologico verso il mio povero, piccolo ormone. Nemmeno il tempo di svegliarsi che già deve affrontare attentati. Lo rimetto in cassaforte eh!

Fateme respira"... 😤😡

[lupinedreaming]

Just a reminder to any new or long time ex-Mormons: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to do everything that was previously forbidden to you. Don’t let other ex-Mos make you feel like you’re lame or not experiencing life if you have no interest in drugs, drinking, sex, etc.

Personally, I see no appeal in drinking alcohol or doing drugs, so I don’t do it. The beauty of leaving this religion is that you can now decide for yourself based on your own wants and needs what things are right for you, not based on arbitrary rules. Maybe you’ll largely live the same as you did as before, just without Mormonism — and that’s perfectly fine. You might start living totally differently too — maybe you’ll decide you want some tattoos and discover you like clubbing. That’s perfectly fine too

Just don’t feel like you have to try everything that was forbidden of certain things don’t appeal to you

[likeanarrowinthedark]

I think i just need to be fucked. Like, really properly fucked, a good old fucked fuck

[bearbench-img]

ミノ

ミノ（またはホルモン）は、日本の料理、特に焼き肉やバーベキューの文化でよく使われる食材です。これは牛または豚の腸を指すことが最も多く、日本では人気の食材となっています。ミノ（ホルモン）は牛または豚の腸で、日本の焼き肉やバーベキューの文化で人気の食材です。その独特の食感、風味、栄養価で知られるミノは、日本の食事に独特の風味を加えるのに役立ちます。

手抜きイラスト集

[bliiot-jerry]

BLIIoT | BACnet Gateway BA107 Converts Multiple PLCs to BACnet

Introduction

With the development of communication technology and control technology, in order to achieve efficient and intelligent management of buildings, centralised monitoring and management has become an inevitable trend in the development of intelligent management of buildings. In this context, high-performance building HVAC data transmission solutions - protocol conversion gateway came into being, widely used in building automation and HVAC system applications.

BLIIoT always insists on the core of the user's needs, and constantly expands its applications in a variety of industrial fields. Recently, we have developed a new series of BLIIoT Building Automation HVAC gateways, This series of products not only have excellent stability and anti-interference capabilities, but also have deep industry applications, aiming to bring users a new building automation data collection and conversion experience.

Product Description

The PLC protocol to BACnet gateway BA107 is developed by BLIIoT specifically to realize the mutual conversion between the PLC protocol and the building automation protocol BACnet.

PLC protocol to BACnet gateway BA107 downlink supports Modbus RTU, Modbus TCP, Mitsubishi, Siemens, Omron, Delta, Schneider and other PLC protocols.

The uplink supports BACnet IP and BACnet MS/TP protocols to realize mutual conversion between PLC protocol and building automation protocol.

This design allows BA107 to be easily integrated into various application scenarios and meet the connection requirements of complex networks. Not only that, as an industrial product, BA107 complies with 12 industrial product design standards to ensure its excellent stability and reliability in harsh industrial environments.

PLC to BACnet gateway BA107 is equipped with 2/6 RS485/RS232 serial ports, 2 Ethernet ports, and WiFi wireless transmission interface, providing a wide range of choices for diverse connection needs.

By using BLIIoT patented guide rail buckle technology, the installation process is simplified and the practicality of the gateway is ensured.

Product features

Supported protocols:

Downlink protocol: Modbus RTU, Modbus TCP, Mitsubishi, Siemens, Omron, Delta, Schneider and other PLC protocols.

Uplink protocols: BACnet MS/TP, BACnet/IP protocols.

Hardware interface:

6*RS485/RS232 serial ports: The serial ports are independent of each other. Each serial port parameter can be set to collect different protocols. The serial port can also set the master-slave relationship independently. It can be configured as either a master station or a slave station.

2*network ports: used for data collection and forwarding. The LAN port has a routing function and provides a channel for other devices to connect to the external network.

WiFi wireless transmission interface: Provides diverse communication options to adapt to different industrial environment need.

Data security：

Support data TSL/SSL, X.509 certificate, SNMPV1/V2, key encryption and other security gateway functions.

Remote Configuration Support:

Support remote PLC programming and program uploading and downloading, saving travelling costs and improving service response speed. Support remote configuration, providing users with convenient management and monitoring methods, no longer need to visit engineers, saving maintenance costs.

Product Size: L x W x H: 30 x 83 x 110mm

Safety and Stability:

Industrial-grade design: Durable shell material meets industrial environment requirements.

Stability: Efficient communication protocol conversion ensures stable operation of the system.

Environmental adaptation:

Operating temperature range: -40～80℃, adapting to various industrial environments. Protection grade: IP30, ensuring the reliability of the equipment in harsh environments.

Model List

Application scenarios

BA107 is widely used in protocol conversion between building automation equipment and PLC protocols.

More information about PLC to BACnet Gateway BA107: https://www.bliiot.com/plc-to-bacnet-p00419p1.html

[saintslaughter]

no matter how much i appreciate religious themes i will never respect my cousin who just changed her facebook cover photo to an ai generated painting of herself and j/oseph s/mith.

[curlymangue]

Alimentarse a partir de los 45

Desde que cumplí los 45 la comida ya no me sienta bien Hola, Curly. Unas de las cosas de las que me he dado cuenta desde que pasé de los 45, es que muchos de los alimentos que antes consumía, ya no los tolero, no me sientan bien o me he vuelto alérgica a ellos para mi sorpresa. Por lo que si te está pasando lo mismo. No te alarmes. A medida que nos hacemos mayores, nuestro metabolismo va…

[medicomunicare]

La ricerca che si colora di possibilità: come un colorante istologico passa da strumento di indagine a uno di cura

La ricerca che si colora di possibilità: come un colorante istologico passa da strumento di indagine a uno di cura

La colorazione istologica è una serie di processi tecnici che mediante coloranti istologici permettono di cellule e tessuti al microscopio per ragioni didattiche, professionali, diagnostiche e forensi. Passando dalla fine del XIX secolo, quando erano utilizzati per la colorazione istologica di cellule e batteri, l’avvento della biologia molecolare e delle tecniche definite immuno-isto-chimiche…

[mitsuki91]

Hot take and unpopular opinion about young!Snow: I can not see him as a dominant in bed.

I mean. Okay he is possessive, and he wants to be in control. But he also doesn't understand desire. Physical attraction. He is took by surprise by his own ormons. I mean that's the reason he is afraid of love, at the end... He can not manage it, he can not manage to feel so vulnerable.

So, of course, he is some sort of shy virgin (until Lucy Gray *coff coff* I mean. He is so hungry when he kiss her. We all can assume he melted right there and never recovered. Every allarm bells go off in his head).

And, after Lucy Gray... God, he even thinks he doesn't want to be so vulnerable anymore, that he despise love and the feeling of being in love so much that he eventually will marry someone he hates and just for legacy... I can not see him near sex ever again (yep this go with the headcanon that he eventually "crafted" his son with artificial insemination but even if you think he will marry I think he had just enough sex to have his heir and nothing more); do you know how vulnerable sex make you feel?

Coryo only weakness is Lucy Gray and he knows this and I headcanon their first time as him in full panic mode when Lucy does all the things (and in the end he succumbs to his own feeling and needs and he was desperate and he hates it but he needs it).

[lady--vixen]

Voglio convincermi che il bruciore strisciante e subdolo, che sento in quella superstite, sia dato dal cambio del tempo. Lo sento quando piove. Altrimenti non arrivo sana di mente ai controlli.

Distrazione.

Concentrazione sul lavoro.

Ormone furente.

Tic toc. Tic toc.

[lupinedreaming]

I was lurking on the r/romancebooks subreddit recently and found out the funniest author tea. Apparently there’s a monster romance author who converted to Christianity and will no longer be writing smut. No shame if you decide you don’t want to write smut. Personally, I don’t write it much, though not for religious reasons

I just think this is such a strange, wild thing 😂 I actually read two of her alien romance books in the past in which she admitted that the aliens were somewhat inspired by x/enomorphs. (They were more humorous romance books, nothing dark. The aliens were inspired in terms of appearance, not behavior)

As a fellow xeno fricker, I mourn the loss of one of the few people feeding the need for xeno inspired romance 😔

[ballwizard]

LESHY = LIBERAL INDOCTRINATION

L ESBIAN

E STROGEN

S EXCHANGES

H ORMONE THERAPY

dY KE

[susieporta]

SPAZIO PER RESPIRARE

Rincorrere l’altro, cercare il suo sguardo, la sua approvazione, regolare il tuo umore sul suo, sentire di esistere solo se l’altro ti accoglie e ti sorride: se ti rendi conto di stare sempre con le antenne dritte alla ricerca di questi segnali, significa che stai vivendo una relazione di co dipendenza, ma, ancor più importante è andare alla radice di questa e cioè allo stile di attaccamento che hai sviluppato.

Chi non è stato pensato dal genitore, sente di non esistere.

Esistere significa abitare nella mente di qualcuno, e se c’è stata una carenza grave in questo senso, allora ci sarà una ricerca spasmodica dell’altro, che viene visto come essenziale alla sopravvivenza.

Essere cresciuti in un ambiente imprevedibile, umorale, reattivo, finanche violento, porta le persone a ipercontrollare l’ambiente circostante, le porta a vivere in costante tensione, con fort risposte di produzione del Cortisolo, noto ormone dello stress, che riesce a fare più danni lui da solo, che persino io sottovalutavo.

Posso dare un consiglio a chi si sente così traumatizzato ( e ricordo che in larga parte lo siamo tutti…):

Ricordatevi di ritagliarvi ampi spazi per voi stessi, sia fisici, che psichici, per stare da soli, per non fare nulla, per respirare.

Evitate di caricarvi di responsabilità, impegni, eventi, che sono solo l’ennesima compensazione del vuoto interiore che urla.

Imparate a rilassare il corpo con sessioni di Biofeedback, yoga nidra, rilassamento guidato e se necessario non esistate a ricorrere all’aiuto medico o di un terapeuta.

È molto importante che ricordiate che voi non dovete nulla a nessuno se non a voi stessi, e che le situazioni di eccessiva vicinanza psico fisica se protratte possono farvi scatenare internamente un vero inferno.

Imparate a scegliere con cura, magari insieme al partner, i momenti dell’IO e i momento del Noi e a delegare qualche faccenda ( di cui invece di sovraccaricate, sempre per non sentire il vuoto ).

Non sarà l’approvazione del marito o della moglie o di chi per loro a sanare certe ferite.

Ci vogliono pazienza e un grande lavoro interiore che corrisponde all’amore per se stessi.

Ripeto, non dovete nulla a nessuno ma potete spiegare i vostri bisogni e come vi sentite quando vi percepite sopraffatti dagli eventi.

ClaudiaCrispolti

[smokingago]

L'amore spiegato scientificamente

L'innamoramento è una delle esperienze più intense e coinvolgenti della nostra esistenza, con cui tutti, prima o poi, si ritrovano a fare i conti.

Sebbene ciascuno la viva in modo unico e irripetibile, ci sono "sintomi" comuni a tutti gli innamorati, quali l'aumento di sudorazione, l'eccitazione, l'euforia, il battito cardiaco accelerato, l'insonnia e l'inappetenza.

A scatenare tutte queste reazioni fisiologiche negli innamorati è una vera e propria "tempesta" chimica che li investe e li travolge: 12 aree del cervello si attivano, producendo diverse sostanze, i cui effetti sono analoghi a quelli provocati da certi stupefacenti o dagli sport estremi. Quando Cupido scocca la sua freccia, aumenta la produzione di dopamina, un neurotrasmettitore legato al piacere e al desiderio sessuale, di adrenalina, di serotonina, di ossitocina, di noradrenalina e di feniletilamina (PEA).

Ed è proprio quest'ultima, la PEA, sostanza chimica con una struttura simile a quella delle anfetamine, che agisce sull'inibizione della fame, che ci "chiude" letteralmente lo stomaco, rafforzando l'affermazione comune secondo la quale "ci si nutra d'amore".

Le ghiandole surrenali rilasciano cortisolo (ormone dello stress) che, interagendo con l'adrenalina, provoca un altro effetto tipico dell'innamoramento: l'azzeramento della salivazione.

E l'accelerazione del battito cardiaco induce un ulteriore sintomo: le mani fredde. Infatti, battendo più intensamente, il cuore ha bisogno di un maggior afflusso di sangue. Di conseguenza, la circolazione è veicolata maggiormente verso il cuore e momentaneamente ridotta in altre zone come le mani, che diventano... fredde.

Anche il comportamento ossessivo dell'innamorata/o, che rasenta la psicosi, dipende dalla dopamina. Dopamina che, tuttavia, negli innamorati come in coloro che fanno uso di droghe, dà dipendenza. Per questo motivo, l'improvvisa assenza dello stimolo che fa produrre più dopamina (l'amata/o), provoca una vera crisi di astinenza.

D'altro canto, secondo gli studiosi, gli effetti indotti da questo cocktail di molecole durano dai 18 mesi ai 3-4 anni, dopo i quali i sintomi progressivamente scompaiono, per assuefazione.

Prof. Vincenzo Giordano

[noonmutter]

Adjudication pt. 3

DWC May 2024 Day 4: Drama/Celebration

(I'm finishing this time, no matter how long it gets. I may regret this statement by the end.)

With the children gone and Caythaes' giggles finally run out, Tulford was able to relax at least a little bit in a much quieter and emptier space. It allowed him to take in the sheer size of the house--he'd noticed Shedwyn bounce between calling it a cottage, house, manor, and a few other terms, so he'd settled on the mid-ground of 'house' and moved on. Nobody had seen it necessary to tie him back up once he'd shown that he could've just slipped the ropes a while ago, and he was still trying to figure out what to make of that when Terry emerged, mercifully fully dressed, and nodded him toward the front door.

"My turn now."

Tulford felt like that was both a warning and a reassurance. He took comfort from neither.

For a moment, he worried that this was it and the game was over, and he was just going to become food for the wife's flowers or something suitably dramatic like that, but Terry veered off from the front door almost immediately to lead him to a humongous gate. Tulford recognized it as the entrance to a pasture after a moment, though he wasn't used to any quite so large. The reason for the size struck him after a few seconds when he recalled that Ambroce was known for raising elderhorn, and indeed he did spot a few of the enormous beasts grazing off in a corner.

Terry allowed Tulford to step through the gate and pass him, raising a brow when the young man actually did so but holding back a comment for the time being. Quickly locking the gate, he strode across the grass to lead his confused not-quite-prisoner to the stables, and once again, Tulford didn't hesitate to walk past him and allow himself to be locked inside with him.

"You're not gonna pull up a chair and a torch now, are you?"

"Wot?"

"Y'know. Treat 'em to a last meal in the comfy house, take 'em to the stables to torture 'em in private so the kids don't see."

Terry snorted as he fetched a coil of rope from the wall, then picked up a pair of stools from the empty stalls. "Shit, boy, if we were about torture y' never woulda left th' basement. Shedwyn was all about flayin' you alive til I stopped 'er. She takes attempts on my life a lot less kindly than I do, 'specially when 'er 'ormones are goin' nuts. Good job takin' th' hint when I told y' she was preggers, by th' by."

The blinking started anew as Tulford watched him. "...That was a hint?"

"Don't tell me y' thought it was braggin'."

"Well, no, but... Iunno, I didn't know it was deliberately a hint, I guess?" Tulford paused, then furrowed his brows. "Wait. Why did you slip me a hint?" Another pause, then a quiet and dumbfounded, "You were testing me?"

Terry visibly relaxed as he set down the stools, one in front of himself and one in front of Tulford, then began unrolling the rope. "Thank fuck y' got there, I was startin' t' think maybe I'd misjudged after all." With another short nod toward the stools, he simply said, "Sit."

Finally, Tulford hesitated to follow the instruction, letting worry creep into his confusion again. "Why? What are we doing now?"

"Sit down, Tulford. For now, all we're gonna do is talk. Solemn oath from a traitorous slag 'o doesn't deserve 'is title."

Once again, his face betrayed him and flushed crimson right away, and Tulford sat down. "You uh. Heard everything, then?" Of course it'd occurred to him Terry would've caught some of it, since he'd yelled a few times, but he'd held out hope.

"I don't take very long showers. Disappointed y' didn't notice th' water stop, but then, th' kids're noisy at breakfast an' so is Cay." Terry tilted his head as he watched the would-be assassin fidget and shuffle, resembling nothing so much as one of his own sons, waiting to be chastised. Which was, admittedly, fair. But still. The comparison made him feel old, and it was annoying.

Terry shoved the unoccupied stool a bit closer to Tulford before sitting down on it, continuing to unspool the rope as he spoke. "So. 'Ere's wot I think, Tulford. You tell me where I get it wrong. You were barely a boy when th' wall came down an' Gilneas collapsed. Maybe y' remember wot tha' was like, maybe it's just a bunch of jumbled images an' scary noises. But y' were there when it all 'appened, an' it stuck with you, tha' you were there. It stuck with a lot of us, th' fact tha' we were there."

One heavy, callused hand shot up to cover the lower half of Tulford's face before he got more than a grunt out, and Terry gave him a warning look as the boy realized just how strong his grip was. "Don't interrupt me." With the release of tension in Tulford's shoulders, Terry released Tulford, ignoring the gasp for air as he resumed his assessment.

"You 'ad t' grow up without a lotta people you thought would allus be there, prolly. A lot of us did. An' just like th' lot of us, tha' meant you 'ad t' grow up way too much, way too fast. But y' din't grow up fast enough t' do th' stuff y' wanted t' do. You wanted t' get some payback fer ev'rybody, fer those people y' lost, an' especially fer you. A lot of us did. But you were stuck at th' worst possible age fer all tha'. Old enough t' be angry, young enough t' be left be'ind. Am I wrong yet?"

Tulford said nothing, but his tensed jaw and shining eyes answered for him. Terry nodded, and kept going.

"Me 'n' Shedwyn clocked you fer 25, at th' oldest. Don't really know fer sure, cuz you don't actually 'ave a lot o' records tha' were easy t' find. We'll find 'em, don't worry about tha'. It's just gonna take longer." Terry shrugged with one shoulder, working absently with the rope, tying it into some kind of intricate knot Tulford couldn't sort out yet. At some point, Terry had palmed a metal ball of some sort, and was wrapping the rope around it over and over. "I can't believe you managed t' fool anybody about yer age with tha' babyface o' yours. Ground support planetside fer th' Antorus campaign? Wot were you, twelve? Thirteen?"

The response was sullen, and without any attempt at eye contact. "Fourteen."

"Early growth spurt, bribe, somethin' else...?" Terry shrugged again, waving it off. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter. So you're th' kinda kid 'o lies 'is way int' th' army. I kin already tell you never killed another person, though. Maybe a demon, but no people." He looked back to the boy, forcing him to meet his eye with his free hand, all but daring him to try and lie about it. Tulford said nothing, and after a minute, tore himself away from that penetrating stare.

"So. No kills on anybody tha' counted. You either bailed on Kul Tiras an' Zandalar, or you got found out. Which one was it?"

"I--"

Terry drew the rope taut. "Do not lie t' me right now, boy."

"...found out, sir."

Terry caught the reappearance of the honorific, recognizing it for the indicator it was that he was getting somewhere useful. He didn't like breaking people, but he was good at it. "Discharged or jailed?"

"Jailed, sir."

"How long?"

"Got out three years ago, sir."

The timing stood out, and he frowned slightly, no longer paying attention to his ropework. This was important, but more than that, it was potentially interesting. "What terms?"

"I was..." Tulford shifted on his stool, suddenly keenly aware of how small it was and how small he felt next to Terry Ambroce. "There was some kinda... screwup, I guess. I shoulda been out earlier. But all the shit with the..." He waved his hand vaguely upward, "The sky and the banshee bitch and all that, stuff got messed up. A few of us were stuck way longer than we shoulda been."

Terry went cold. "They give you a name?"

"Sir?"

"Who messed it up. Fucked up yer sentences."

"No." Terry couldn't figure out if it he was relieved or disappointed, but before he could say anything else, Tulford spat on the wooden floor and added, "But word got out that some fuckhole sergeant called Rutherford was behind it."

The answer, it appeared, was neither relieved nor disappointed, but somewhere in the middle of the two. On the one hand, this kid's life hadn't been ruined twice over by Smits or Diggs, but he had been screwed by one of Smits' favorite lackeys, and that stung more than enough. Terry hadn't even considered that anyone else might've been going through the same things he had, it'd been too personal. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made that there would've been other prisoners getting shuffled around. It made hiding the important one easier. Stupid.

"Tha's where I'm findin' my trail's gone a bit cold. You lost three years outta yer already fairly short life, an'... wot then?" His hands finally remembered the half-finished piece of knotwork they were still holding, and resumed their slow, measured pace. "Wot was there fer this green soldier fresh int' man'ood t' go back to?"

"NOTHING!" The eruption of sound actually startled Terry, but not as much as being tackled did. He'd actually forgotten to keep his eye on Tulford, too caught up in his own head. Later on he could chastise himself about that, but right then he was busy keeping the kid from hitting him in the face. It was easier to let him land a few punches that he barely felt than throw him off, and right then, he felt like the kid deserved a few free ones.

"I lost everything! Family! Friends! The deaders took all of 'em!" It was less yelling and more screaming after the first few punches. "Couldn't save anybody, couldn't help anybody, couldn't do anything! Just a useless fuckin' baby with no fuckin' money and nowhere to go and nobody to find!"

And then those became less like punches and more like desperate flailing. "Except you! The one that jumped right into the deaders' arms! The one that gave the deaders more bodies! The one that left for redder pastures! The one that could suddenly do no wrong! The one that got everything he could ever possibly have wanted! The one that left nothing behind for the rest of us! Great glorious golden boy you!"

That last crack had far more sting in it than any of Tulford's punches, but Terry didn't blame him for that. He did give the kid a little longer to decide if he was going to remember how to brawl or not, as a courtesy. Once Tulford slumped, Terry cleared his throat.

"Kill me, then. Yer never gonna get an easier shot."

Tulford stared down at him, red-faced and watery-eyed, and said nothing.

"Tha's not a threat."

His mouth closed and his jaw set, like he was trying his level best not to explode.

"It's a promise."

With a final, furious scream, Tulford stood up and stomped backward a few feet, then punched a post. There was an audible crack of breaking bones, and Terry winced as he got to his feet while Tulford crumpled. Tempting though it was, the elder Gilnean resisted the urge to offer him a hand up. He knew that was only going to add insult to more insult, and he'd done what he wanted to do.

Instead, Terry pushed his hair out of his face, went back to the stools, and picked up the knot to finish it up. He felt shitty ignoring the sounds of a grown man trying not to cry, but he felt shittier drawing attention to it. So he gave Tulford the illusion of privacy, and kept working until he was satisfied with the piece in his hands.

The temporary slungshot brought silence to the stables after one resounding crack that startled the existential despair right out of Tulford. And a little piss, since Terry swung it right next to his foot.

"You've got two options, Tulford."

"Are you fuckin' crazy, you--wot? Options?"

Terry drew the rope back into his hands, swinging the weighted knot lazy back and forth. It did its job; Tulford was alert like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "Option one, you get yer shit t'gether an' try t' kill me proper. We go a round or two, I beat th' absolute shit outta you fer tryna kill me, an' then I feed you t' my wife t' finish th' job. It'll take 'er weeks. Months, if she's really mad at you. 'Ard t' say."

Yesterday, Tulford would've scoffed at the scenario. Today, he thought about the fact that the stable doors were locked, and Terry was standing between him and them, and Shedwyn was on the other side of them somewhere. "...And two?"

"Option two, you get yer shit t'gether an' I give you a job."

"You are fuckin' crazy. I tried to kill you!"

Another CRACK by Tulford's other boot got a startled oath and a small backward jump out of him, and Terry smirked. "So's Dwyn. An' m' brother Leon. Wolf's threatened to. Anyway, same deal we give all our 'ouse staff. Pay, room, board, learn a skill tha' you sorely need."

Warily, Tulford peeked out from behind the post that'd beaten him up. "What skill?"

"Assassin."

"...Sorry, what?"

"Normal people," he gave the weapon one final, terrifying swing that wrapped the rope-wrapped shot ball around another post a few times and let it go, where it hung, "Would call it a bodyguard. But in my experience--of which I 'ave a great deal, as you know--nothin' makes a better assassin than' learnin' 'ow t' protect a target from other assassins. Sure, you know 'ow t' fight, an' you've got damn good aim, an' y' got some impressive power in yer throw, but you don't 'ave a fuckin' clue 'ow t' pay attention or stay focused or cover yer tracks. Fuck me, boy, y' brought yer knives in th' same luggage as yer clothes!"

"I didn't have anything else to--wait, you went through my luggage? When did you--"

"Call it a penance, if y' want to, because I will make you suffer. It's not a gift I'm off'rin', it's trainin'. Gruelin', awful trainin' tha's gonna make you wanna kill me again, an' I expect you t' bloody well try."

Tulford's arms hung helplessly at his sides. "I don't understand anything anymore."

Terry sighed, wiping the mirth off his face for the moment, and closed the distance between himself and Tulford with speed the younger man had not expected. His concern in the immediate sense was with the hand that reached for him, though it wasn't a fist, and it turned out not even to be going for his throat. Instead, Terry set his hand on Tulford's shoulder and looked him in the eye, unblinking.

"I'm lucky. I know tha'. You've reminded me t'day tha' there are still facets t' tha' luck tha' even I've failed t' find. An' I know exactly wot yer goin' through, because I went through it too. If I turned you out now, wot th' fuck would you do with yerself? Prolly get int' worse trouble. Prolly get killed. Wot a waste when I see plenty o' potential fer a damn good man in front o' me. If y' want it, it's yours fer th' takin'. But yer gonna 'ave t' earn th' right t' keep it."

Tulford stared back into the eyes of the man he'd tried to murder and who was now offering him a life, and couldn't find the words to answer. He felt himself starting to cry again, which he hated, which made him want to cry more, and eventually all he could do was hiss out another swear word and look down. Terry let him go, but only to offer him a beat-up kerchief.

"Does it..." Tulford's first attempt cut off with a wet, snotty sniffle, and he gave up and started over. "Is it always this fuckin' wierd?"

"Sorry, kid. Ours is a wierd-ass life. It's gonna get way worse fer a while."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

With equally shocking speed to Terry's, Tulford's good hand snapped out and landed a good, solid blow right in his unprepared stomach, and Terry doubled over. That done, Tulford nodded. "Okay."

Terry wheezed out, "One fer you, Tully. An' now..."

Then he headbutted him.

Wolf--Ansul, Uncle Sully, Barton, he had a small handful of names in the Ambroce household--watched quietly from the hayloft as the two of them brawled. After a second, he took his hand away from his dagger and reached instead for the cheese wedge he'd brought with him to snack on. They'd be at it for a while, and the dumbass would be fine.

( @daily-writing-challenge @shedwyn @mekandawn )