#Power Regulation

[wanologic]

always good to keep a screamhole handy

[csuitebitches]

How to emotionally regulate yourself

so. You find yourself getting upset or angry or guilty over something. Negative emotions don’t feel the most comfortable, do they? They feel almost physically uncomfortable, sometimes painful. You wish you could block them out immediately but it’s impossible. Even if you try to ignore them, they somehow bounce back in your face.

what we’re not taught from a young age is emotion regulation. We are, in the end, only human. Its part of our nature to screw up, make mistakes and do things at times that we’re not supposed to.

bottling away feelings does no good - not to yourself and not to those who care about you.

so the next time you find yourself feeling emotionally imbalanced, take a look at this framework and work it out!

[aquitainequeen]

The WGA has two main stipulations. First, the guild wants to make sure that “literary material” — the MBA term for screenplays, teleplays, outlines, treatments, and other things that people write — can’t be generated by an AI. In other words, ChatGPT and its cousins can’t be credited with writing a screenplay. If a movie made by a studio that has an agreement with the WGA has a writing credit — and that’s over 350 of America’s major studios and production companies — then the writer needs to be a person.

“Based on what we’re aiming for in this contract, there couldn’t be a movie that was released by a company that we work with that had no writer,” says August.

Second, the WGA says it’s imperative that “source material” can’t be something generated by an AI, either. This is especially important because studios frequently hire writers to adapt source material (like a novel, an article, or other IP) into new work to be produced as TV or films. However, the payment terms, particularly residual payouts, are different for an adaptation than for “literary material.” It’s very easy to imagine a situation in which a studio uses AI to generate ideas or drafts, claims those ideas are “source material,” and hires a writer to polish it up for a lower rate. “We believe that is not source material, any more than a Wikipedia article is source material,” says August. “That’s the crux of what we’re negotiating.”

In negotiations prior to the strike, the AMPTP refused the WGA’s demands around AI, instead countering with “annual meetings to discuss advancements in technology.”

The looming threat of AI to Hollywood, and why it should matter to you by Alissa Wilkinson

[pratchettquotes]

Besides, she thought as she watched Wazzer drink, you only thought the world would be better if it was run by women if you didn't actually know many women. Or old women, at least. Take the whole thing about the dimity scarves. Women had to cover their hair on Fridays, but there was nothing about this in the Book, which was pretty dar--pretty damn rigorous about most things. It was done because it had always been done that way. And if you forgot, the old women got you. They could practically see through walls. [...]

Polly had forgotten her dimity scarf. She did wear it at home on Fridays, for no other reason than that it was easier than not doing so. She vowed that, if she ever got back, she'd never do it again.

Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

[yuwuta]

Wow I have been nonstop thinking about tennis king yuuta and his little baby boy I’m going to kill you (affectionate) - @yuutito

teeheeeeeeeee….. here’s some more, aleks :’) enjoy :))))))

“Everybody thinks he looks like me, but I don’t see it that way. Maybe it’s because every time I look at him, I see my wife and I’m reminded of her […] I’m a little biased so I see her in everything.” 

You find yourself with tears welling in your eyes the more you read into Yuuta’s latest magazine interview. Between his sweet quotes and the pictures of him with your son, it’s taking everything in you not to burst into full-blown tears. 

Your boys look so handsome. You and Yuuta shared your concerns with publicizing your child at such a young age, but you two came to the conclusion that you’d rather have the control in the narrative than to let private family pictures be leaked uncontrollably. As another point of reassurance, Yuuta’s career provided him with just enough lime-light to be a household name without the crazy fame and criticism that came along being a true celebrity. Besides—Yuuta talked enough about you and your son in press conferences and interviews that it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. 

The article wasn’t entirely about you, or your family—or at least, you’re sure it wasn’t intended to be; you knew your husband had a knack for rambling about his loved ones, even where work was concerned. As you continue to read, you find a segment where the author compared Yuuta’s current statements with something similar he’d said about you twelve years ago—at the very start of his professional career: “If I owe this [winning Gold] to anybody, it’s my girlfriend. She’s always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I wouldn’t have qualified or even thought to qualify if it weren’t for her.” 

It feels like you and Yuuta were just two kids in love back then. You didn’t think it could be more than that—you didn’t think you could love Yuuta more than you did all those years ago, but somewhere along the way just being in love wasn’t enough to describe it; Yuuta became your partner, someone you loved fundamentally, but also because you couldn’t stand to see yourself without him. And just when you thought you couldn’t love anyone nearly as much as you love him, you turn the page to a picture of your husband and son peeping through the holes of a racket and your heart feels full. 

When you scan the image more closely, you realize that it isn’t just any racket—it’s an old one, one you’d given to Yuuta as a gift probably back in high-school. You had no idea he’d kept it, but you suppose you shouldn’t be all that surprised; Yuuta is nothing if not sentimental. 

“Ah, there she is~” Yuuta’s voice cuts through your thoughts. When you turn, you see him, with your baby boy on his hip, sliding the back porch door closed. 

Both boys approach you with a smile on your face, and you set the magazine aside to sit up in the lounge chair to greet them. Yuuta presses a kiss to your forehead, then your lips before you do the same to your son. Immediately after, he reaches his arms out for you, and Yuuta chuckles, “You wanna be with your mama? Can’t blame you, I missed her, too.” 

He hands the baby off to you, and takes a seat on the other end of the chair, reaching over to coo at his son as you smother his face in kisses. 

“How was the farmer’s market?” you question, letting the baby settle into your lap. 

“Good, he picked out some very bright peppers, and we got some more strawberries, know you’ve been craving them,” Yuuta smiles, reaching over to pat your son’s head, when the closed magazine catches his eye, and he reaches for it, quickly flipping through, “Ah—I guess that interview’s out. He’s grown so much, even though it was only a few months ago.” 

You find the blush on his cheeks beyond endearing. Yuuta always finds room to be bashful no matter how many times he’s waxed poetic about his love for you, or his family—his cheeks always stain pink like the first day you met him. 

“It’s sweet. You’re sweet,” you smile, sparing a hand to run through Yuuta’s hair, charmed by the way he leans into your touch, “I didn’t know you still had that racket.” 

“Of course, I keep everything you give me,” he says, earnestly. He closes the magazine and scoots a little closer, taking advantage of the proximity and of your touch to lay his head on your shoulder, “Did you… read all of it?” 

“Almost, but no, why?” you question, with a light-hearted grin, “Did you say something that would lead the world to believe you’re somehow even more in love with me? Because you might already be past the threshold, dear.” 

Yuuta hums. He reaches to take you son out of your lap and carefully shifts himself to that he’s laying down, his head on your lap, and the baby in his arms, happily giggling and cooing as Yuuta holds him up. He lowers and raises him back and forth a few times, nuzzling their noses together when their faces are close, before sitting him up on his chest.

Then he tilts his head up to look at you, wide, love-filled eyes blinking slowly before he says, “Maybe… depends on if me saying I want more kids is past the threshold or not.” 

[inamindfarfaraway]

The Pixies need to be villains in A New Wish just so that Hazel, canonical lover of paperwork and the predictable monotony of places it is done like the DMV (*cough*, autism, *cough*), can have so much fun with them that it makes them have a breakdown because they're not meant to be fun! They're meant to be boredom incarnate! They rob kids of joy, they don't give it to them! Who is this child? What is going on here?

[dredgesnails]

mumbo foreshadowed his own death earlier in the session. the minecart track is very finicky, with lots of levers and powered rails to make sure it works correctly. its the kind of system where if you breathe wrong everything can blow up in your face. multiple times mumbo got overzealous and forgot to check that everything was set back the way it should be which meant the minecarts just ran off the edge instead of gaining momentum. and this was still fine, because it didn't kill any of them.

the thing is though, on the part of the track you're supposed to initially place the minecart on they used a powered rail, but most of the time they had it turned off and just nudged the minecart until it ran onto the loop. but this time, someone had turned it on. mumbo, in his haste to try to kill gem, didn't bother checking if everything was safe. by the time he noticed the minecart was moving on its own it was too late.

[canisalbus]

I love how Vasco looks like he is always living his best life while Machete looks like he never had a moment of rest, ever, in his life. Like a mirror reflecting two opposites

.

[siremasterlawrence]

Hypno Comedy Tour

Joel McHale is live at comedy club on his On My Own Terms tour like you have never seen before or that is what they are implying with that horrible title for a show that is about or rake in so much money anyway be stomps his feet.Something is shook in me deep down in to my core as I watch him prance around the stage like a massive march he covers the entirety of the space and secretly earns a admirer out of me as I sneak by way out of the arena. I manage to finesse my way with the guards at the entrance digging in to my pocket I dig for the pocket inside of my jacket as I reach out flipping it in to the air and catching it as he releases in to the air with the coin lighting up. Instantly they are both caught up with the colors switching in a definite multitude of ways change the color as they became like a rocket launching in to the sky as it explodes in impact and they are frozen on command.

Taking my time the hours fly by as the guard came to my side offering me a chance to be able to meet Joel as they escort me in to the film with such attention and they follow all of my instructions as command like good loyal soldiers. They swing the door open as I see my guy, my future boi, Joel McHale swinging in his swivel chair as he spun about to face me with that scruffy face of his and a dorky smile that makes me melt and I close the door. Something clicked in my head as he offers me his hand to shake his grip tight with my hand in his, I knew what do shaking it back very vigorously as I use my with guide his concentration distracting him with my left fingers jangling above his ears.I yank his hand pulling it to the side as his drops to his chin heavily, a deep sigh takes over his presence he looks calmer beyond worlds and his appendages falling to the side I grab his arms and legs shake him deeper.

“Talk to me my friend.”

“Yyyeeessss”

“You can hear me extraordinarily loud.”

“Yyyyeeessss…he is aware of”

“Take a deep breath, sink a million times deeper.”

“Release it!”

“Take a drip down last your consciousness “

“Leave it unaware at the count of ten”

“1…2…3…4...5…6…7…8…9…10”

“Where are you ?”

“At the door of my inner mind “

“Take the handle and open the subconscious “

“Surrender to the sweetness of my power “

“Descend down the staircase “

“The hall liting up “

“I am your life “

“I literally am your world “

“You live in it”

“You will address me”

“Yes!”

“As Master”

“Yes Master”

“Master Lawrence “

“Yes! Master Lawrence “

“I am your everything “

“Do not resist”

“Do not fight”

“You love me”

“I love you “

“Feel it”

“Embrace it”

“You love it “

“You care about me”

“Crave me “

“Crave to serve me”

“worship me”

Jumping up for excitement I clap my hands joyfully as I manage to bring down my crush in a roar of power, thrill and desire all sort of manner of things hit my mind as I turn off the lights and switch a small light on the desk. It flashes in his face as I snap my finger as he woke up mindlessly staring ahead of him as I walk around the desk landing both of my hands on the shoulders rubbing them tightly with my grip as he moans in a bit of pleasure.Leaning in my lips press on to his slowly give him a kiss on the cheeks softly, sweetly I am watching his every move fluctuate as he moves around in his seat and apply the pressure a bit as I start slide down his cheek on to him.Kissing down a track down his cheek to his neck biting him as he backs up a bit the top of his head, he sighs so deeply as the power of my touch increases the pleasure and I love to see him squirm like the little bitch he is.

“When I snap my finger you will wake up “

-SNAP-

“Oh man! What time is it?”

“I am your Master”

“Oh Hey! Master Lawrence “

“How do you feel? Are you ok?”

“I love you, you are my everything “

“Excuse me! Say it again”

“Come on Master! It’s obvious to me”

“Do you love me?”

“With all my heart and soul”

“Wow! That is bold”

“It’s perfection!”

“I am madly in love with you “

“Mind, body and soul”

“From here to the moon”

The end

[moonshynecybin]

i love it when athletes understand that they are actors in a little play

[ptanalo]

that one sunburn trend from that one photoshoot hehe

[davidaugust]

"The re-election of Donald Trump to the presidency of the United States provided Meta [owner of Facebook, Instagram, Threads and such] with a glorious opportunity to pivot from futile co-operation with the EU to confrontation and coercion. If Meta could get the US government onside in its battles with the EU and other jurisdictions, then it would maximise its chances of success."

"In his Facebook announcement this week of changes to various policies, Zuckerberg candidly said that he wanted to 'work with President Trump to push back on governments around the world. They’re going after American companies and pushing to censor more. The US has the strongest constitutional protections for free expression in the world…The only way that we can push back on this global trend is with the support of the US government.'"

"For a corporation in the predicament of Meta this makes perfect commercial sense, even if it does violence to previously expressed sentiments. This is not an example of a company suddenly acting irrationally, but of a company rationally responding to one political development so as to facilitate defeating a regulatory challenge."

"And as the business models of most social media platforms require engagement above all — for without engagement you cannot have data mining and monetising and advertising — it really does not matter that the engagement is generated and amplified by misinformation and disinformation."

"The recent appointments at board level at Meta look like it is preparing for battle, and one in which its current commercial model requires it to defeat the aims of foreign governments. The new appointments make a lot of strategic sense."

"Nonetheless there is a fight ahead: over who shall regulate the social media platforms that in turn are influential in shaping (and contaminating) public discourse."

(Unfortunately behind a paywall: https://www.ft.com/content/917c9535-1cdb-4f6a-9a15-1a0c83663bfd )

[tabrisangel]

i loave childhood pruhun so much

[vyeoh]

I just realized that the hermit permits have centralized the hermitcraft economy and as such, established socialism

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Whumptober Day 3 - Set up for Failure

Link walked the castle hallways in the dark. Occasionally he could still feel slippery warmth on his fingers, a strange echo of what had transpired. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he found it odd that it would imprint itself on him so much considering it was hardly his first kill.

Perhaps it was just because it had been a while. Or because of who the person had been.

It had been deserved. But he regretted doing so in front of Zelda.

Nausea overcame him, alongside a mind numbing exhaustion that fought for control. His skin crawled, hair on the back of his neck standing on edge, but his mind was so utterly blank he could hardly put together a single thought.

He felt nothing, really, as he continued to walk. His skin settled. He checked his hands once, twice, thrice. No blood. But he could still feel it, could still hear the gurgling breath as air filled pathways it wasn’t meant to, bubbling and drowning.

He wished Zelda hadn’t been there. But there was no avoiding it. The man had lost his mind, had been threatening her. Whether he’d truly meant it or not was a moot point by now; the damage had been done.

The man’s followers had done more damage than anyone. And Link was still very keen on hunting the rest of them down like the animals they were.

He’d spent the last month in a continuous fury, focused and determined in a way he hadn’t been since the war. It had been invigorating, honestly, and it had brought him and Zelda closer together than ever before.

Now that it was over…

Link paused, world growing hazy and spinning. He felt dizzy. He felt sick.

He wished today hadn’t happened. But what else had there been to do?

It was over. That was all that mattered.

The king consort sighed heavily, deciding that perhaps some prayer would settle his rattled mind. He maneuvered through the castle discreetly, entering the small sanctuary dedicated to the goddesses that was set aside for the royal family.

He hadn’t expected to see Zelda there.

The room was only just a little larger than Link’s own bedchambers, wooden pews lining in pairs for four rows, leading up to an altar where the ancient goddesses shimmered in golden splendor high on the wall. Beneath them was a depiction of Hylia, harp in hand. The altar glowed in different colors as moonlight spilled through stained glass, flanked by incense that slowly trailed tendrils up to the heavens.

Zelda sat on the floor just in front of the statues and altar, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, knees drawn to her chest.

Link felt like he shouldn’t be here. He was likely the reason she was praying, hunched over in such a vulnerable position. The Queen of Hyrule should be seated at the pews, or perhaps standing in front of the alter with hands folded over her heart. Instead, she looked like a child seeking comfort. It made Link feel all the more uneasy.

But no. He shouldn’t leave her like this. That was cruel.

Is it crueler for her father’s killer to be near her?

Ozen’s face flashed through Link’s mind again, nagging at him. He shook the image away, only slightly perturbed that it haunted him. He’d killed hundreds. This couldn’t be any different. It couldn’t.

Slowly, Link walked to the front of the chapel, sitting on the floor beside her.

Zelda didn’t acknowledge him initially. The cold of the stone floor brought some life back to him, trying to push the fog in his head away. He started trembling, catching himself off guard.

“Do you think Farore made us to suffer?” the queen asked quietly, eyes never leaving the golden statues above.

Link watched her a moment, uncertain, and then followed her gaze. The Golden Three looked serenely back at the pair. His eyes traced over the scales of justice in Nayru’s hand, over the flowers blossoming and encircling Farore’s arm, the fire and stone sparking around Din’s fingers.

“I don’t see why that would be the case,” he answered truthfully. “They have no need to make us just to watch us suffer.”

“What if we’re their entertainment?” Zelda questioned almost bitterly.

Link honestly sometimes debated if they even mattered to the goddesses, but the Triforce had chosen them, so clearly they had their favor, for whatever that was worth.

“Farore made us for a reason,” Link settled on saying. “I don’t think she wants us to suffer. I wouldn’t make something to watch it suffer. I wouldn’t want to see our children suffer.”

He supposed, then, that perhaps with that logic Farore had to care at least a little bit. But perhaps she was too removed, too busy dealing with something else – his destiny, once entwined to her graces, was over, after all.

“I suppose our suffering is our own fault, then,” he admitted. “We must be doing something wrong.”

He wished he could take the words back as soon as he’d spoken them—he’d decided to sit here to comfort Zelda, blast it—but he had no way to retract them. He himself had thought it multiple times, wondering why he was the way he was. Clearly it was his fault. He didn’t pray enough. He knew that. It wasn’t as if Hylia wouldn’t help if he petitioned her, even if Farore was too far to reach. She’d answered his prayers in the past, when he still bothered to speak to her.

Zelda was quiet for a long time before looking at the ground, pulling her knees a little closer, eyes staring somewhere beyond the stone floor. “We aren’t the only ones Farore made. We all have destinies, we all play our part. Just because others break the pieces of the puzzle, just because we bleed when we try to fit together as a result… that isn’t our fault.”

The words settled heavily in his mind and heart, and a million scenarios ran through his mind. Ganondorf, ruining everyone’s lives with his selfishness and pride. Ozen, almost destroying Hyrule time and again with his own paranoia. Zelda, constantly using those around her to further her agenda.

Link, helpless and pathetic and stupid, letting himself be hurt time and again, wallowing in self-pity like a child pitching a fit, undeserving of any sort of praise or love given all the idiocy he’d done.

He almost smiled. “I’m constantly reminded why Nayru chose you with her grace. I imagine your explanation is the correct one.”

The pair sat beside each other, each lost in their own thoughts. Link wanted to look up at the statues again, perhaps even to try and pray, but found he didn’t even have the energy to raise his head. Instead, he watched his hands, convincing himself he’d scrubbed off the blood for the millionth time that night.

He probably shouldn’t have killed him. Ozen was no murderer. He may have been brandishing a sword, but he hardly knew how to use it. He may have been yelling at his daughter, but he had never actually hurt her.

How could Link have known that she wouldn’t get hurt, though? How could he have stopped himself, when years of anger and hurt snapped at once, when all he saw was blood and all he felt was rage?

What was wrong with him?

What was he at this point? Had he ever been a Hero? He was no Hero now. He hardly felt empathy anymore, hardly felt anything. Dealing with the insurgents was the first time he’d felt life breathe through him in what felt like years.

Even now, despite how he ached at the pain emanating from Zelda, he could still feel anger and impatience trying to burn inside him. He had the gall to be frustrated that Zelda was suffering like this because of his actions, the audacity to be upset that he had to comfort her after she’d watched him murder her father.

When had it gotten this bad? Why couldn’t he fix it? Could he fix it?

Zelda swallowed, taking a slow, deep breath, and when he looked at her, he could see how she bit her lip to control her emotions.

“I still loved him,” she whispered, barely audible, voice breaking.

The queen of Hyrule began to cry quietly, trying to hide her tears from her husband. Link tensed even further, stomach rolling in protest, heart slamming against his ribs. The frustration boiled to the top and he looked away for a moment, frozen in anger and fear and exhaustion and hurt and guilt, not sure what he should feel, knowing, begging himself to comfort the woman beside him, unable to speak a word.

He dug his nails into his skin until they broke through. It made his body feel like ice in an instant, quieting his mind and heart. He felt sick. This was his fault. He wanted to run and never look back.

Instead, he leaned slowly towards her, wrapping an arm around Zelda, inviting her to rest against him. She started to sob, wrapping herself more tightly in her blanket, burying her face in his shoulder.

Link just held her as she cried. He couldn’t speak for the longest time, but the longer her tears stained his tunic, the worse he felt. The anger dissipated, exhaustion burned away, leaving a raw, raw emptiness and hurt that he couldn’t put any words to, a wound that had scarred and reopened time and again over the years, never healing fully, never addressed, and never leaving him alone.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, hardly able to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Once the words came out, they wouldn’t stop. He apologized over and over and over, images of Ozen, of Ganondorf, of Hemisi, of Merovar, of fallen Sheikah and Gerudo and Hylians, of Lady Impa bleeding on the floor after the attack, of his children watching him, of his own blood dripping down his body—I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry—

The King and Queen of Hyrule wept bitterly into the night, their cries carried on incense rising into the sky.

[paingoes]

little graphic for johanna and delta ! although they’re both psychics, they are not the same species and they don’t have the same abilities! 

any intelligent species in destroyer-verse can be psychic, but some are more inclined to it than others.

delta's species has an unusually high percentage, around ~15% .

only 0.001% of johanna's species are born psychic.