#Creative Destruction

[coloursoflovelustlife]

OTHER GALAXIES

40 x 80 cm

[available]

Turned out a bit wild.

[legitromantic]

Everything that is created is done on the ruins of another. Without destruction there can be no creation. I realised it very late.

[daveinediting]

In a second I'm gonna get to the concept of creative destruction which is an economics riff on evolution that made me think of that poster I saw the other day about Battlestar Galactica's ultimate killer robots: Cylons.

(The image I found online crescendos with Bender from Futurama which I think is absolutely classic 🤣🤣🤣)

The idea I'm trying to sculpt is tricky because I want to balance an approach that emphasizes how we may be at the start of losing something we don't wanna lose... with an approach that sounds a bit like articulating the economic concept of creative destruction in which new innovations replace and render obsolete old innovations. Gone, for example are horse & buggies, tube television sets (the ones with the antennae), transistor radios, typewriters, and dedicated mp3 players. Travel agents are not the deal they used to be. Neither are incandescent light bulbs, film cameras, letters in the mail, landlines, and so on.

Is any of that a big deal in the long run?

And does anyone still care?

I'm trying to balance the idea that we may be about to lose something we don't wanna lose with an idea that because it's being replaced, it's being replaced by something better.

Better?

Hmmm.

Now why... am I trying to balance these two perspectives?

Because creative destruction in the free market is one thing. But as shuttered industries then corporations then businesses then mom 'n pops give way to shuttered parts of the human brain... 

And as we bear witness to what  replaced those industries, those corporations, those businesses, those mom 'n pops...

We have yet to understand—not only the business and professional and job implications of tech replacing what our brains do—we have yet to understand the implications of our brains doing less, operating at superficial capacity on a daily basis.

I don't think we have a model for this. I don't know if we have a model for this. After after all, who are we if not sentient beings? Who are we if not thinkers? If not figure-outers? If not the perpetually curious? How else do we navigate our relentlessly changing world if it's not by thinking our way through it? 

Who are we as we offload more and more of what we would otherwise use our brains for?

And what is it exactly that'll atrophe as we do?

Yeah.

It's just that easy to go down the existential sky is falling rabbit hole.

It's just that easy to call into question, well, everything.

This does, after all, involve replacing some or much or all of what we use our minds for and it's hard to imagine that doesn't have some kind of consequence.

Especially once I start thinking about how my brain works.

[immaculatasknight]

Not-so-great resets

[crazy-as-a-jaybird]

it's really cute to me that Patton has been a gifter to both twins

and he really went "give your son pasta and he'll be full for one day, give your son an air fryer and he'll be full forever" with it 😭🩵

i love his dad bond with Virgil but come on! they're his kids too!!

[waywardsou2]

Drunk!Logan x Drunk!Male Reader

This was supposed to be kinda smutty but it ended up being kinda sad. If you want to see part two with some actual NSFW themes then let me know in the comments, because I feel like I can go somewhere with this.

Summary: Life is shitty being a mutant, and it's even shittier when you can't save everyone. So where do you turn? The bar, to drink away the pain and forget for a few hours. Unfortunately for you, someone decided to keep you company.

Word Count: 1k+

Tags: alcohol, bar fight, suicidal ideation, self-hate, self-esteem, worthlessness trauma

It had been a rough week, the missions got difficult and sacrifices had to be made. People were lost. But its part of the job right? That shit always happens. Well tonight you just couldn’t stand it, the knowing that there were people you couldn’t save. Families who were missing loved ones, because you weren’t fast enough.

It made you sad, but it mostly made you angry. At least that’s how you presented it to the world. And that’s how you presented it to Logan, the man who had followed you to the bar. You didn’t know why. If he cared, you didn’t want his pity. If he was here for a drink why couldn’t he have gone somewhere else.

Big scary Logan, The Wolverine. What did he need to sit here and drink about, especially where you were trying to get shit faced before you had to see Charles the next day.

“Can’t you drink somewhere else?” you say to him, your words already slurred from the bottle you had almost finished emptying.

“Nope” he said flatly as he sat down on the stool next to you, ordering a round of shots for himself.

You rolled your eyes, either this guy was dense or just an asshole.

“Oh Logan is too high and mighty to go drink somewhere else because I would rather get shit faced alone than with company” you say

The bar was empty, but it didn’t really matter much, you weren’t going to keep your voice down even if there were people in here. Something about him was just rubbing you the wrong way. You didn’t know whether it was the alcohol, the pain of your supressed emotions or just the fact that Logan never bat an eye at you despite how much you tried to show him you had value to the team.

“Yeah basically”

Your anger gets the better of you at his sarcasm and you shove him, he leans away, almost spilling his drink. He downs it and turns to you

“Are we gonna have a problem, bub?”

“I don’t know, are we?” you retort

“You want to do this here? Now?”

“What to scare to make a mess? Afraid you’ll hurt me? Guess what asshole I’m-“

But he didn’t get to hear what you are because he shoved you back, standing up from his seat as he pushed you off yours and onto the ground. Your back hit the wooden floor and you hear the bartender sigh.

You watch as he walks away from the counter and into the back.

You glare up at Logan, lips peeled back in a snarl. But before you could stand up, he was grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you up from the ground. He was taller than you slightly so he could lift you off your feet.

“You think your funny with a smart mouth like that, well I got news for you, it’ll be no good for anything if you keep running it off”

You tried to shove him off of you but you couldn’t bring up enough force with your feet barely touching the ground.

“Let go of me!”

“Are going to calm down?”

“That depends, are you going to keep pushing me around?”

He dropped you and your knee buckled a little bit at suddenly having to take weight again.

“You pushed first” he muttered going to sit back down

“And I’m going to push last”

You swing at him, a sloppy, open swing, unlike your usual bullet-like punches. Before you could even make contact with Logan he spun around and pushed you to the floor again, clambering on top of you. His claws out. The outermost ones were jammed into the floor creating a fracture in the wood from the force, the middle was still retracted, barely peeking out of the gap in his skin just above your neck.

Instead of feeling fear at the threat you laugh. Like him, you had super regeneration so him stabbing you was no real threat. Not to mention you had carbon fiber steel for skin. He shoves his face in yours and growls

“What the fuck is your problem” he spits

Both of you have drunk enough, you're both rearing for a fight and the only person you have to take it out on is each other.

Logan is pissed, he doesn’t get you. You spend every mission jumping into dangerous situations and then you come to the bar every night to come back drunk. Do you have a screw loose or are you just that stupid.

Even as he looks at you with his brow furroed and his claws at your throat you continue to laugh.

“Go on then, slice me open. Maybe we’ll both feel better afterwards” you laugh again but pain stings at your eyes as tears well up.

If only you could just die, make a sacrifice worth something like everyone else. Maybe then the pain will stop, maybe then you won't spend every night pitting yourself, maybe you won't be the cause of any more loss because you just weren’t good enough.

Logan pauses, ready cut you to ribbons but your statement makes him freeze. He knows that tone, the mirth. The self-deprecation and pain in your words. He doesn’t need to be like Charles to know what’s going on in your head.

“What. Are. You. Waiting. For?”

Before Logan could answer or move you grip his wrist pulling it out of wooden floors and slam his fist into you chest.

But there are no blades, no blood and not cuts. Just the knuckles of his fist thumping into your chest. It only throbs in pain, no damage done.

“Fuck you” you say bluntly and shove him off of you, pushing him away and standing up. He’s left speechless watching as you stand up, down the rest of the bottle and one of his shots. Pull out some crumpled notes and storm off, walking out into the night.

Let me know if you want part 2 and I take request for as well so check me out @waywardwritesstuff for my request info.

(Psst you can find part 2 here)

[clownsuu]

Small detour of what I usually post, but I absolutely wish (other) clown the best of luck during these confusing and almost hopeless times- nobody knows how to deal with such amount of attention in such short amount of time- a blessing and a curse to behold

[feroluce]

So I spoke somewhat about my thoughts on Emanator Sampo here, but I never really thought of it from a design point of view or what kind of powers he would have until just recently. But I actually kind of love leaning into it from a "stage hand" perspective?

Because like. Aha's body in THEIR official art is completely black, giving attention to all the fun brightly colored things around THEM. And that's so fitting for Sampo! He usually prefers to be a side character. He likes to act from the shadows. His is a much more subtle hand.

So I wonder if as an Emanator, a lot of his clothes are actually very dark? Not necessarily plain, still extravagant and needlessly detailed in things like cut and quality with lots of different fabrics and textures and ornamentation, but dark. Or maybe even his skin itself becomes blackened further down his body; his hands in particular are dark, as a sort of sleight of hand reference.

The motif of a lot of straps wrapped around him like in his canon design is still present, but they're all loose and flowing off of him like paper streamers now instead of restraining him or holding him together. He is no longer contained! Or maybe they're still a bit more rigid/heavy, but just draped more like red stage curtains!

And this is like. Fully self-indulgent, but I love inhuman designs, and there's nothing in canon to say I can't do this, so screw it! Go for broke!! Maybe it's not visible to normal people, but Sampo having a second set of arms would be really cool, as further sleight of hand reference. One set is almost normal looking, but his hands are a bright, attention-drawing white, and the other is dark, set almost in the shadows of the first arms, to act less noticeably.

He also has something of a broken heart design to him in canon (the front of his black shirt with its jagged shape down the middle; his coat looks like a full heart shape in the back), and I actually like him keeping that element as an Emanator, because I think it suits him. Sampo says his taste in aesthetics and views on Elation involve human dignity,

and the story he helps create in Belobog involves the long and winding road of resistance and survival and eventual triumph in the face of some very adverse, oppressing odds. (I'm pretty sure I heard he once called Wildfire "artless" though, plus the man acts like he thinks Shame is some kind of dessert, so like ndkdjzjskkd) But the point being!!

I think Sampo is someone who can appreciate heartbreak and angst and tragedy in a story, because it makes the victory at the end all the sweeter. And this would be another thing he shares with Aha, because I think THEY did bless the Mourning Actors partly just to be a little shit, but also because Aha does recognize tragedy as part of THEIR Path, too, and you can see it in some of the game. So a broken heart motif can still suit him, and I like him having elements of both comedy and tragedy. Like his clothing having a happy sun/sad moon (like the moon in Aha's art) or him having both of the traditional comedy/tragedy masks in his design.

And as Emanator, Sampo can maybe play with the stage settings environment, too. Like lights sometimes behave strangely around him, appearing blindingly bright to someone or dramatically dark. Sampo wills it and suddenly there seems to be a metaphorical spotlight right where he wants everyone to look. And when he doesn't want to be noticed, his face seems to be cast in shadow, he seemingly just fades into the background, no one notices or recognizes him and he sneaks away easily. He can create smoke or fog literally out of thin air without his bombs now, too, the air will just suddenly thicken until his stage is obscured, and Sampo can set the scene as he pleases or disappear without a trace.

And in line with being a stage hand, Sampo can direct attention like no other. He was already extremely good at this as a normal mortal, and becoming an Emanator only took it up to 11, past human limits. Sampo points, and all present feel compelled to follow his fingertip. He looks away, and they all follow his gaze. He can even affect the mood of an audience; he can influence everyone to be calm and placid or he can whip them into a feverish frenzy. Sometimes a crowd will start to become unsettled, agitation stirring until it boils over, until it incites a full on violent mob.

And in the middle of all that chaos will stand one perfectly calm figure, face cast in shadow, until they quietly slip away out of sight.

[insightfulcorner]

I am a master of self destruction,

But not in the ways you think at all,

I dance on a stage of nails while they applaud,

And I bow before I fall.

[ferrouswheel11]

Like. Tim was supposed to be the level-headed Robin. Quick thinker, emotionally stable, Batman’s right hand. He gets kidnapped by Joker, and Bruce tells himself he’ll save him this time. It’s not going to be like Jason. Tim is nothing like Jason.

He’s right.

Tim doesn’t want to be saved. He shoots Joker dead and laughs.

Bruce tries to bring him home but Tim doesn’t want to go. He looks so much like Joker, with his skin smeared oily white and the corners of his lips pulled taut. But the sharp way he talks is just so familiar, so Tim, like Bruce could just reach out and grab him and pull his Robin back to the surface — if Tim wasn’t already cackling and slipping away into the shadows of the abandoned asylum.

The next time he sees Tim, the boy is having the time of his life, leading the GCPD all over town on a wild goose chase involving copious amounts of fireworks, laughing gas, and awful puns.

Gothamites are relieved — the villain that terrorized their city is dead, traded in for a cuter, less-bloodthirsty-but-equally-maniacal version. He’s equal parts scary and charming — even Nightwing looks conflicted for a moment when Tim plants a red lipstick mark on his cheek and sets off a glitter bomb in his face.

He’s happier now, he insists. Robin was great and all, but this is tons more fun. Why was he holding himself back for so long? He used to think every responsibility he took on was so important, that he was saving Gotham — all Gotham really needs is a good laugh!

…And don’t call him Junior, he informs Bruce, gesturing with the gag gun he used to kill Joker. The Joker is back, and he’s here to stay.

[lulubelle814]

@vbecker10 @colorsunimaginable @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @holdmytesseract @gigglingtiggerv2 @jiyascepter @simplyholl

[coloursoflovelustlife]

The

WILD

thing, still in the making.

[magpiecrust]

Character who is sun-coded but not in the traditional "ray of sunshine" way. Character who is sun-coded in the sense that they're revered by the masses but their light is blinding, poisonous fire that destroys everything unshielded. In the sense that they force everything into an orbit around them. In the sense that they seduce Icaruses to fly too close to reach their light and be burned, but they don't care. In the sense that for all their fiery blaze, they're destroying themselves with it. In the sense that they run hotter as they grow older, but instead of going out in a blaze of glory that takes everything down with them like they might have wanted to, they just fizzle out and fade away. In the sense the rest of the world will outlive them.

[sunnynwanda]

Hey!! Sorry I am always in ur requests box bahaha

If you want to, could you do a story where a supervillain typically goes easy on a group of rookie heroes, as he usually fights them just for fun, and could destroy them if he wanted.

He just lets them think they can beat him.

Then, something happens (maybe they cross a line, and one of the heroes tries to stop their team from crossing that line but they don't listen) where the supervillain shows them just how powerful he actually is? ❤️❤️

Ruin

Warnings: power of destruction, grafic injuries, blood, torture (in a way?), mentions of killing.

Shadows danced across the wall, earning a dark chuckle from Supervillain. Heroes were never much of a threat, more like a bunch of bothersome and overly persistent pests that had flooded the city. The clock struck midnight a few minutes ago, but here they were - attempting to creep up on Supervillain for a surprise attack. As if. 

They'd tried this tactic a multitude of times, none of them were a proper attack or even a surprise. 

Amateurs.

Superillain sighs in exasperation, pulling his gloves on to avoid fatally wounding anyone just as two masked heroes appear in front of him. 

"Evening," Supervillain's smirk is met by two identical scowls. "To what do I owe the pleasure tonight?"

One of the heroes growls, speaking through gritted teeth. "You're under arrest. Surrender." 

Supervillain cocks an eyebrow at the pair, holding back a laugh. Holding back was something he had to do on a daily. And he was growing tired of it. "You think it's going to be that easy? There's only two of you." 

"Two is more than enough to contain you," the other hero speaks up, their expression as sour as their friend's. This time, Supervillain fails to hide his laugh. This seems to make his rivals' blood boil over. "We will destroy you." 

You think you can? Supervillain thinks but keeps his lips sealed shut as he nods, deep in thought. Wish you knew how badly I want to unleash my power. 

But he could not. They were kids. If he didn't know better he'd think the city council sent them on purpose. To test Supervillain's patience or to provoke him. Until he slips up. Until he does something unforgivable. Until he falls prey to the cruel scheme. Supervillain can find no other explanation for sending rookies to fight him, of all villains. It was a death wish. A clear one. How could anyone expect them to conquer a supervillain who has destruction spewing out of his fingertips?

"Cut it out and go home," Supervillain runs a gloved hand over his face, shutting his eyes for a moment. He can tell something is off because they always attack in four and stick together. So where are the other two? "You're just kids."

Someone lets out a bark of a laugh behind him, but there's nothing light about it. Supervillain turns his head, glancing over his shoulder - only to freeze in place. His eyes widen, lips pressing into a thin line when his gaze lands on the sleeping form of his younger brother. He looks peaceful in the arms of one of the heroes, but Supervillain... Supervillain is anything but peaceful. 

"How dare you..?" He cuts off, not even finishing his thought when he sighs, determination setting in. That's one too many lines crossed. 

"Guys," the youngest of the heroes speaks up, their voice weak and shaking. "Guys, seriously. This isn't fair." 

Supervillain can't help throwing them a glance, taking note of their scrunched eyebrows and trembling lips. The heroes ignore their friend entirely.

"Oh, we dare," one of them responds to Supervillain's question, sadistic sarcasm lacing their tone. "You will surrender to us." 

"Still think we're kids?" The other one chimes in, snickering at the thought. Oh, Supervillain doesn't see rookies or kids anymore. Now, he sees enemies. 

He knows what he does to enemies.

"Guys, please..." The same hero pleads, their eyes full of tears. Supervillain almost smiles at them.  

"Shut it," another sneers, irritation colouring their features. They turn to Supervillain with a self-satisfied smirk. "If you want your brother to remain unharmed, you'll get on your knees and beg for it."

"You're taking this too far!" Their friend laments, despair overtaking their otherwise delicate features.

Don't you worry, little one, I'll wreck them. 

"Return him to me," Supervillain demands, rage flaring to life in the depths of his eyes. His voice is hoarse from restraint as he battles his inner demon for every second of delay. "Now."

"Make us," the one holding up the sleeping kid snorts, grinning in the most smug way possible. 

I will ruin you, Supervillain thinks, I'll completely obliterate you. 

"If you can, that is," another hero scoffs. Supervillain glares at them with narrow eyes, pressing his lips together until they turn white. He can feel the piercing coldness of his wrath coursing down his limbs towards his trembling hands.  

"Oh, I can just fine," Supervillain hisses, slowly pulling at one of his gloves, watching it slide off his blackened fingers. He sends the youngest hero a glance - a warning of sorts, before lunging forward.

His fingertips graze the forearm wrapped around his little brother, making it weak enough to let the kid slip down from their hold. The hero lets out a low groan, not quite registering the source of the pain yet. Supervillain's movements are quick, he brushes his fingers over the side of the hero's thigh - the sharp jolt brings them down to their knees with a choked cry - just in time for Supervillain's brother to land safely on the ground. 

The two heroes behind his back seem to snap out of it, jumping onto his back and taking Supervillain into a chokehold with one of his arms pinned to his side. Unlucky for heroes, they restrain the gloved one. 

Supervillain sees the youngest hero take his little brother into their arms, stepping away from the fight, their eyes wide with fear. Their knees are buckling under them at the horrifying sight that plays out, so they lean against a nearby wall.

Supervillain mouths a 'thank you' before bringing his free hand up and dragging his fingers along the arm around his throat. The hero screams in agony, their eyes watering at the sudden pain as they watch their arm turn stiff and black. "What the f-" 

Supervillain doesn't wait for them to finish, twisting around and pressing his open palm to the other hero's stomach. They bend over in an instant, clutching their middle and coughing out dark clots of blood.  

"What the fuck? Is that what you wanted to ask?" Supervillain asks, tilting their head to the side as they watch their enemies on the ground, wallowing in the unfamiliar ache that's taken over their bodies, their flesh twisting and turning into something akin to coal. 

When no words come from them, Supervillain lets out a dark chuckle, crouching to be face-to-face with them. Grabbing one of the heroes by the chin, he sneers. "This is becoming radically boring. Answer me." 

"H-how?" The hero tries to jerk away, tears springing from their eyes as they wheeze through every inhale. Supervillain's fingers are cold against their clammy skin.

"Fuck, it hurts so much..." Another one whimpers out, wiping at their eyes and biting into their lip to suppress a groan. The ache subsides agonisingly slow.

"I know. That's the point, darling," Supervillain smiles, forcing them to meet his gaze with a finger under their chin. "The worse, the better."

The heroes nod, trying to muster up a sliver of courage. They don't manage, because their friend is the first to speak. 

"Stop! Please. Please, stop now," they plead, coming to their knees next to Supervillain, his brother still in their arms. "Here. He's safe. Still sleeping." 

Supervillain stares at them for a moment, considering his following words. "I won't end them. Solely for you." 

The hero's shoulders drop in relief, waiting for Supervillain to pull his glove on before passing his brother to him. 

"Will they... will they be okay?" They ask, concern lacing their tone. Supervillain nods shortly, and the hero almost smiles. "Thank you."

"Now you know why no one dares to cross me." Supervillain informs, clutching his brother to his chest as he stands. "I advise to make use of that knowledge."

With that, Supervillain walks away, leaving the hero to tend to his injured friends while he carries his brother back home.

Supervillain knows this won't be the end of it. He knows a new group of shockingly young heroes will be sent after him sooner that these can heal. He knows they are nothing but brainwashed martyrs.

He also knows the only way of stopping this madness is chopping off the head of the snake.

A/N: Hi! First and foremost, thank you so much for this request! My mind was reeling when I first read it. Never say sorry for requesting, I love doing your requests! This one was extremely inspiring, as always, so... thank you for sharing your amazing mind 💛✨️ I'm not entirely happy with the way this turned out, but I still hope you'll enjoy reading this.

Love you, guys :)

xo Sunny

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

[bookishjules]

knowing there's an alternate universe where marinette was given the cat miraculous and adrien, the ladybug.. altered my brain chemistry. like what in their lives and their world could be different enough that fu would look at adrien and think ah, this one is clearly meant for the miraculous of creation. like??

[thirdity]

Write in order not simply to destroy, in order not simply to conserve, in order not to transmit; write in the thrall of the impossible real, that share of disaster wherein every reality, safe and sound, sinks.

Maurice Blanchot, The Writing of the Disaster