Superhero couldn't believe what they were seeing. They had arrived fully expecting an all out fight to be threatening the city. They had expected Sidekick to struggle with keeping the villains at bay until Superhero arrived.
They could not have been more wrong.
One crumbled building still burnt nearby. Trees had been broken and flattened around an epicenter of what had likely been a massive explosion. The villains had been defeated thoroughly. Sidekick stood in the center, a massive grin on their face.
"Superhero!" They called excitedly. "I did good, right?"
Superhero looked around the destruction. No civilian casualties. Only buildings destroyed. Those could be rebuilt. "Yeah, you did great," Superhero said, trying to ignore the panic that was filling them. Sidekick was still coming into their power, they were still weak. And they had leveled a city block in under fifteen minutes. What were they going to grow into?
Happy New Year's Eve for those who celebrate the passage of time!
This stim board is the amalgamation (... Haha) of my top UTDR stim boards from this year! All of the gifs present in this board are sourced in the links to the original boards below the cut!
Papyrus fucking up his cooking
Starlo
Horror!Sans
Halloween Kris
Alphys and Mettaton
Noelle's snow angel
Salphys
Halloween Lancer
Also... Why does the Papyrus fucking up his cooking stim board have over 8,000 notes? You guys are crazy. Why.
⚡︎ “Shattered at the Speed of Sound”⚡︎(An Ivan Straka + Dion fanfic)
✎ Orginal World, Recruitment Story, Villain
✎ Action, New Beginnings, Platonic relationships
✎ 3.4k words
There was a condition in the modern world that no doctor would dare write about. It wasn’t taught in classrooms, it wasn’t studied in labs, and it wasn’t listed in any medical handbook.People spoke of it only in hushed whispers,on obscure internet threads, in covert reports, and behind locked government doors where the public would never hear the truth.
The Shattering.
It was the name given to the moment a human mind broke so completely that something dangerous woke up inside it. Trauma, grief, fear, despair, when a person finally snapped, when everything they carried crushed them from the inside, raw power surged through the ruins of who they used to be
And that power almost always spiraled into destruction.
The Shattered weren’t seen as human.They weren’t treated. They weren’t helped. They weren’t forgiven.
They were hunted.
The powers they manifested were too destructive, too unpredictable. Each ability was a physical echo of whatever horror had broken them. Fire born from rage. Telekinesis born from fear. Time manipulation born from trauma so deep it split a life clean in two.
The government formed a unit for one purpose only:
To find these people and cage them.
The Special Forces Power Containment Unit, known simply as SFPC, moved in the dark like phantoms. When a Shattered appeared, the SFPC arrived not to save but to detain, drug, and drag the victim into one of their underground holding sites.
And now?
Their most wanted Shattered was a blonde, broken ex racer with murder in his past and lightning in his veins.
Ivan Straka.
————————————————————————
The world had never felt slower.
After the moment in the courtroom, after the screaming, the frozen time, the echoing crack of his own words splitting his life in two, Ivan did the only thing his body knew how to do.
He ran.
He didn’t think. He simply moved.
His legs carried him out of the courthouse, across the plaza, through alleys and empty streets. His heart hammered but never strained. His lungs burned but never tired. His muscles flooded with power, not pain.
The city blurred around him.
Streetlights smeared into long ribbons of gold.
Cars crawled like insects trapped in syrup.
People were moving painting strokes, figures held in slow suspension, mouths open mid sentence.
The world couldn’t keep up with him anymore.
And God, it felt good.
The chains of the courtroom were gone. The judge’s voice. The cameras. The accusations. The feel of cold cuffs against his wrists. The disappointment in the eyes of strangers pretending they knew him.
None of it mattered now.
He wasn’t running from anything.
He was running because he finally could.
Hours passed without feeling like hours. Eventually instinct led him to the outskirts of the city, to a place that felt familiar in a way nothing else did: an industrial graveyard full of rusting cars and forgotten machinery.
The air smelled like dust and gasoline, like home.
He wandered through rows of damaged cars until he saw it: a beaten, sun bleached old car with peeling paint and flat tires. It looked abandoned by everyone except time.
Perfect.
Ivan opened the door and sat inside. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel, and for the first time since the courthouse, something inside him loosened.
He breathed deeply. Dust. Oil. Faint gasoline.
Better than any therapy session.
He tried the ignition. It wheezed once, then died with absolute finality.
Ivan gritted his teeth and slammed his hands onto the dashboard.
“Come on. Faster.”
And the universe listened.
Electricity surged from his palms. The entire car jerked violently. The dead battery screamed awake. Lights flickered alive on the panel. The engine roared like a dying beast resurrected for one last ride.
The dashboard needles spun wildly. The entire frame vibrated. The metal groaned as if terrified of him.
Ivan felt the thrill bloom deep in his chest.
“Oh,” he whispered, his lips curling into a grin. “You’re awake. Good.”
He slammed the gearshift down.
The tires obliterated instantly, turning into black smoke as the car rocketed forward so violently it felt like being fired from a cannon. The world outside stretched into a tunnel of distorted shapes and screaming colors. Wind smacked into his face like a fist. His heart pounded in perfect time with the engine’s howl.
He laughed. Loud. Wild. Free.
“Faster!”
The car complied.
And then it died.
The engine couldn’t handle what he poured into it. It burst through the hood in a flaming explosion, metal shards shooting through the air. The car’s frame split apart like a detonation charge had gone off under it.
Ivan tumbled out in a blur, rolling across gravel with superhuman momentum until he skidded to a halt.
He stood.
Smoke curled behind him.
Flames licked the night sky.
Twisted metal melted under the heat.
He stared at the wreck without blinking.
He felt no guilt.
No fear.
Not even surprise.
He just felt alive.
————————————————————————
Hours later, he wandered through the city like a ghost among statues. Cars crawled. Pedestrians trudged. Even traffic lights took too long to change. Everything felt like it was underwater.
Everything except him.
The neon glow of a run down arcade caught his eye. GAME OVER flickered in broken letters.
It made him laugh under his breath.
He stepped inside. The smell of old carpet and spilled soda hit him instantly. The sound of electronic beeps and buzzing filled the air. Teenagers crowded around machines, yelling in excitement. A pinball machine dinged continuously.
Ivan felt almost normal for a second.
He headed straight toward an old Donkey Kong cabinet, something nostalgic sparking in his chest. He slid in a coin and began to play.
Ten seconds later, he was ready to scream.
Mario’s little legs climbed ladders at the pace of a dying sloth. The barrels rolled like they were conserving energy. The music droned at a tempo that made Ivan want to rip his hair out.
He groaned and pressed his palm against the wooden side of the cabinet.
“Faster,” he muttered. “Just a little.”
The effect was immediate.
The music accelerated until it became a frantic chipmunk squeal. Mario zipped up ladders like he’d taken ten shots of espresso. Barrels flew so fast they blurred into streaks. The score counter hiccuped, trying to keep up.
Ivan smiled.
He pushed harder.
The cabinet trembled.
The screen flickered violently.
Smoke curled from the vents.
Then the old machine gave up.
A loud pop.
Darkness.
Dead.
Ivan stepped away with a satisfied shrug and left the arcade without anyone noticing what he’d done.
Outside, the night swallowed him again.
————————————————————————-
Miles away, in the private lounge above The Velvet Mask, Dion reclined in a velvet chair with a glass of Vega Sicilia resting elegantly between his fingers.
His bar was closed to the public at this hour. The only sounds were the bass of distant jazz from the club below and the soft hum of the massive flatscreen TV mounted on the wall.
The news broadcast flickered.
A reporter stood before a raging industrial fire. Police swarmed the background. Helicopter lights swept through the smoke.
“Authorities believe the incidents may be connected to escaped convict Ivan Straka, who fled from police custody earlier today following a suspected Shattering event…”
The screen cut to footage of the arcade, police tape draped sloppily across the entrance.
Dion muted the TV and studied the image silently.
Ivan’s mugshot appeared.
Blond hair. Cold eyes.
A challenging smirk.
The face of someone who stopped caring long before the world noticed.
Dion leaned back, allowing his hair to fall further over his “right eye” or what little remained of it. His uncovered eye lingered on the screen, hungry with interest.
There were Shattered who were desperate.
Shattered who were lost.
Shattered who were afraid.
And then there was Ivan Straka.
A man who embraced destruction like a lover.
Dion took a slow sip of his wine, savoring the taste.
He had read bits of Ivan’s history.
The killed girlfriend.
The cousin.
The toxic family.
The courtroom meltdown.
The final snap.
A tragic mess of a man.
A storm wearing skin.
“Qué desastre tan hermoso,” Dion murmured.
What a beautiful disaster.
Most Shattered were brittle.
Broken.
Erratic.
Ivan was different.
He had rhythm. He had fury shaped into precision. He had the rare combination Dion sought above all else:
A monster who wanted to be aimless.
Because monsters without purpose could be given one.
He swallowed another sip, eyes still locked on Ivan’s face frozen on the screen.
Yes. There was something there. Something worth molding. Something worth claiming.
He reached for his phone.
A contact glowed. Cipher – Internal Ops.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
Then he slowly pulled it back.
Not yet.
Ivan was too wild, too newly broken, still tasting freedom.
If Dion wanted him, he needed to approach him at the exact right moment…when Ivan’s chaos had nowhere left to go.
He rested his head back on the velvet chair.
“Run, racer,” he whispered with a soft smile. “Let the world chase you. Let the flames climb higher. And when you finally feel the loneliness creeping in… I’ll be there.”
He lifted his glass, letting the deep red swirl.
“To the Shattered,” he murmured. “And to the ones worth breaking again.”
He finished his wine, eyes never leaving the silent screen.
Somewhere across the city, Ivan was still laughing.
And Dion already knew:
He would not laugh alone for long.
————————————————————————
Ivan Straka had become a one man catastrophe.
As the night deepened, the city crackled with sirens and ruptured metal, each new explosion echoing across industrial yards and abandoned corporate campuses. His power was expanding by the hour, and everywhere he tested it, something broke.
He stood now on a grated catwalk inside a massive chemical processing facility on the south side of the city. Thick pipes lined the walls like veins, and the air smelled of gasoline, coolant, and bitter steam. Below him, enormous turbines churned with mechanical effort that felt sluggish and pathetic compared to the hurricane of energy burning beneath his skin.
He leaned on the railing and listened to the machinery’s strained whirring. It sounded like begging.
He placed his palm against the railing, closed his eyes, and whispered under his breath.
“Show me what you can really do.”
Heat surged beneath his hand as his power seeped into the structure. The whole platform vibrated. Down below, the turbines began trembling harder and harder, their blades accelerating far beyond their design limits. Warning lights flashed frantic red. Pressure gauges cracked. A siren blared with a rising pitch that turned almost musical.
Ivan’s heart thudded in time with it.
He smiled.
The turbines screamed. A deep metallic groan rippled through the chamber, followed by a blast of white heat erupting from the machinery. A fireball shot upward like a dragon breaking through its cage. Metal buckled and twisted. The walls shook. Shattered bolts pinged off the catwalk like hail.
He didn’t run.
He simply stepped back and watched the explosion bloom.
The flames reflected off the pale streaks of his vitiligo as if painting him with flickering strokes of gold. His hair whipped back from the shockwave. There was something wild in his expression, a satisfaction that came from knowing he could finally do things no one else could.
He laughed softly to himself, almost breathless, and walked out of the building before the fire suppression systems could even attempt to catch up.
The night swallowed him as easily as smoke.
————————————————————————-
Across the street, beyond the reach of flames and chaos, Dion stood inside an abandoned office building. The windows were shattered, and old cubicles lay collapsed on their sides like forgotten bones.
He observed Ivan through a broken frame, arms relaxed at his sides, a lit cigarette delicately pinched between his fingers.
Dion looked like he had stepped out of a different world entirely.
A tailored black dress shirt hugged his frame, the collar open just enough to reveal a cool glimmer of skin. His dress slacks were charcoal grey, pressed in sharp lines. His shoes were polished but not flashy. His dark hair fell perfectly across the right side of his face, hiding the eye he never let anyone see.
He was elegance wrapped in danger.
The kind of man who made people forget he was more than human.
He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled slowly. Smoke curled around him in soft silver spirals. His exposed eye, sharp, and faintly amused, followed Ivan’s movements like a collector admiring a priceless piece of art.
“You cause quite a spectacle,” he murmured. “You’ll burn the whole city down before dawn at this rate.”
A voice crackled quietly through the earpiece hidden under his hair.
“Cipher squad waiting for deployment. Orders?”
Dion didn’t even blink.
“Stand down. I’ll be meeting him personally.”
He crushed the cigarette under his heel and slipped out of the ruined building with the ease of a man who owned whatever ground he walked on.
———————————————————————-
Ivan lingered near the edge of the lot, watching the fire climb the refinery tower. The blaze danced against the night sky like it wanted to follow him wherever he went.
He sensed someone before he saw them. A shift in the air. A rhythm of footsteps too confident to belong to firefighters or security.
He turned.
A man approached through the waves of smoke, illuminated in warm flickers of orange. He walked with an unhurried ease, like the flames were a pleasant backdrop instead of a deadly inferno.
Ivan squinted. “You lost or something?”
The stranger smiled gently. “No. I’m exactly where I intended to be.”
His voice was smooth, cultured, but carrying a warmth that made it impossible to tell if he was amused or simply accustomed to danger.
Ivan stayed still. The stranger moved closer. Enough to be seen clearly.
Black dress shirt. Grey slacks. A loosened collar.
Hair draped over his right eye in a deliberate curtain that somehow made him look more composed, not less.
Ivan frowned.
“And you are?”
“Dion,” he answered. “I own a bar called The Velvet Mask. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
Ivan blinked. “You’re a bartender.”
“I’m many things.” The smile didn’t fade. “Tonight, I’m a recruiter.”
Ivan snorted. “A recruiter for what, exactly?”
“A private organization that could use someone with your… enthusiasm.”
“You talk like you’re trying to hire me to sell insurance.”
Dion chuckled softly. “I assure you the position is far more interesting.”
Ivan glanced toward the burning tower. “You came all the way out here in your dress shoes just to talk?”
“Among other things,” Dion said. “One of them is saving your life. The SFPC has already triangulated your last three spikes. They’re closing in.”
Ivan shrugged. “Let them come.”
“Brave,” Dion said calmly. “But foolish.”
He stepped closer, stopping only a few feet away.
“We could help each other,” he said. “You have power. I have purpose.”
“Oh, spare me,” Ivan muttered. “How can I trust a guy who shows up at a chemical fire with half his damn face covered?”
Dion’s smile dropped like a guillotine.
The look he gave Ivan could’ve frozen steel. It was controlled, cold, and offended in a way that suggested he was used to being feared or obeyed, not teased.
“My hair has nothing to do with trust,” Dion replied. “And if that is the sophistication level of your judgment, then you have a great deal to learn.”
Ivan smirked, delighted by the reaction. “Touched a nerve, huh?”
Dion’s eye narrowed. “More than one.”
That was all the warning Ivan got before he threw the first punch.
Ivan lunged forward, fist cutting through the air toward Dion’s jaw. Dion moved with effortless fluidity, shifting slightly so Ivan’s punch swept past harmlessly.
Ivan didn’t pause. He followed with a sharp kick. Dion stepped back with an elegant tilt of his torso, the motion deceptively graceful for someone avoiding a blow that could’ve shattered bone.
Another jab.
Another dodge.
Another strike.
Another graceful slip.
Ivan’s muscles tensed. His breathing quickened.
“You’re reading me,” Ivan growled.
Dion inclined his head. “You’re very loud.”
That was all it took to push Ivan into pure instinct.
He prepared to unleash his speed.
The world stretched.
The wind shifted.
His body blurred.
And then everything stopped.
Not the world.
Not Dion.
Just him.
Ivan froze mid-step, locked in place by a force he couldn’t see or understand. His chest strained as if invisible hands were crushing the air out of him.
Dion stood completely still, his uncovered eye glowing faintly.
“Speed is a shallow trick when the mind behind it is exposed,” he said quietly. “You cannot outrun someone who has already arrived at your intention.”
Ivan tried to move. His limbs twitched violently. Panic flickered in his expression.
It was the first real fear he’d felt in a long time.
Dion approached him slowly, stopping just within arm’s reach.
“Impressive potential,” he said. “But unpolished. Unfocused. Untamed.”
Ivan’s breath trembled.
His voice came out low and raw. “Let me go.”
“Very well.”
The psychic pressure released, and Ivan stumbled back a step.
The moment he regained balance, Dion struck.
The butt of the gun cracked against Ivan’s temple with surgical precision. Ivan’s vision blurred. His legs buckled.
As he fell, the world dimmed, and he saw the glow of Dion’s lighter illuminating the curve of his jaw as he lit another cigarette, utterly unfazed by the chaos surrounding them.
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
————————————————————————
Ivan woke to the sharp scent of clean steel and faint cologne.
His wrists were bound behind him with a thick cord, but when he shifted, he realized it wasn’t tight enough to cut circulation. It was deliberate restraint, not torture.
He sat in a sleek, dimly lit room with metallic walls and no windows. A soft hum beneath the floor suggested machinery or power lines. The place was too well built to be a basement and too pristine to be an abandoned building.
He groaned, letting his head roll until he saw movement.
Dion sat across from him, ankles crossed, cigarette resting between two fingers. He looked perfectly composed, his hair still falling over the right side of his face like a dark curtain.
“You have a hell of a punch,” Dion said mildly. “Shame none of them landed.”
Ivan glared. “Untie me and they will.”
A faint laugh escaped Dion as he stood and walked forward, stopping in front of Ivan with his hands tucked lazily into his pockets.
“You are powerful,” Dion said, voice smooth and steady. “But alone, your power will consume you. The SFPC is relentless. They will find you no matter how fast you run.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Dion leaned down so his voice brushed the air between them like warm smoke.
“You need purpose.”
Ivan stiffened.
Dion lowered his tone further. “Your life shattered. Everything you knew is gone. You have no home. No family. No allies. Just fire and speed and a world that wants you dead.”
Ivan looked away.
Dion continued, unbothered by the silence.
“You can cling to the ruins of what you were,” he said, “or you can let me turn you into something far more dangerous. Something the world cannot cage.”
Ivan slowly looked up.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Dion stepped back, posture straightening. His expression was unreadable, half-hidden behind the fall of his hair.
“The recruiter,” he answered. “For a very exclusive organization.”
“And if I say no?”
Dion’s voice changed.
It became cold enough to sharpen air.
“Then the SFPC will breach this facility in seventeen minutes, place a neural dampener around your neck, and drag you to a black site where you will spend the rest of your life screaming into padded walls.”
Ivan swallowed.
Dion extended his hand.
“Work with me,” he said. “I give you power. Resources. Knowledge. Control. All the things life denied you. I ask only for loyalty in return.”
Ivan stared at the hand for a long time.
His heart pounded. His thoughts churned. His instincts warned him Dion was dangerous in ways he couldn’t yet understand.
But he also knew the truth.
For the first time since the Shattering, someone wasn’t trying to cage him. Someone wasn’t afraid of him.
Someone was offering him a place.
Ivan slowly exhaled, jaw tightening.
“Alright,” he said. “Fine. I’ll join. But I don’t take orders.”
Dion’s visible eye softened, but only slightly.
“You will,” he said quietly. “Eventually.”
Ivan scowled, but he still extended his hand.
Their palms met in a firm, deliberate grip.
A handshake that felt like a pact with the devil.
A partnership born of fire, speed, and something neither of them dared name yet.
Even an Ice-powered Hero needs to wear a Sweater sometimes.
Flufftober 2024: Prompt List by @thepenultimateword
TW:Theft, Lighting, Explosions, Minor injuries
Mood:Fluff
Part 1 ┃ Part 2
The alarms were blaring, the bank was empty, and the police was frantically looking for Villain.
But the criminal themself? They had already stopped what they were doing in full confusion. “What… are you wearing?” Villain sorted as they looked Hero up and down.
There Hero stood in their soft blue and pink supersuit, with a bright orange fall sweater draped on top of it.
Hero made an annoyed huff. “What? I could not find my winter supersuit, and grandma would not let me leave for work in my normal one. Since it was reported that it would go below freezing tonight-” they blushed at the end of the sentence, when the villain bursted into laughter dropping all of the money bags on the ground.
“So you showed up in that?” Villains cackled madly, as they tried not to fall over. Hero on the other hand looked pissed.
“Also, aren't you an Ice powered hero?” they continued in a mocking tone, before starting to mimic Hero’s voice “Oh no! The cold! My one true weakness! Everyone knows my ICE powers gets weekend by the COLD”
Hero sighed loudly before yelling “Just because I got ice powers does not mean I can’t get sick! Just like you aren’t immune to electricity! Can we just start battling already!?”
“Sure thing!” Villain smirked, dropping the act and wiping around sending lighting straight at Hero with no warning. Hero jumped to the side, sliding along the ice path they made, but lost balance and fell.
Villain immediately readied a second attack, “If you think the sweater is ugly now, let’s see how ugly it looks when I fry it!” Only for Hero to hit them with an ice beam. Villain quickly lost their own balance on the ice and also fell right over, sending the lighting into the air.
Quickly Hero got back on their feet with power suppression cuffs in hand hoping to stop Villain before their next attack.
But, by the time they reached them, Villain released all their remaining power straight at Hero’s chest.
There was a loud crack heard in the sky all over the city, as Hero was flung back across the floor before smashing into the railing and staying there.
As the sound disappeared, Villain got back on their feat still panting from the battle, but clearly happy with their work. “Is that all you got, Hero?” they teased but stopped when they saw Hero slowly get back up. “That.. that’s impossible! That lighting should have killed you outright!” they yelled while Hero steadied their breathing still in shock from what just happened.
“Did you really think I would knit a sweater for my grandchild, and not put in safety measures against squirms like you?” a voice suddenly spoke coldly from behind Villain who did not need to turn to know who the voice belonged to.
“Supervillain?!” Villain yelled.
“Grandma?” Hero said at the same time.
“G-... GRANDMA!?!?” Villain repeated even louder looking in-between the two.
“You didn’t know?” Supervillain said smugly. “You got to be the last Villain in this whole city to learn that Hero is my one and only grandchild”
“More like the last person in the whole city to know” Hero said, still catching their breath as they looked down at their sweater. It was burned in several places, but somehow it had absorbed most of the attack.
Villain quivered in fear, and when Supervillain’s vines wrapped themself around Villain, pinning them to the ground they did not dare move a mussel.
Once the Villain was subdued, Supervillain turned her attention onto Hero, “Are you alright Sweetie? Did they hurt you? Does your power still work? You're not burnt, are you?” She sounded calm, but Hero could tell there was worry behind the questions.
“I’m alright, grandma. I swear, just a bit shook up from getting kicked back into the railing.” Hero said as Supervillain examined them. “Grandma, why are you here?” Hero asked.
At that Supervillain smirked, something that would normally send fear into any hero and villain, but never her grandchild. “I found your winter suit! It was in the dryer where I told you to look.” Supervillain said before she brought out a small paper bag.
Hero was instantly red with embarrassment as they took the bag, apologized, and thanked them for bringing it. Supervillain chuckled and told them not to worry, and that it was all good, since she doesn't get to see Hero fight villains often, and it was nice to see how far they had come.
“Speaking of villains,” Supervillain suddenly said, turning to Villain who audibly gulped.
“Wait, please let me deal with them!” Hero interrupted jumping in-between the two. “The police could be here any moment and the last thing we both want is for them to do things that you two work together!”
Supervillain stared at her grandchild for a moment before a small smile grew on their face. “I guess you’re right. I would rather not be associated with that squirm”
If Villain could melt through the floor right then and there they would. But Hero quickly got Villain cuffed and signaled their location to the police.
“They will be here in about 2 minutes” Hero said “you… you should probably go.”
“Yeah, you're right….” Supervillain answered “But Hero… I’m… I’m sorry about the sweater. I should have know you didn’t like the color-”
Hero stopped her mid sentence “What? NO! Grandma, I love this sweater! All your knitting is amazing! I just don’t like this sweater combined with my supersuit… it ruined the aesthetic ya know…”
“Oh… I see… you young heroes and villains and your aesthetics and mood” Supervillain said with a slight smile. “Well, maybe we can work together to plan a sweater just for your suite later then?”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” Hero said as Supervillain began to run off at an impressive speech for someone in their mid 60s.
a gender connected to the Apocalypse Flipper DLC from the game House Flipper. This game may be connected to themes within the game (home design, renovation, bunkers, metallic aesthetics etc.), the logo, feels like your gender is the game or is playing the game, or is connected to the game or playing it.
my wizard guards, seize him‼️ i find him guilty of incorrectly interpreting my favourite sick-in-the-head character and sentence him to a thousand explosions of death 🫵💥💥
