#ied

[kropotkindersurprise]

September 29, 2025 - Al-Qassam Brigades guerrillas once again blew up an Israeli Merkava by running up to it and just placing an IED directly on the tank. [video]

[writing-fandom42]

Back on my incorrect quotes grind again

[enriquemzn262]

Colombian soldier manually deactivates a propane tank turned into an IED by FARC terrorists, 2025 Colombian Internal Security Crisis.

[wolfpawzjakey]

Full Shift + IED

He’s shaking as he stalks further into the woods, a violent tremor running through his body worsened by each of the heavy breaths he takes. Whether it’s from the anger still or the cold, he doesn’t really know and he doesn’t even care.

It’d been a particularly terrible day. Liam had had an outburst at school today after some kid kept shaking his desk with his bouncing foot and when he’d gotten home he followed that one up with an even louder, more explosive outburst toward his mom. But she just didn’t understand. He did ask nicely, a few times even, but that stupid kid just wouldn’t stop. He just smiled meanly at him and kept bouncing his foot. He deserved to be punched, he’d been a total jerk. Why couldn’t his mom see that?

So he ran away. It was just one more terrible thing for him to do, but it’s not like he could be scolded for acting out anymore. He’d be fine on his own and his stupid mom and her stupid new boyfriend wouldn’t ever have to deal with him and his stupid feelings ever again.

With one very loud huff he thought, good riddance, because it’s what those two deserved. If they were just gonna treat him like a stupid kid who needed to do better, they didn’t get to have him anymore. He’d be fine, it’d be better for him anyway.

He didn’t need anyone, just himself.

He repeated that in his head like a mantra the further he walked into the woods. Repeated it as the heat in his chest turned to an ache that made his stomach hurt and kept repeating it even when his face started to feel wet with hot tears quickly turned cold.

He didn’t need anyone. Really, he didn’t.

He stomped further into the woods, just a little bit unable to ignore the growing feeling of fear and frustration building in his chest, familiar heat joining the ugly clenching that made him sniffle and huff. It was stupid to cry, really dumb. He shouldn’t be crying, he was fine and would be fine and he definitely wouldn’t be sad about running away. It was for the best, he just had to keep telling himself that.

He sincerely planned on just walking forward, bull headed and completely and totally uncaring about what might be ahead, but he just had to trip. Just one more stupid little thing had to piss him off. Something like a growl rose up in his throat, a gravely sound of all of his anger threatening to escape. And jeez, he really did just wanna prove his mom wrong, wanted to shake it off and breathe through it like he knew how to, like they’d tried to teach him how to, but he blacked out for just long enough for his hand to connect with a nearby tree.

His bright red anger was lit like a flare and, suddenly, with a loud crack and intense pain, it went out.

The growl of fury previously lodged in his throat was replaced by a pathetic, wet whimper as he cradled his right hand with his left and let himself crumple to the ground. Now, instead of bright red anger, he felt nothing but the purest of frustration laced with pitiful sadness.

Suddenly, his anger at his mom was gone and all he wanted was her. She’d make this better, make his frustration and pain go away like always. But he couldn’t have that, not when he was out in the middle of the woods without a clue of the direction he’d come from.

He was stuck out here with a situation and a wound of his own making, all because he couldn’t be a normal kid, all because he couldn’t be angry and terrible and awful. He deserved the pain in his hand, deserved the tears and the self humiliation and hatred too.

He wept, balled up on the dark forest floor, back pressed against the tree he’d hit. He cried and shivered from the cold and held his stupid, probably broken hand, and what was he supposed to do? He deserved this now, didn’t he?

He was fully intent on letting himself sit and suffer until he cried himself to sleep or until the sun rose, he didn’t really have any other choice really. If it weren’t for a loud echoing snap from the forest, it’s probably what he would’ve done too, but instead, with tear filled eyes, his head shot up toward the direction of the sound.

His eyes surveyed the darkness, head on a swivel and hoping to spot nothing, but of course he couldn’t just have this. In the distance, not too far from himself, were two glowing eyes, golden and too bright to be normal. As if he couldn’t get any colder, a chill of fear rushed through his body. On top of everything tonight, he was gonna get eaten by an animal, he was sure of it.

The gold eyes looked into his own and, to his horror, started to get closer to him. He was surely going to die, cold and alone and in pain, he was certain of it. Another pitiful sound left his mouth, unable to remain silent like he so badly wanted to. “Please,” he whimpered, pressing himself against the tree, curling into himself ever further, aching hand pulled close to his chest, before squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Please don’t kill me, please. I just wanna go home, please.”He sounded like a dumb little kid, but truly, that’s what he was. A stupid, stupid ten year old kid.

He sat with his eyes closed, flinching with each crunch and crack of the earth under the creature's paws. He muttered pleas under his breath as the sounds grew closer and closer but shut his mouth painfully when a twig cracked right in front of him.

He was doomed.

And yet…

Nothing but a cold wet nose met him. No painful demise, no sharp teeth and loud snarls, just a nose and some audible sniffs to his face. In an instant, his eyes snapped wide open. He startled at the sight, it was a… a dog? But not really, it was more than a dog. It looked like a wolf.

If that were the case, why didn’t it want to eat him?

“What-”, what was going on?

Before he could even question his safety any further, the wolf-slash-dog nudged itself closer to him, almost immediately covering him from the cold. “You’re not gonna eat me?” He asks quietly, like he’d get a reply anyway.

And he supposed he sort of gets one when the wolf-slash-dog looks at him and huffs, sounding similar to a sigh his mom would make when he asked too many questions.

“Yeah, I guess that’s a dumb question since you’re lyin’ on me.” The wolf-slash-dog sighs again and settles itself as on top of him as he could. “Thanks for keepin’ me warm. I didn’t really think about… anything when I ran away from home. My mom… she’s probably gonna be so mad when I get home. If I get home at least… I don’t really know where I am.”

The wolf-slash-dog, he still doesn’t know what to call it, just huffs again. “I know you can’t talk but, you kinda seem like you understand so, can I… can I touch you? I know your layin’ on me but my hand really hurts and I-”

He’s met startlingly quick with gold eyes, still shining too bright, growls a little before nudging at his hands, gentle as possible, like he somehow just knows. Liam doesn’t react at first, a little stunned, a little stupefied, but when another growl rumbles from the creature on top of him, he drops his hands into the soft fur, instantly grateful for the cushion and warmth.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, mindlessly petting immediately with his good hand.

Silence settles over them, no sound except for the soft breathing from his new companion and the barely noticeable sound of his fingers scratching through its fur. He’s still cold, but he’s warm enough that, mixed with the emotional exhaustion, he starts to feel tired. Really, really tired.

“You’re really soft, you know that?” He mumbles, a sleepy lisp on his tongue.

The wolf-slash-dog just sighs again.

-

Liam’s not entirely too sure when he’d fallen asleep, he just knows he had when he’s startled from it, met by dim sunlight and his moms panicked voice. He blinks the blur from his eyes, good hand gripping tightly into black fur. He looks at the wolf, he’s sure of it now, before looking up to where his mom comes running toward him. “Mom-,” he says, eyes widening and heart picking up in pace as he reaches his good hand up at her.

But the moment he lets go, his wolf sprints off with nothing more than a look back. “No! Come back!” He leans toward the direction the wolf runs, both hands hitting the hard forest floor before his broken hand buckles under his weight. He hisses, whining at the pain but still wanting to scramble off in the direction of the wolf. “Mom, please, you’ve gotta make him come back! He- he saved me!”

“Oh, Liam!” She ignores his cries for the wolf, pulling him in close even. “You’re safe, oh my god, you’re safe. You can’t- baby you can’t run off like that! And you’re hurt! Honey, your hand’s swollen and bruised. We need to make sure you’re okay.”

“Mom, the wolf, I can’t leave him!”

-

But it didn’t matter. She’d been too worried in the end, reasonably so. Worried about his hand, worried about the fever he didn’t even know he’d had until he was too sick to not notice. He’d never seen his wolf again.

He’d forgotten almost entirely about it actually, reminiscent in a way a dream would be.

That was, until after he’d been bitten. After he’d been changed. Then the glowing eyes… they made more sense. The distant not-dream of the golden eyed, black wolf came back to him in full, the human-like understanding made complete and total sense no matter how badly he wanted it not to.

Still, never did he think he’d ever get a conclusion like this. Face to face with the same wolf in the main hall of Beacon Hills High School, his own golden eyes staring back at the same ones that fled from him all those years ago only moments after he’d turned to scare it away to protect himself and Mason.

It clicked the second his growl died down and his words fumbled in his mouth, clumsy around the still present fangs.

“It’s… you.”

The wolf just stared, recognition flashing in its eyes before it once more turned tail and fled.

He’d see him again he’d soon find out. He’d finally meet his wolf again. He just wouldn’t like how.

—

I’m really sad this is all I could put out for this fun event, but I’m really happy to partake even if it’s not my best work!! Thiam, and Theo in general, has become so special to me. I’ve been a Liam fan for years but Theo… them together…. Ugh I love them so, so much.

Thank you @liamdunbarsappreciation & @theoraekenapperciation for putting all of your efforts into this project and being a vessel to spread so much creativity!

I hope this is kinda, sorta enjoyable as I haven’t written in over a year and this is like super duper rough 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[honeyed-kacchussy]

bakugo katsuki has intermittent explosive disorder with high frequency/low intensity outbursts.

[fymo-blogs]

I made a flag for IED (Intermittent Explosive Disorder)

I have been diagnosed with this, and it didn't have a flag, so I made one myself based on my experience with the disorder!

The red represents the intense and almost uncontrollable anger felt during outbursts.

The brown represents the regret after the outbursts, for the hurtful things said that weren't really meant.

The blue represents the negative emotions that cause the outbursts, along with the negative emotions that are felt after the outburt.

[chimera-summer]

Anxiety and anger are both ways your brain tries to protect you, just with different end goals, and both of those end goals are integral to survival. Anxiety and anger can both exist in a disordered way. Respecting someone's anxiety triggers is integral to their wellbeing - it is important to help those with mental health issues avoid a serious episode whenever possible. On the other hand, respecting someone's anger triggers is considered "walking on eggshells" and asking people close to you to avoid things that cause anger attacks is "abusive."

Someone having a disordered experience with anger does not implicate anything about their values or morality in the same way having a disordered experience with anxiety does not implicate anything about a person outside of "has anxiety." It is literally just by chance that people who end up experiencing anger attacks are more likely to hurt people in some way. It is not because they are more violent as people, it is because the mental health issue they ended up being afflicted with just so happens to make it harder to deal with the emotion associated with "fight." Mental health issues aren't some conscious entity that looks at a person and goes "wow, they're so pure of heart, but I'm an Evil disorder, so I'll have to skip out on this one!" they're conditions that can affect anyone.

The craziest thing to me is the fact that, if someone close to you asks you to not do something so they're much less likely to experience an anger attack near you, it's because they don't want you to be a subject of their anger. It's vulnerable, and it's something done because they don't want to hurt you. If I disclose my triggers to somebody it's because I'm fighting tooth and nail to avoid any chance of doing something in the moment that I could never bring myself to do when I feel I have any choice. It's embarrassing and it makes me feel like I'm telling people how overly sensitive I am, giving them room to judge me for what sets me off, but I do it anyways because I care about them. Yet it's demonized. "If you loved someone you wouldn't hurt them" is as stupid as saying "if you thought about the situation rationally you wouldn't panic over it." It's a disorder for a reason. You can't rationalize yourself out of a response and you can't cure yourself overnight. Employing measures to prevent episodes from reoccurring however possible is the first step to getting better.