#army of the pharaohs
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pixelnoctis ¡ 5 months ago
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Jedi Mind Tricks Presents: Army Of The Pharaohs - "Seven" [Official Audio]
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shadowalchemistofficial ¡ 2 years ago
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One of the hardest hitting verses Vinnie ever made. He’s right, being close to godliness is being close to loneliness. Once you master the art of being alone: weight is lifted, nothing can touch you, nothing can hold you, you’re focus is fine tuned and you cut out the fluff. It’s nice to have people and be surrounded by friends, but in the end you’re all alone by yourself. When you go wherever you go at the end of the line it will be you in front of whatever is standing there to talk to and send you on your final destination. I’m the end you are accountable for just you. If you can be by yourself at any time for whatever time, you are a beast or god. If you can stand your silence and your thoughts, nothing can hurt you not harm you. Everything just passes by and can’t bother you.
“Yeah
I fuck with marks like the Bolsheviks
Eat a mahfucker heart, cross it off the grocery list
Being close to godliness is being close to loneliness
Like being close to Communist is being close to Socialist
It's a cemetery reign, this is frozen mist
I swim and I don't get wet, I am oceanless
Straight right/left hook y'all are motionless
How is you gon' make magic when you potionless?
Feeding multiple motherfuckers like loaves of fish
Gun cannon assembly from Terrordome broken clips
I just wrote so many rhymes I got a broken wrist
You ain't worth the left hook, stupid here's an open fist”
~Vinnie Paz, verse from Army Of The Pharaohs-Conversation with a Bullet
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illustratus ¡ 10 months ago
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The Destruction of Pharaoh's Army by Philip James de Loutherbourg
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bnomiko ¡ 1 year ago
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This is what happens when a figure collector runs out of room in their office, bedroom, and (lol) bathroom - you take over the nearest hallway. (Ok, it's the start of a takeover. One single cabinet does not constitute a takeover!)
At least now my Yu-Gi-Oh! army (including Yami and a herd of Dark Magicians, the 20lb resin Atem on horseback, and Seto Kaiba and his horde of dragons) finally get a cabinet they can call home : p (tho Seto and Yami already have an entire shelf in another cabinet). And there's room for more here too, which is great since I already have 3 more figures on order...
(I'll post updated, closer up shots of each shelf once I have backdrops and LEDs in place ^_^)
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mybeautifulchristianjourney ¡ 2 months ago
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Pharaoh Pursues the Israelites
1 And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, 2 Speak to the children of Israel, and let them turn and encamp before the village, between Magdol and the sea, opposite Beel-sepphon: before them shalt thou encamp by the sea. 3 And Pharao will say to his people, As for these children of Israel, they are wandering in the land, for the wilderness has shut them in. 4 And I will harden the heart of Pharao, and he shall pursue after them; and I will be glorified in Pharao, and in all his host, and all the Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord. And they did so.
5 And it was reported to the king of the Egyptians that the people had fled: and the heart of Pharao was turned, and that of his servants against the people; and they said, What is this that we have done, to let the children of Israel go, so that they should not serve us? 6 So Pharao yoked his chariots, and led off all his people with himself: 7 having also taken six hundred chosen chariots, and all the cavalry of the Egyptians, and rulers over all. 8 And the Lord hardened the heart of Pharao king of Egypt, and of his servants, and he pursued after the children of Israel; and the children of Israel went forth with a high hand. 9 And the Egyptians pursued after them, and found them encamped by the sea; and all the cavalry and the chariots of Pharao, and the horsemen, and his host were before the village, over against Beel-sepphon.
10 And Pharao approached, and the children of Israel having looked up, beheld, and the Egyptians encamped behind them: and they were very greatly terrified, and the children of Israel cried to the Lord; 11 and said to Moses, Because there were no graves in the land of Egypt, hast thou brought us forth to slay us in the wilderness? What is this that thou hast done to us, having brought us out of Egypt? 12 Is not this the word which we spoke to thee in Egypt, saying, Let us alone that we may serve the Egyptians? for it is better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in this wilderness.
13 And Moses said to the people, Be of good courage: stand and see the salvation which is from the Lord, which he will work for us this day; for as ye have seen the Egyptians to-day, ye shall see them again no more for ever. 14 The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.
Parting the Red Sea
15 and the Lord said to Moses, Why criest thou to me? speak to the children of Israel, and let them proceed. 16 And do thou lift up thy rod, and stretch forth thy hand over the sea, and divide it, and let the children of Israel enter into the midst of the sea on the dry land. 17 And lo! I will harden the heart of Pharao and of all the Egyptians, and they shall go in after them; and I will be glorified upon Pharao, and on all his host, and on his chariots and his horses. 18 And all the Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord, when I am glorified upon Pharao and upon his chariots and his horses.
19 And the angel of God that went before the camp of the children of Israel removed and went behind, and the pillar of the cloud also removed from before them and stood behind them. 20 And it went between the camp of the Egyptians and the camp of Israel, and stood; and there was darkness and blackness; and the night passed, and they came not near to one another during the whole night.
21 And Moses stretched forth his hand over the sea, and the Lord carried back the sea with a strong south wind all the night, and made the sea dry, and the water was divided. 22 And the children of Israel went into the midst of the sea on the dry land, and the water of it was a wall on the right hand and a wall on the left. 23 And the Egyptians pursued them and went in after them, and every horse of Pharao, and his chariots, and his horsemen, into the midst of the sea. 24 And it came to pass in the morning watch that the Lord looked forth on the camp of the Egyptians through the pillar of fire and cloud, and troubled the camp of the Egyptians, 25 and bound the axle-trees of their chariots, and caused them to go with difficulty; and the Egyptians said, Let us flee from the face of Israel, for the Lord fights for them against the Egyptians.
26 And the Lord said to Moses, Stretch forth tine hand over the sea, and let the water be turned back to its place, and let it cover the Egyptians coming both upon the chariots and the riders. 27 And Moses stretched forth his hand over the sea, and the water returned to its place toward day; and the Egyptians fled from the water, and the Lord shook off the Egyptians in the midst of the sea. 28 and the water returned and covered the chariots and the riders, and all the forces of Pharao, who entered after them into the sea: and there was not left of them even one. 29 But the children of Israel went along dry land in the midst of the sea, and the water was to them a wall on the right hand, and a wall on the left.
30 So the Lord delivered Israel in that day from the hand of the Egyptians, and Israel saw the Egyptians dead by the shore of the sea. 31 And Israel saw the mighty hand, the things which the Lord did to the Egyptians; and the people feared the Lord, and they believed God and Moses his servant. — Exodus 14 | Brenton's Septuagint Translation (BST) The English translation of The Septuagint by Sir Lancelot Charles Lee Brenton (1851) Cross References: Genesis 15:1; Exodus 4:17; Exodus 5:21; Exodus 6:9; Exodus 7:5; Exodus 13:21-22; Exodus 15:3-4; Exodus 15:9-10; Exodus 15:19; Exodus 15:25; Leviticus 10:3; Numbers 33:7; Deuteronomy 4:34; Deuteronomy 32:31; Joshua 24:6; 2 Kings 17:7; Psalm 78:14; Psalm 78:53; Isaiah 11:15-16; John 2:11; Acts 7:36; Acts 13:17; Romans 9:18; 1 Corinthians 10:1; Hebrews 11:29
Exodus 14 Chapter Summary
Key Passages in Exodus 14
1. God instructs the Israelites in their journey 5. Pharaoh pursues after them 10. The Israelites murmur 13. Moses comforts them 15. God instructs Moses 19. The cloud removes behind the camp 21. The Israelites pass through the Red sea, which drowns the Egyptians
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pharaohscrypt ¡ 1 year ago
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Well…
I live in the UK and sometimes, with the kids I babysit, we watch a channel called CBeebies!
And…erm…
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Does anyone else think they look similar?
AND THE BAD GUY, THEIR BOSS, SOUNDS LIKE TORD IF HE HAD A HIGHER PITCH VOICE!
~ 📚
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arsonbabe ¡ 3 months ago
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Destruction of Pharaoh's Army - Philippe Jacques de Loutherbourg
1792
Image taken from the Art Institute of Chicago's website
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erik-powery-for-america ¡ 8 months ago
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Jedi Mind Tricks Presents: Army of the Pharaohs - "Swords Drawn"  Jedi Mind Tricks Presents: Army of the Pharaohs - "Swords Drawn"  #Boston #Philadelphia #Massachusetts #Pennsylvania  :  via @YouTube  :  Featuring Chief Kamachi, Demoz, Planetary, Esoteric, Reef The Lost Cauze, and Celp Titled.  Produced by Esoteric.
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dratefahmed1 ¡ 10 months ago
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Building the Pyramids Unveiling the Engineering Marvels #Pyramids #Engineering #Construction
#AncientEgyptianReligion, #GreatSphinxofGiza, #PyramidsofAncientEgypt, #KingRamses, World History,US History,History Lessons,ancient egypt,ancient history,tutankhamun,pyramids,egypt tasting history,food history,max miller,ancient egypt,bread,bread recipe,egyptian bread,egyptian food,baking bread,seamus blackley,egyptian food recipes,ancient egyptians,ancient egypt gods,the book of the dead,aish…
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granonine ¡ 1 year ago
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The Plagues of Egypt
Psalm 105: 28-38. He sent darkness, and made it dark; and they rebelled not against His word. He turned their waters into blood, and slew their fish. Their land brought forth frogs in abundance, in the chambers of their kings. He spake, and there came divers sorts of flies, and lice in all their coasts. He gave them hail for rain, and flaming fire in their land. He smote their vines also…
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that-weird-thing-in-the-woods ¡ 4 months ago
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:) I’m backkkk you all thought you could get rid of me
🛕Pharaoh Tucker with his “Wifes” Sam and Danny🛕
Yes I’m bringing attention to this like why is nobody talking about this????
Now let’s get into the main plot so Danny, Sam and Tucker have to GO and fast ( GIW or bad Fenton au either or. !!!Bonus points!!! If Danny got hurt and than it would make this so much funnier y’all get what I mean in a sec) and they all go to the ghost zone where they meet up with clockwork and he tells them that one of Tuckers earlier reincarnation made a place so in the future he’s good even if he doesn’t remember it so clockwork brings them to what looks like an ancient Egyptian empire with the civilians and the people who live there as the people who died in the past {sorry if this is a bit hard to read I am very tired} and they are brought to the place where clockwork just casually reveals that Tucker is the pharaoh ie: The King and Sam, Tucker and Danny take this very well for them this is a safe place for them to heal and live with the added bonus of helping with Danny’s obsessions (Protection and Space) and after a bit they gain the affection of the people and the…Protection of the people??? Because for the people they see that one of their queen (Danny) was hurt before the royals came here so they get a bit protective and for a bit of information here’s the main jobs of the trio
Tucker taking care of the rules and doing the main running of the empire
Sam takes care of the army and gardens of the empire ( making sure they have enough food and such )
Danny takes care of the people (who grown the most fond of ) and such
So you can see what I’m going for with this now here’s where the JL comes in so the empire was NOT in the ghost zone it is in its own little world but somehow the JL gets tipped off about a triving empire that NOBODY has made contact with so a group ( Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, the flash, green lantern you know the works) goes to make contact and hopefully make allies with them so they go and are taken aback a bit by how much this place is triving and what to meet the people who made this happen so what the JL was expecting was a lest a adult but instead they got what looked like a 16-17 with what looked like two people the same aged sitting next to him on either side (!!!EXRA BONUS POINTS!!! If one of the supers helped Danny before the meeting) and someone makes the dumb decision to ask them where are the REAL rulers and the guards in the room ( who I forgot to mention ) get mad at them and become hostile to them and Sam has to clam them down and that’s all for the plot at the moment
Now on to the details let’s start with tucker I’m thinking about this
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( just instead of blue it’s red) and for a head piece I’m thinking the good old classic 
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It just fits
Now for Sam I’m thinking is for her outfit
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But in darker colors because she’s SAM and for a head piece I’m thinking something like this
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Nothing to big because she has to train the army and she’s outside a lot so if it’s anything to big I think it will just be annoying
For Danny this
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Mixed with this
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Because ye and for his hair piece I’m braining
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This I think it looks neat
Now that’s all from me byeee
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kdmiller55 ¡ 2 years ago
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The First Stanza in the Song of Victory
1 Then Moses and the people of Israel sang this song to the Lord, saying, “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously;     the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea. 2 The Lord is my strength and my song,     and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him,     my father’s God, and I will exalt him. 3 The Lord is a man of war;     the Lord is his…
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notaplaceofhonour ¡ 3 months ago
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I feel like there are two truths, that we rightly celebrated when Pharaoh’s army were drowned, and that at the same time G-d was heartbroken that their creation was drowning—and neither response is wrong.
Both are entirely valid and normal responses to have to the death of evil men (who nevertheless were still people), and you just kinda gotta live with that complexity. like, you can’t expect people not to grieve the death of any part of G-d’s creation, but you also can’t expect people not to sing when their persecutors are gone.
I think G-d made us to feel both, and they made some of us to feel one more than the other, and that’s okay.
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anarchistfrogposting ¡ 6 months ago
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“The pyramids are so massive there’s no way ancient Egyptians built that” get a FUCKING GRIP. Ancient Egypt was an extraordinarily stable and well-developed society. It had consistent and reliable access to extremely fertile, arable and highly developed land that employed a massive army of reserve labour in the off season. It had navigable river access to the Mediterranean and coastal access to the Indian Ocean. It was situated right next to the wealthiest parts of the ancient world. Its ENTIRE CULTURE AND RELIGION revolved around the boundary between life and afterlife and the circle of life and death - pyramids started construction far before the pharaohs were even CLOSE to death. There are many MANY examples of protopyramidal structures and direct examples of pyramid construction even outside the reach of the fullest extent of the kingdom of Egypt, in Sudan. Literally what more proof do you need? If there really was strong evidence of alien construction, historians would literally be salivating at the prospect of understanding how that came to be. Denying the incredible human achievement that the pyramids constitute isnt just sad and racist, it’s bullheaded; you have to concede so much direct and tangible evidence to believe they weren’t built by the Egyptians.
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the-catboy-minyan ¡ 10 months ago
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Atheist here asking questions about the Moses story, could g*d have found a better way of punishing the pharaoh then killing their children? I feel like there could have been better options?
Mostly I’m curious as to what the interpretation of that is.
well I'm an atheist as well so keep that in mind, but I have no idea.
the story is from thousands of years ago, and many stories from that era include bloodshed (in ways we in the modern world may consider unnecessary).
you have to keep in mind that this punishment was the last one of 10, after 9 other plagues to pressure the pharaoh to release the Israelites. those were: turning the river to blood, a bunch of fucking frogs everywhere (or a giant frog, jumblr had a debate about it), lice, invasion of wild animals, a disease on their livestock, scabies, hail, locusts, and total darkness for three days.
Moses went to Pharaoh after every plague, but he didn't budge until the last one, the death of the firstborns in eygypt. and even after he agreed, he changed his mind and sent his army after the escaping Israelites (which lead to the miracle of the parted sea).
that was not Moses's decision to kill the firstborns, the Israelites didn't cheer for their deaths, and we don't celebrate it. I'd like to remind the audience at home of the start of the story, where the Israelites where slaves to the Egyptians, and the (previous) Pharaoh passed a law to throw every male baby to the nile river, that was a human decision enforced by humans.
many other cultures have their fair share stories of bloodshed being presented as good or even heroic, Judaism shouldn't be expected to be an outlier when it's one of the more ancient religions. not to mention the 10 plagues were never really presented as positive in my opinion, they were a necessary evil to free them from slavery.
thanks for the ask! i hope my answer makes sense. again I'm not religious so I may have gotten some things wrong.
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themareverine ¡ 28 days ago
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Toy Soldiers | part one | worst!wolverine x namelessfem!OC
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synopsis: He was just a one of those fast food kid’s meal toys from 1993—key word, was. now he’s Hugh Jackman incarnate, standing in the master bedroom of her midwestern apartment, lost in time and infinity. she’s gotta get him back to his world, where he’s the worst Wolverine, where he belongs—or, maybe not?
warnings: Indian in the Cupboard themes (iykyk), fluff, AU, not entirely sure what else at this point, nameless!femOC with blue eyes could be interpreted as reader, mentions of a best friend named Rose, etc, literally based on this silly little toy I rescued and now have crafted extensive lore for.
a/n: i didn't ask for this to become a multi-chapter thing. i really didn't, ok? this got away from me, but i really love these two so much already. this was fun to write, and she's a fun character to develop. worst!wolverine is just occupying too much brain space.
MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION
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Dreaming in color is a pro, when you weigh it against the cons—usually.
She’d been dreaming in movie-like quality since she was a kid, could pinpoint almost to the exact timespace when she first realized her dreams were akin to Hollywood flicks roving about her brain like Spielberg classics.
She’d been six, maybe seven. A hopeless crush on Wednesday night’s Steve Irwin had somehow twisted the innocent power of her brain—the only, almost divine dreamstate visit to Australia she’d ever taken. Still she can taste the hot air, thick with sweat and arid desert, from the back of an obscure Land Rover, jostled and bouncing along forgotten roads and who-knows trails. Eyeballing open sky and endless outback sands, the Crocodile Hunter and his darling wife, Terri, vivid imaginations to a childhood fantasy yet, mostly, unlived. 
And ever since this God-granted, she’d always assumed it was a gift and thus titled it so, she’d been dreaming vividly most of the last twenty four years. Forgetting her dreams was the exception, black and white—unheard of. Tasting, speaking, reading, touch was wrapped up in REM and weighted blankets, vicarious life she’d never, really, lived in her waking moments—everything from the supernatural to gut-wrenching. Martial bliss and familial tragedy. Combat she could only ever hope wasn’t accurate. Fame and fortune. R rated filmstrips that left her stomach light and fluttery every morning, promptly, at 4:45—alarm shrieking in her ear, viscerally ripping her back to the land of the living with frothing teeth, the Greatest Showman custom alarm all but a slap in the face.  
It’s, as usual, dark when the numbers on her phone roll over to 4:45—sucked out of a dream like the vacuum of space itself lays claim to her soul, her eyes flutter open heavily to stare at the alarm. Hugh Jackman would never be so unwelcome as he is now, blaring from little iPhone speakers—she manages to lift a noodle-esque arm to slap at the noise hanging out in the darkness around the vicinity of her nightstand. 
Fingers locate the smooth screen, swipe away the prompt for snooze. Roll over. Hand over her eyes—it’s Saturday The day after Friday, her first day alone all week. World beyond is closed away behind walls and empty schedules, priorities otherwise left-fielded for such days as this.  
Warmth simmers beneath heavy weighted covers, trapped against her body. Clawing up through her mattress, threatening to pull her back into oblivion. Pharaoh’s hadn’t been so mummified, entombed as she is now, but that’s the beauty of a queen mattress left unshared—solidarity. Armies only wish they held such control over real estate as she did these sheets, this bed frame—very little could remove her from the ecstasy that is this Eden, the one place that did not require compliance, performance, untenable perfection.
Here she could rot for hours, engage in adventure that the earth would never understand—that man would jeer. 
Heaving a sigh melts her deeper into her astronaut-designed mattress, stomach suddenly flatter than it’s ever been as gently fingers tease at the strip of skin exposed. Back arching, stirring nearly-paralyzed muscle. Toes skip over warm satin sheets as she navigates to her side, arm tucking beneath her pillow. Drawing blankets to her chin, another deep breath closes her eyes, shuts off her brain—all but ready to return to dreamstate, the screen on her phone illuminates again—diiiiing.
Light explodes, lighting up the area of her nightstand just enough to give purpose to her surroundings. 
Nose scrunching in an effort to unhear and forget the notification, her eyes slowly pull open as she considers the phone. It’s her best friend, she knows it is—Rose is up early. All the time. Taking care of her little family at the base of the Teton mountains, as if this is Little House on the Prairie and such things were the norm.
Her inability to ignore anything from Rose props her up on an elbow, has her reaching for her phone—thumbs the passcodes. Opens the text, eyes scanning the message from last night. 
It’s a photo message. She’d sent it last night, proudly showing off the latest addition to her childhood nostalgia collection—a thrift store find, the little McDonald’s toy is hardly noteworthy. Scuffed and worn, it had seen adventures, surely, in its pre-her-possession life. Surprise had knocked her between the eyes like a stone when she’d managed to spy 1993 printed on the little action hero’s foot, in barely-there legalese. 
At thirty-one years old, one may have expected the little five-cent made-in-Taiwan to end up in the landfill, rotting alongside near-radioactive diapers or kill-the-turtles plastic straws.
Nope, not this one—Marvel’s very own little Wolverine. Dolled up in a cute little sci-fi bronze suit, ready for a fight. Retractable claws, the hardly-scuffed cowl, a proud encircled X in all its glory—wrapped up in a little sandwich baggie marked down at the thrift. She’d almost felt sorry for him in that cute aggressive way. 
And almost giddy at the fluke cocktail of age and condition, she’d pocketed the little guy. A pleased smile, her very own little Wolvie nestled in the leathers of her jacket, then the bottom of her purse. He’d adventured to work with her accidentally on Friday, plastic eyes watching her pass the time at the office from his little perch beside her keyboard and Starbucks. Almost had forgotten him, poor thing—he’d landed on her nightstand among the other needs-put-away items for the weekend, proudly standing in his posed little battle stance.
All he needed was matching Sabretooth, maybe Magneto, and he’d be good to go. 
Looky who came home with *me*, shot over to Rose with a little thrill, a Snapchat-like photo of him perched alongside her night cream and phone charger. More of a proud sentinel guarding her bedside table than anything, she’d regarded him playfully, like a child—had told him to close his eyes when she’d undressed. Had asked him about a movie to watch in bed as she managed hip-opening exercises, relaxing breathing techniques. All but kissed him goodnight, promising to get him settled among her other collectable childhood wonders in the morning.
After coffee and cardio, wouldn’t Hugh be proud. 
Rose’s LOL text all but smiles back at her, and she’s a little cross-eyed from the brightness of her phone. It improves when her eyes skate away from the phone, to the little Wolverine—wait.
Brow furrowing, his absence from the nightstand sparks more panic than she’d be willing to admit in therapy—she bends over the side of her bed, fingertips skating the floor in search of her little plastic wonder. Nothing but plush carpet, abandoned laundry she’d failed to relocate to her drawers—her phone slips from her hand as she hauls herself over the bedside, to peer beneath.
It’s dark, duh, and she fumbles upside-down with the flashlight on her phone. Sun levels of intense light, she makes arching passes beneath her bed, but no dice. Nada. Zilch–zippo on the Wolverine toy. 
“Well this is just a little ridiculous,” her mumble rolls off a dry tongue, from messy hair as she works herself back up from hanging over the bedside. 
Forcing off her weighted blankets has never felt more urgent, importance spiking her blood with ill-placed adrenaline she doesn’t understand—why she cares so much about a little three-decade-old McDonald’s toy she’ll never understand, but the thought of him lost in the abyss of her house is more unsettling, again, than she’d admit in therapy.
Legs swinging over the bed, she plucks her glasses from the tray on her nightstand, grabbing for the light robe dragging the floor from one of the nightstand’s knobs. 
Wrestling a steer would’ve been easier than un-inside-outing the garment, still hazy and half-asleep and wholly uncaffeinated, but she manages. Another scout under her bed reveals that, no, little Wolvie isn’t among the dust bunnies and lint of her carpeted under-bed floor.
Brow furrowing, her glasses slip down her nose as she hauls herself back to her feet, sleep-stiff muscles protesting as she massages the back of her neck. 
Hands on her hips, she reaches for her phone. “Had I known you had teleportation powers, little Lo, I’d have sold you off to NASA—come on,” Triggering the flashlight on her phone again, she dives to check between the headboard and mattress, to see if her Logan lookalike decided to magically dive headfirst into the almost-abyss—
“—you make a habit of talkin’ to open air, girlie?” 
Two things happen immediately in her body. 
First. Alarm jumps up in her chest like a devil, deep claws sinking into the meat of her chest only to rip away any sense of safety taking up residence behind her ribs, in her bones. Heart forgetting to throb, blood all but stands still in her veins, asystole in her arteries—she can feel the lining of her stomach twist into a viper-like coil so cold, she fears frostbite has set into her organs.
Fear knocks hard on the door of her sternum, ripping the wind from her lungs. Terror opens up her vocal cords and bludgeons a song from her throat, but it’s so dry in her apartment that the fleshy membranes of her mouth have all but become cragged Sahara sands. Tongue swelling to the size of her fist, she fears she’ll choke on it. Forces it against the back of her bottom teeth, jaw clenching with enough force to break open the world. 
Legs somehow managing to propel her up onto her mattress, across the bed, to the farthest corner of the space. Cold sweat raises to a dance across her skin, satin sleeping pants clinging to the flesh of her thighs as sapphire eyes attack the figure cutting through the threshold of her door—hands low and open, in placating surrender.
Brow furrowed with canyon deep lines, dark eyes flick over her frame as she takes a step back for each of the ones he cautiously makes into the room. Invading her privacy, an unwelcome intruder. 
“Easy, sweetheart,” early morning gravels his words, which hang low in baritones not at all unfamiliar, “‘m not gonna hurt you. You breathin’ ok?” Genuine concern passes through his eyes, deep and alive, but—not in a bright way. The corner of his lip tips up, “Don’t mean to scare ya, pretty.” 
Pretty? Sweetheart? Who the hell is this—?
Any familiarity his face holds is lost to the bite of adrenaline, slavering teeth trenching into the back of her brain. Seeming to lap at the spinal fluid all but bubbling down the length of her back. Chest heaving with effort, she fears her ribs might break. Cardiac muscle behind her chest bones all but explodes with every heavy heartbeat, reminding her to stay alive. That she, still, is living. 
Stomach sour, twisting like corded steel, she lunges for the foot of her bed—snatched the first thing she can retrieve. Face all but a blazing inferno of heat, nails all but pike into the soft plush of a stuffed animal. Her favorite. Or, rather, was—now little more than a weapon, it stands between her and the invasion like a fortress. 
“What the hell are you doing here,”she challenges, taking a half step back. Memories of kickboxing classes, somewhere in her youth, escape through the fingers of memories in the back of her head. More boxing posture than anything, she lifts her arms to chin level. Fingers tear into the stuffie like it’s a lifeline, like it’s protection. And for now, it is. 
Not giving him the chance to answer, his mouth hangs open in muted response, “This is my apartment—you can either leave or I’ll–I’ll forcibly remove you.” It would take a 911 call—it would mean grabbing her phone from the nightstand, punching the emergency button, and staying away from him during response time. All unlikely, given proximity. The size of the apartment. How he blocks the only damn exit with his huge-ass frame. 
Jaw snapping closed, a thick brow pops up. He chuckles. He think this is funny, “Whoa, take it easy, bub—” 
“—shut up! Stop talking!” Pointing a strong finger at him, she shuffles back on light feet. Bobbing as best she can, trying to appear light. Prepared. But everything in every manual in the world wouldn’t have prepared her for home invasion—all those home defense classes. The hours shooting clays and targets with her father. Worthless. 
I am so going to die. 
Another step into her sanctuary, holy of holies. “Quit moving, damnit!” 
The stranger stops mid-stride, brows arched in surprise at her tone of voice. Squinched nose, and tightly shut eyes add to what must be a comical look on her face. Coupled with crimson cheeks and the shake setting into her hands, she surely looks—well. A sight, if little else.
Realizing nothing short of an eternity has lapsed in the cool peace and blissfully ignorant darkness of closed eyes, hers pop open. She watches has near-pawlike hands, mapped with raised veins and pronounced callous, drop to his sides for all of a minute. Her heart cuts against her ribs like an ax laid to roots, willing to break something loose—he chuckles. Laughs. Some faraway light catches the darkness of his eyes, brightens his face in a way that only ever seemed so Hollywood, but is now real. 
And he laughs with his entire body for all of a few seconds, wrinkles at either side of his eyes deepening into canyons that seem to fill with his amusement, at her expense.Mind short circuiting, her toes curl into the carpet, calluses on her heels catching frayed fibers as she does her best, again, to stay light on her feet. Nothing about her is light, certainly, and she attempts to calculate distance, how many seconds it would take her launch her body forward, toward the door. Past him, into the corridor, out the front door.
 HIs hand extends, palm up. Waving her forward, as if she were some thing to beckon—
—until her stuffie chucks directly at his face, a blur of hot-pink fur and fluff. 
The moment she arched her arm and sent Mr. Hearts on his first-ever attempt of flight, her feet springboard off the carpet, launching her forward at a speed she never thought possible. Adrenaline jumpstarts every one of her cells, lacing through her veins like rocket fuel—and the world spins by in a blur of color, her chest racked with pain as her heart racehorses behind bones that are no less than temperatures akin to magma. 
Tunnel vision blocks out the world, save the nearly sparkling promise of the room’s exit. Tears bubble up on her lash line, hot and intruders on any clarity of brainspace she’s trying to will forward. Hot, breathy fear closes her throat, nothing but blood rivers through her ears—nothing except the ache of her throbbing heart, the painful push and pull of her lungs expanding and retracting. 
They say hearing is the last thing to go when your soul begins to fade into death, but it’s a lie—she can’t hear a damn thing. And she’s more than alive.
Missing completely the soft snikt!, the what-would-usually-be unmissable split of skin, there’s a muffled tearing of fabric as once beloved Mr. Hearts suddenly becomes two halves of himself. Puffy stuffing explodes into the air, faintly she can feel her beloved stuffed animal hit the floor mutedly. In some back door of her brain she knows what’s happened, but survival carries her feet—pumps her arms. Zeroes her gaze on the door, blocks out anything other than the gut instinct to run, run, run hard. 
Finger reach to grab the doorway, hurl herself around the corner—but it’s too late. Electric movement snaps through the air, a microsecond passes before a thick, heavy arm catches her around her waist. Hauls her backward, sucks her from the door like something from  Star Wars, the world spinning by in a Picasso of color and tears as she’s manhandled, forced back. Kicking her feet into the air, she wills him to break, throwing her body mass back, against him. Arches her back. Wrangles and claws at the hair on his arm, the muscle that is taught against her rebellion.  
Throat splitting with a shriek, she’s silenced when his enormous palm claps hard over her mouth. It feels like centuries have passed, but in reality, it’s been seconds. Breaths and heartbeats. Tears trailblaze hot down her face, her throat all but reverberating with sobs. Body heat wraps around her, butter down her spine as the arm around her middle pulls her tighter. Closer. Keep your enemies close—
And he’s tall, legs anchored behind her. Like a brick house. Snot begins to empty her sinuses in a slick, sticky mess. Her mouth attempts to open behind the palm of his hand,all saliva and spit. Doesn’t seem to do much. Digging her heels into the floor, her foot skims the floor. Looks for one of his. Finding it, she slams her heel against would-be soft bones, and he hisses. Grunts like an animal.
“Knock it off,” his baritone rumbles, a dangerous growl over her ear, “not here to hurt you, darlin’.” A lie. She doesn’t believe him, digs her heels farther into the soft flesh of his feet. Buries her nails into his muscle, the soft flesh of that tender spot under the wrist. Veins, lots of blood there. 
Something obscene slips past his lips. Fighting back more stinging tears, his fingers curl around her wrist bruisingly, and with herculean strength, he whips her about-face, suddenly chest-to-chest with her as his fingers fist in her hair. Pulls sharply, “fuckin’ hell—calm the fuck down,” his fingers fall from her hair, instead grab her chin with an almost bruising grip, “stop bawlin’, for Christssake,” 
Her nails milk as they dig into his wrist, deep red lines canyon the hand holding her face with a patience lost to most members of his sex. Hard, dark eyes hold hers with a fierceness that numbs her intestinal tract. For a moment, an arctic swirl is born and dies in his gaze, resurrected instead a hint of grief and—empathy, maybe. A lostness she can’t describe. Confusion punches lines between his knitted brows, etching deep into ruddy, masculine features a kind of unwordly handsome, had he not been sent to kill her. 
Oh God, please—Shaking, her eyes pinch closed again, unwilling to let him see any more of her soul. More snot and tears, saliva pearls between the seam of her lips as she tries, and fails, not to blubber. Knees buckle. Hangs there, full weight of her body supported on her chin between his fingers, jaw suddenly alive with inferno pain. It lasts seconds before he lets her go, and she sinks to the floor, slackdoll and sobbing. Staring across the floor, her cheek burns against the harsh fibers of the floor. 
Her belt. Abandoned, on the floor last night after a work dinner. It’s the only thing, and her brain conjures images of just exactly how she’d use it, suddenly Jackie Chan or GI Jane or some shit she’s seen a thousand times on film, has never executed. Hiccuping in short breaths between sniffles and sobs, tears leak into the carpet off her cheek. Her heart pumps blood that may as well pool into her chest, leak between the cracks in her confidence. 
Stepping back, he looks at her. A cocktail of surprise and irritated, he sinks to a crouch. Shakes off red marks that still linger on his arm, wipe her snot and saliva on his-–are those yellow?-–pants. No time to notice, to care—her nails catch against the fibers of the carpet. Begin to push her bodyweight up, on an elbow. 
Unburdening a sigh, his hand scrubs his face as hers darts across floorspace. Snatching the belt with a speed she’s never fostered, he doesn’t even have time to put two and two together before the leather snaps like a whip, thick silvers from a rodeo buckle landing fully on the bone of his jaw. Cuts a deep line that flashes scarlet, rips open flesh like a fillet knife. 
“Fuck!” it’s harsh, bestial.
Reeling back, she finds time to scramble to her feet like a clumsy foal, looping the belt around her fist once as he pops tall. Backpedaling away from arm’s length, she pistons towards the door, on fire and pumping adrenaline like a sieve. 
And she flies. Out of the bedroom. Down the corridor. Somehow she manages to find her keys on the kitchen table as his heavy, earthshaking feet pump down the hall. Fumbles over her own feet at the front door, slams into it hard, bounces off. Fingers suddenly unable to communicate coherently with her brain, the chain lock on her apartment door is all but burning as she tries, and fails, to work it just so. 
“Come on, come on! Work, you piece of shit—” she’s never sworn more in her life than she has now, and it’s sour, like bile splashing up on her back teeth. But it rips from her throat all the same, bitter and hot, as she mutters fuck, fuck, fuck me! under short, airy breaths that do nothing to put oxygen back into her body. May as well be a drowning soul, the way she sucks in air. Gasps for breath. Drowning or an emphysemic. 
Ignoring the hard breathing behind her is impossible. Whirling around on the ball of her foot, he’s close enough to lock her against the door. Her head falls back hard enough to knock against the door, rattle her teeth. And as her vision begins to settle from the bouncing in her cranium, she sees the three blades bury to the knuckle—the knuckle?—in her heavy, pristine oak front door. Rattles the wall, splits the sheetrock. 
Pupils blown wide, she can feel all the blood leave her body. Terror locks her spine between slavering, hungry teeth. Gaze welded to the blood pearling from fresh wounds between white knuckles, the hinge of her jaw fails. Her mouth opens mutedly, enough for him to count her teeth if he so desired. 
And maybe he does. “Goin’ somewhere, honey,” it isn’t a question. That grin is animalistic. “Stay awhile, huh?” 
He closes in. Her head snaps forward to find him. Nose to nose, he sneers at her, and her eyes think to move to the fillet of open flesh her attack has left on his jawline—or, had. No evidence of even so much as a mark on the sharp line of his jaw, just dark facial hair and sweat that’s bubbling up on his skin, angry red that fans up his neck. Swearing to God she can see the vein in his temple throb with blood, her grip on the leather belt tightens before reality sets in. 
Ohmygod, ”You’re—” her stomach resurrects up her throat. ”—Jesus,” and it isn’t so much a curse as it is a prayer, a hope. A lifeline—grasping at straws, praying something sticks.
Reality begins to fall away, through boneless fingers. Feeling the belt slip from her control, her throat suddenly constricts to the point of oxygen deprivation. Gaping like a fish, her tongue swells to a thick cotton she can no longer feel. 
Numb—everything buzzes with that painful, white-noise needling. 
And she does the only thing her body can manage. Shoves past him just enough to upset a chair—
—-and throws up. 
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