claws of fury.

basic rules//info… highly tied to indigenous identity, please keep this in mind ++ near exclusive to mutuals ++ highly detailed 3rd person limited multipara ++ crossover ok ++ selective shipping ++ pg13 for sx or romance, r for violence, language and themes ++ minors, personals and callout/drama blogs dni, all will be blocked |

expanded rules//info... multimuse carrd...

new blog//still a wip ++ best viewed on desktop. |

*verses... (open to adding more, but idk what else.) e-616.. main verse, comic canon. personal interpretation and headcanons welcome, characters based heavily/fully on xmen 92 + 97 are fine here. no characters based heavily/fully on xmcu/mcu (exceptions may be present for friends lmao). e-616++crossover.. same as above but open to crossovers with pretty much whatever, preferably other comics. i only do crossovers with 616 and one other verse. ultimates.. new ultimates, e-6160, not original ultimates. winter soldier wolverine. personal interpretation and headcanons welcome. e-12025.. this is the wolverine/hercules universe. personal interpreation and headcanons welcome. this verse inherently includes crossover because of how it appears in the comics. x-campus.. this is e-10724, where all the x-men are teens. not the same as evolution. personal interpretation and headcanons welcome. evolution.. this is e-11052/3110, where about half the cast are in high school. this version of logan is demi and gay, not bisexual. personal interpretation and headcanons welcome.

Though they’d spent the last few hours practically bar and pub crawling; having stumbled into one another at some sleazy dive a few bars back, both Logan and John were relatively sober. The latter marginally less so, given a lack of substantial healing factor— but a helluva an alcohol tolerance could certainly get a man places. The last establishment— the wrong place to wind up in, turns out; what a mess!— had been trying to kick them out before they not-so-quietly decided to leave, Logan leading the way to wherever he’d parked his bike some miles back.

Of course, it was so desperately typical for them to run into trouble; a man who’d they’d definitely pissed off in the last bar following them out in his own drunken stupor. Being who they were, harsh words were exchanged, and then Logan had thrown a punch, and a kick, and a bite. The man, unbeknownst to them until it was too late, was the brother-in-law of the owner of which they had just vacated. Bastards the family seemed to be, as the cops were called.

And while Logan would’ve just skirted out of their way or started a further fight— he was accompanied tonight. And, speaking simply, John Constantine didn’t seem like the type to want to be thrown over the shoulder as Logan ran, so they had shuffled into the hedge that bordered a nearby park as dazzling blue and red lights flashed across the street.

Now, with the shadows of the hedge dancing on their faces, all there is to do is wait. The man across the way spills his story to the cops, Logan picking up on the conversation with his enhanced senses and narrating his words back to John; “says we accosted ‘im. S’pose I— we— did, but the bastard deserved it, mouthin’ off.” Nodding his head down, he peers further out of the leaves, ignore the scraping against his skin. A glance back towards John, and Logan smirks, fanged teeth glinting. “Still got yer Silk Cuts?” he asks, tone mocking and shifting into a terrible imitation of John’s accent at the brand name.

Despite the unforeseen on-and-off weather that had picked up right after he’d begun his walk (‘Ro had warned him, of course, but to no avail), he makes is way down the sidewalk with purpose. Plans had been made a week ago, really six days ago, and Logan was sticking with it, if only for the sake of a dear, old friend. They were to meet a block away from where he now waits at an intersection, looking for the break in the tidal wave of cars that splash down the road in front of him. His foot taps once, twice, and they finally slow, leaving the Wolverine with a short opening where he can rush across the street, only causing a grand total of one car to stop in it’s tracks and blow a gasket, and a horn, because of and at him.

Only a couple buildings now, until he arrives at the corner they’d designated to meet. The sky rumbles above, and Logan spares it a glance, having to tilt his head up further and move a hand to secure the hat upon his head. It doesn’t seem like it’ll start raining again, but then again, he’d thought the same an hour ago. Petrichor and the scents of damp food, hair, and clothes hit his nose. Sifting through them, he dodges around a puddle, before ultimately grimacing at the smells of pooling oil, wet trash and wet strays. Too familiar, Logan thinks, and pulls out a cigar, hiding the tip of it and his lighter so it catches. Tobacco is much more comforting then the always hammering sounds and smells of the city.