#logan001

who: Logan Buchanan ( @xavecamour )

Oliver was truly, utterly, undeniably - a complete idiot. 

“Wear a disguise”, his brothers had said, “you’re going to a very public place and you are going to be bombarded the minute someone recognises you.”

“No,” Oliver had said, idiot that he is, “I’ll take the risk, and, besides, I love meeting our fans.” 

“Change your outfit, at the very least,” his older brother had suggested, “Something less...flashy, would be good.”

Oliver hadn’t listened, naturally. And now he wished he had.

Fans are great, they really are - until said fans won’t leave you alone long enough to step into a single store. Oliver had been surrounded by a gaggle of teenage girls the second he’d stepped foot in Diagon Alley, and spent an hour signing autographs and smiling for cameras that had shown up from god alone knows where.

He’d just managed to slip away after, upon having a stroke of genius, he yelled “is that Lorenzo de Rose?!” and pointed in some vague direction. This diverted the attention of his fans long enough for him to turn and run. 

He bolted into the nearest side alley - and almost immediately, collided bodily with another person. He let out a soft oof, and found himself clutching the arms of the man he’d run into to avoid falling over. They were nice arms, firm. His fingers itched with the urge to squeeze the muscles beneath his palms. 

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly, “I was -” 

The words got caught in his throat when he looked up and met the gaze of possibly the most handsome man he’d ever seen. 

“Uh,” he said, stupidly.

Everything felt so familiar, yet so foreign to him.  He remembered good days here, but everything just reminded me of what had been done to this world, to him. He didn’t feel like himself for the longest time now. He had signed to be left alone , and he was not in the business of being a hero so he didn’t mind that much, maybe it was a bit naive of him. He came back to check in with Jean , she asked him to, and he was left to wander afterwards. That’s when a name tag on a door caught his attention and he stayed at the doorframe.  “I remember the time you swore to not be a teacher here... all it took was a war with aliens. ”

preferring to stay far from the cacophonies of the three broomsticks, zonko's and honeydukes– all of which found themselves heaving with students and staff by the early afternoon, thanks to it being the year's first visit to the village –cohen took it upon himself to wander off from his usual crowd. it's not that he didn't like being around large gangs of people, nor that the excitement had passed him by. his mood was buoyant. simply, he had rather tired of visiting the same places. from one cobbled turn to the next, he felt the autumn chill bite at his hands and began to warm them up with his breath. soon the high winds would come. followed by heavy rains, maybe hail and definitely some snow. cohen hoped the influx of new students had been warned about the highlands' turbulent northern weather. although, he had to admit, it would be hilarious if they hadn't. thoroughly amused by his own thoughts, cohen may have looked somewhat mad as he stepped up to the window display of dervish and banges grinning. he admired the peculiarly pearlescent broom, floating proudly among other shiny bits and bobs. "beautiful, isn't it?" he commented to the tall lad already stood in front of the shop.

@logan-davenport

@logan-t78a

At the information, a warm smile stretched on Kurt's features. He was always rooting for Logan, for over a decade now, through thick and thin, he had always prayed for him to find peace and happiness and reconcile with the human being that he was. "I'm very happy for you , meun Freund" he spoke and hugged him. "Congratulations. "

If she could be forgiven for the bad joke, after all these years Ororo was good at reading the temperature of a room. She had sensed something ... disapproval, distance, censure, she knew not what exactly, from Logan since she had arrived at the Nomads’ base. She knew him well enough to see it in his eyes, even if he’d said nothing yet. It was far better to poke a wound than let it fester, in her mind. But first, she had to admit to some rustiness in her combat skills. Too much time spend in front of a classroom these past few years. “It’s no Danger Room,” Ororo began, looking around. The training room was in essentials fit for the purpose, but she felt a brief flaring of nostalgia for their old base, for the simpler times. 

Still, some things were the same, Ororo reflected, her gaze on Logan as analytical, preparing for a fight, as it was reminiscent. She had missed this, but mostly, she had missed him. “But it’s the partner that means more than the dancefloor, no?” She took wary steps, her stance defensive, before striking out, aiming to land a hit between Logan’s ribs. “I’ve missed dancing with you, Logan.”

“Looks like a frat house in here tonight,” leaning over the bar so she could hear him, he smiled. A rarity in itself but provide enough alcohol and a person he actually liked to be around? It worked wonders for his expressions. “Beer please, Lo, and whatever your fine self wants this evening.” Jace sat down on the stool, an undeniable grumpy frown as his eyes looked out at the rowdy crowd of hipsters. He sighed to himself, pleased that he was only going to be here until she finished her shift, which hopefully, would be soon. “Ay,” turning his phone around for her to see, displayed the menu to a takeout shop on their route home. “Hungry?” Either way, he was going to pre order something for himself as his stomach remained a bottomless pit. 

It had been a long day. A long one. Jessica Drew would be the first to tell you that she was no stranger to long days—it came with the territory of being a private investigator who had to do things like stakeouts, not to mention the ridiculous hours that being an Avenger had required back in the day—but it was for that reason that she had such a firm commitment to some good ol’ TLC. Though, to be fair, her form of TLC was generally pretty lowkey: as long as it consisted of greasy food and a hot shower at some point, it was pretty much a winner. Alcohol was a bonus, as was company.

That was why she was spending her night at the weird diner bar on the corner, near that alley where she’d once been thrown by a fifteen foot robot—it had a dartboard, greasy food, cheap alcohol after five p.m. and a crew that had never once batted an eye as she came in covered in blood and muck and everything else she’d been covered in over the last however many years. To make things better, she was with Logan.

“So,” she said, selecting a fry from the bowl on the table, and glancing up at Logan as she ate it, “anything new and horrifying screwing you over in your life this week?” Apart from the obvious situation of riots and infringement on mutant rights, she meant, though that was fair game too. If she was talking to anybody else in the world, that sentence might sound sarcastic, given there were few people in the world Jessica considered as, or even more, screwed over than she was herself, but Logan was one of them. “Also, these are really good, holy shit—you should eat some,” she added, pushing the bowl towards him. Salt and grease were incredibly important to the Jessica Drew Theory of TLC.