phantomof-themcu

[phantomof-themcu]

"Burdened With Glorious... Alliance?" - Logan/Wolverine x black!fem! Reader

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Summary: Loki 'Y/N' Ormurdottir, the Goddess of Mischief, Deceit, and Serpents, spends her days in solitude at the House of V, using her magic to monitor the multiverse and protect the variants under her care. Her peace is disrupted when Wanda, the Scarlet Witch, brings Deadpool and Logan to ask for her help against the looming threat of Cassandra Nova, a powerful villain bent on distorting timelines. Loki, initially reluctant, is drawn to Logan, whose quiet demeanor and intense gaze capture her attention. As they begin discussing the mission, Loki feels an unexpected connection to him, though she tries to keep her feelings in check, aware of the complexities this could bring.

Pairing: D&W!Logan x black!fem!Loki variant!reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Author's Note:

If you thought you saw me post this before...no you didn't! Anyways, I'm back with another MCU fanfic. Honestly, don't mind me, I just love writing these. In fact, I already have the second part of this ready for release. I just have to add a few tweaks to it. If you want to see it, please please please, comment! I love positive feedback and seeing people want to read! Like, comment and share if y'all fw it.

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The Beginning of Time was never quiet—not truly. It thrummed beneath the stone floors like a distant heartbeat, old as the first lie, steady as a mother's grief. The House of V stood tall here, built with bones of timelines long buried, filled with the breathing remnants of lives that had been pruned and erased. This kingdom wasn’t made of gold or legacy. It was carved from ruin, rebuilt by my hands—by will—not inheritance.

It was mine. And I defended it like breath defends the lungs.

Tonight, I was alone in the observatory chamber, shrouded in magic and thought. Green energy circled me like restless smoke—living, watching, hungering. The divining mirror shimmered before me, showing threads of countless fates. I saw fragments of myself, of others I once knew. Versions of people I could have loved or killed. Futures where I ruled. Futures where I died. Futures where I never existed at all.

I touched the mirror’s surface. It splintered into a thousand glints of possibility.

Then I heard it.

Barely a whisper—my name, “Loki”—like it had been pulled from the lungs of a ghost.

Wanda.

I didn’t wait. I let the smoke take me. My power folded space, slipping me between moments, and I arrived where she stood—just beyond the moonlit arch of the East Hall.

And they were there.

Wanda’s variant, cloaked in a chaos magic barely kept at bay, stood before two outsiders.

One wore crimson and black like a parody of a hero. Masked, irreverent, clearly holding back a thousand words he was dying to say.

The other?

The other was the storm I didn’t expect.

Logan.

He stood with arms folded, eyes hard like stone worn by weather, unshaken by time but bearing its weight. There was something in his silence. Something that wasn’t meant for royalty, but for battle. For bone and steel. He didn’t look at me like others had. Not with awe, not with fear, not even curiosity. Just... presence. Like I was real. Like he was real. And that unsettled me more than the echo of my own name.

As I walked towards the three, my heels gently knocked on the floor beneath me. The golden accessories in my thick hair gently brushed against each other with every step that I took.

Wanda began speaking quickly, explaining their arrival, their purpose, their need.

“He’s looking for someone,” she said. “They both are.”

Deadpool—or Wade, as he introduced himself—leaned dramatically toward me, “Not just someone. Cassandra Nova. Bald psychic lunatic with a god complex and the ability to rewrite your nightmares like they’re sitcom reruns. She’s pulling timelines inside out like... like Christmas tinsel, but evil.”

I blinked once. Slowly. “You talk too much.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Okay, but you'll learn how to tolerate it, right Wolvie?”

I said nothing for I was hoping he was talking to the man next to him this entire time. In fact, I turned my gaze to Logan instead.

He finally spoke, voice low and gravel-worn. “We’re here ‘cause we don’t have a choice. Nova’s tearing through the multiverse, eating everything in her path. Memories. People. Worlds. And this place? The House of V? She’ll find it. Eventually. Unless we find her first.”

Cassandra Nova.

I knew that name. I had seen her across the ruins of a dying branch—a flicker in time where she’d laughed as she twisted the minds of entire civilizations, where her presence had undone reality like thread from a tapestry. Not a threat. A wound. A living infection.

“You’re chasing a ghost made of hate,” I murmured. “One that doesn’t die. One that remembers.”

Logan met my eyes. “Then we need someone who doesn’t forget.”

His words were simple. But there was weight to them. No flattery. No request for help. Just recognition.

It was strange—how something in me paused.

Deadpool, clearly unfazed, added, “Look, we’ve got claws, sass, and a pretty okay plan. But you’ve got time, smoke, creepy snake eyes, and a vibe I’m way too into.”

I ignored him, my attention still wrapped around Logan like fog.

He wasn’t majestic. He wasn’t immortal. He was real. Calloused. Rough. And somehow, in that moment, more present than any god I had ever known.

He didn’t look at me like a goddess or a threat or a tool.

He looked at me like someone who knew what it meant to be taken. Yet, I can't help but feel like he knew what he was doing when he looked at me like that.

Later, I walked with Wanda through the dark glass corridors of the House.

“You trust them?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I trust you.”

Her answer wasn’t flattering. It was sobering. A reminder that my decisions were law in this place.

Still, I thought about the way Logan stood, rooted but never pleading. The way he glanced at me with something close to understanding. Not pity. Not desire.

Just... clarity.

I felt my stomach tighten as my thoughts shifted in strange, unfamiliar directions. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt drawn to someone—but there was something different about him. Something untamable. And even in the quiet, I could feel my breath catch when I thought of him.

Wanda’s voice broke the silence. “You’re staring.”

I blinked and cleared my throat, feeling the heat on my cheeks. “I wasn’t.”

“You were,” she said with an eyebrow raised. “You know... he’s not too bad for a mutant. Bit of a rough edge, but... hmm.” She smirked knowingly. “Are you planning on making this trip more interesting than it already is?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to fight the flush creeping into my skin. The red undertones of my perfectly sun kissed face started to become more apparent. “I—no. No. There is no—no.” But I couldn’t help the sudden, inconvenient tug in my chest when I thought about his voice, his eyes, his presence. Was I... interested? No. Of course not. It was just... temporary curiosity. Right?

“You sure?” Wanda pressed, her voice a teasing whisper. “You’ve been awfully distracted by ‘Logan’.”

“Stop,” I muttered, now fully aware of how my own pulse quickened when I said his name. “It’s nothing like that.”

Wanda’s smirk grew. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

When we reached the gates of the throne chamber, I paused. My robe brushed against the stone, and I took a deep breath, letting the cool air settle in my lungs. The weight of responsibility pressed in again, but it was quickly overshadowed by the undeniable tension coiling around me.

I turned to face Wanda. “You’ll hold The House until I return.”

She gave me a knowing look, then placed a hand on my shoulder. “You know... if anything happens, I’ll hold it all together. But if you get a chance, you could *always* come back with a new, interesting story. Maybe *he’ll* come with you too?”

I shot her a warning look. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, her tone teasing. “You’ve got some *chemistry* brewing there.”

I shook my head, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re insufferable.”

As I turned to join Deadpool and Logan, I couldn’t deny the strange flutter in my stomach. Something unspoken lingered in the air between me and the gruff mutant. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something I should never entertain. But the possibility that we were caught in something *more*—even if only for the moment—felt like the most dangerous game I’d ever played.

Deadpool was talking, oblivious to the change in the atmosphere as Logan just stood there, as silent as ever.

And as I stood next to them, our gazes meeting once more, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t entirely ready to turn away from him.

Not yet. Not when this strange, magnetic pull had only just begun.

I could almost feel Wanda’s smug expression from across the room, but I ignored it, walking forward into the unknown. With Logan at my side, I felt like I could face it all. Even if it meant facing whatever this—whatever we—might turn into.

[phantomof-themcu]

Unyielding: Claws and Scales (Loki x fem!black!Reader)

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Summary:

After a long night of dealing with the politics of your divine family, you return home only to find Loki waiting—furious, wounded, and unwilling to let her disappearance go unchallenged. What begins as a clash of wills turns into something far more intimate, as anger, love, and longing collide in the sanctuary of their penthouse. But beneath the sharp words and burning touches lies a deeper truth—one that neither of them dares to speak aloud, yet both are desperate to prove.

Pairing:

mcu/avengers!Loki x black!fem!goddess!reader (It is alluded that you are something similar to, if not, MCU Bast. Or, just represented by panthers)

Word Count:1.5k

Author’s Note:

Hey y’all. This is my first fanfic I’ve written since I was like…I don’t know, 10? Regardless, I just felt like I haven’t seen enough pairings of certain characters (from all fandoms) with a black reader. I’ve loved Loki my entire MCU trip and I used to wish someone would write a fanfic for me when I was younger so, I guess this is for anyone who’s wished the same thing. Here you go! Also, let me know if y’all want me to write the “spicy” scene. I’m not opposed to it. Please, like, comment, and share!

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The moment I slipped through the doors of our penthouse, I exhaled, willing the tension in my shoulders to dissipate. The council meeting had been insufferable. To reprimand both my little brother Khonshu and my little sister Ammit was an ordeal I would rather not repeat. The Ennead never changed—prideful, stubborn, and exhausting.

I eased off my sandals, flexing my toes against the cool floor, savoring the contrast after a night spent standing in the presence of too many self-important gods. My siblings. But before I could take another step, the lights flared on.

My body tensed instinctively. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and a startled yelp—a distinctly feline sound—escaped my lips before I could swallow it.

"So much for cat-like stealth."

Loki’s voice was cool, but there was something simmering beneath it, something sharp. He stood in the doorway of our bedroom, his hand still on the switch, his expression unreadable. His emerald eyes glowed in the artificial light, his face cast in a mask of restrained anger.

I sighed, brushing an errant curl from my face. "Handling business that did not concern you."

Loki did not move, but his presence filled the space between us. "Where were you?"

"Loki—"

"Where?" The question was no longer gentle.

I turned, walking toward the living room, letting my fingers trace over the sleek furniture as I put space between us. "The council meeting ran long. Our domains required mediation. I was needed."

His steps were soundless as he followed me. "What have I told you about leaving without a word?" His voice was lower now, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

I turned to face him, arms crossing over my chest. "And what have I told you about caging me?"

Loki's jaw tightened, his lips a thin line. "You speak as if I wish to control you. I only ask for the courtesy of knowing where you go."

"Courtesy? Or control?" My voice was a blade, slicing between us. My gentle accent wasn't so gentle in that moment.

His nostrils flared, his hands clenching at his sides. "Do not twist my words, my panthress. Do you know what it does to me, waking to find you gone with no trace? Do you know the madness that grips me when I imagine the worst? You may be a goddess, but even gods fall. And I—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply.

A pause stretched between us, charged and fragile. I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, barely contained, crashing against the unyielding shore of my calm.

I took a step closer. "You fear losing me."

His eyes darkened. "I know what it is to lose. I know what it is to be abandoned, to be discarded like something worthless. Do not make me feel that way again."

The confession settled between us, raw and aching.

I inhaled, reaching up to touch his face, my fingers grazing the sharp angles of his jaw. "I am not leaving you. I will always return to you."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into my touch before pulling away, pacing. "I do not need reassurances. I need actions. I need you to understand that when you disappear without a word, it is not just an absence—it is a wound. And wounds, my dearest, fester."

His voice was not just anger; it was pain, old and deep. A wound that even time had not healed.

I studied him, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled into fists as if he were holding himself together.

"Loki, you are not the only one who has lost," I murmured, stepping closer, pressing my palm against his chest. "You are not the only one who has been left behind. But I am not leaving you. Not now. Not ever."

His gaze locked onto mine, searching for the truth in my words. And whatever he found there made his anger shift, change. It did not disappear, but it softened, melted into something else entirely.

His hands found my waist, his grip firm but no longer rigid. "Swear it."

I arched a brow. "You doubt me?"

His lips quirked, the ghost of a smile. "I doubt everything. It is my nature."

I exhaled a laugh, my fingers tracing the sharp lines of his collarbone. "Then let me prove it to you."

The air between us thickened, charged. The battle of words was over, but another battle—a different kind—was about to begin.

Loki was not gentle. He was desperate, a storm restrained for too long, and now finally unleashed. The way his hands found my skin, his lips claimed mine—it was not merely passion. It was possession, a reminder of all the times I had slipped through his fingers before and a vow that he would not allow it again.

I matched him, unyielding. He may be a god of mischief, chaos if you will, but I was not willing to beam down. I was grace, control, fluidity. For every desperate grasp, I gave an effortless caress, for every demanding press of lips, I met him with measured defiance. We moved through the space like warriors in battle, a clash of dominance and surrender, a test of limits and breaking points.

He lifted me with ease, pressing me against the cool wall, the contrast of temperature sending a shiver down my spine. His lips moved along my throat, breath hot, words a whisper between fervent kisses. "You make me mad, my sweet panthress. Mad with need, with fear, with want."

I tangled my fingers in his dark hair, pulling just enough to make him groan. "And yet, you still love me."

A low chuckle, dark and full of something possessive. "Hopelessly."

I smiled against his lips before biting down lightly, making him hiss in surprise and pleasure. "Then prove it."

By the time we reached the bed, I was no longer sure where he ended and I began. The moonlight painted patterns on our skin, the ebony glow of a body perfectly fit with its ivory-toned constellation. The city beyond our windows oblivious to the storm that raged within our sanctuary.

Words faded into gasps, into whispered names, into silent promises etched into the very essence of our beings. And when the storm finally settled, when bodies lay entwined and breath slowed, there was no need for more reassurances.

We had spoken in the only language that mattered now.

And in the morning, when the world called for us once more, I knew we would answer it together.

[phantomof-themcu]

I’m not taking a chance sis

[phantomof-themcu]

Needed this

#writingtips

10 Flaws to Give Your Perfect Characters to Make Them Human

If you're tired of the usual vices like arrogance or impatience, here are some unique (or at least less basic) character flaws to give your perfect characters: 

Pathological Altruism

A character so obsessed with helping others that they end up doing more harm than good. Their inability to let others grow or face consequences creates tension.

2. Moral Narcissism

A character who sees themselves as morally superior to others, constantly justifying selfish or harmful actions because they believe they have the moral high ground.

3. Chronic Self-Sabotage

A character who intentionally undermines their own success, perhaps due to deep-seated feelings of unworthiness, pushing them into frustrating, cyclical failures.

4. Emotional Numbness

Rather than feeling too much, this character feels too little. Their lack of emotional response to critical moments creates isolation and makes it difficult for them to connect with others.

5. Fixation on Legacy

This character is obsessed with how they’ll be remembered after death, often sacrificing present relationships and happiness for a future that’s uncertain.

6. Fear of Irrelevance

A character-driven by the fear that they no longer matter, constantly seeking validation or pursuing extreme measures to stay important in their social or professional circles.

7. Addiction to Novelty

Someone who needs constant newness in their life, whether it’s experiences, relationships, or goals. They may abandon projects, people, or causes once the excitement fades, leaving destruction in their wake.

8. Compulsive Truth-Telling

A character who refuses to lie, even in situations where a lie or omission would be the kinder or more pragmatic choice. This flaw causes unnecessary conflict and social alienation.

9. Over-Identification with Others' Pain

Instead of empathy, this character feels others' pain too intensely, to the point that they can’t function properly in their own life. They’re paralyzed by the suffering of others and fail to act effectively.

10. Reluctant Power

A character who fears their own strength, talent, or influence and is constantly trying to shrink themselves to avoid the responsibility or consequences of wielding it.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! Instagram Tiktok

PS: This is my first short-form blog post! Lmk if you liked it and want to see more (I already have them scheduled you don't have a choice)

[phantomof-themcu]

fuck no baby 🙏🏽

Reblog in 20 seconds or this spider will appear in your bed tonight

[phantomof-themcu]

“I can fix her” but this is her: (black girl edition)

[phantomof-themcu]

[phantomof-themcu]

AVA X JANINE + wlwyearnbot tweets insp [i,ii]

[phantomof-themcu]

[phantomof-themcu]

Should I write a Letitia Wright fic? I haven't written in a while but if y'all want one I'm sure I can write smth.

[phantomof-themcu]

Ghostface (Stu preferably) 🙏🏽

reblog with ur fav slasher/horror character so i can leave a lil note from them in ur inbox <3