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the-writerwoman · 2 days ago

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Sorry for the delay. Been busy with my kids so I didn’t have time. Plus I’m also editing the next chapter for Heartstrings across the hallway. And I got that 6pm brainrot which also wants to come out.

But yeah I was reading a Batman fic about Jason being stuck in a time loop and he falls in love with Tim and it was good and it made me think of our boys. And I wanted it Origins Poolverine so here we are!

Hope you enjoy!

Wade leaned against the wall outside Logan’s room, his fingers fidgeting at his side. He could hear the steady rhythm of Logan’s footsteps inside, the scrape of boots against the floorboards, the same familiar noises he had heard for thirty-six straight mornings. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.

The door creaked open, and there Logan stood, his hair tousled, his usual look of grumpy determination plastered across his face.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Wade greeted, his tone casual but with a tremor of anticipation beneath the surface.

Logan gave him a once-over, his eyebrows knitting together in suspicion. “What’s with you? You look… weird.”

Wade let out a nervous laugh. “Weird? Me? Nah, I’m as fresh as a daisy, as sharp as a tack, as…” He trailed off under Logan’s skeptical glare. “Okay, fine, I need to talk to you. Like, actually talk. And before you say anything, I need you to hear me out without calling me crazy. Deal?”

Logan’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. “Wilson…”

“Just say ‘deal,’ Logan. Humor me, for once.” Wade’s voice wavered, betraying his desperation.

Logan sighed heavily, his patience already worn thin. “Fine. Deal. But this better be good.”

They sat across from each other at a corner table in the mess hall, Wade fidgeting with a napkin while Logan ate in silence. The room was empty except for them, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound besides the occasional clink of Logan’s fork against his plate.

Wade took a deep breath. “Alright, here it is. I’m stuck in a time loop.”

Logan didn’t even look up. “A what?”

“A time loop,” Wade repeated, leaning forward. “I wake up at 5 a.m. every morning, and it’s the same day. Same breakfast, same mission briefing, same damn everything. And no matter what I do, it all resets at the end of the day.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, finally meeting Wade’s gaze. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Logan stared at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he smirked faintly, his disbelief clear. “You’ve officially lost it.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Wade said, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Which is why I came prepared this time.”

“Oh, this I gotta hear.” Logan leaned back in his chair.

Wade leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Six loops ago, you told me something. Something you said no one else knows. Something personal to you, that you said it’d prove I wasn’t full of crap if I ever brought it up.”

Logan’s expression shifted slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Bartholomew.”

The faintest twitch crossed Logan’s face, but he quickly masked it. “Who?”

“Bartholomew,” Wade repeated, his voice softening. “The wooden toy soldier you had when you were eight. You told me you loved that thing more than anything. You’d play with it all the time, even ignoring Victor for it. And then one day…” Wade hesitated, swallowing hard. “One day, you found him throwing it into the fire. You said you never forgave him for it. Not really.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. “Who told you that?”

“You did,” Wade said quietly. “Six loops ago, after dinner. You said we’d use it as proof if this ever happened, if I ever needed to convince you of something crazy like this.”

Logan’s breathing grew heavier, his fists tightening on the table. For a moment, Wade thought he’d snap, but instead, Logan spoke, his voice low and measured. “If you’re lying…”

“I’m not,” Wade interrupted, his tone uncharacteristically earnest. “I couldn’t make that up if I tried. I mean, Bartholomew? Really? It’s a miracle eight-year-old you didn’t name him ‘Woodie.’”

Logan’s lips twitched slightly, but the moment passed quickly. He leaned back, crossing his arms again. “Let’s say I believe you. What do you want me to do?”

Relief flooded Wade, and he let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know. Help me figure it out. Help me stop this. Just… don’t leave me to deal with this on my own. Please.”

Logan studied him, his expression softening just enough for Wade to notice. After a long pause, he gave a short nod. “Alright. We’ll work it out.”

The village burned, the sky filled with smoke and screams. Wade stood frozen, his swords at his sides, his heart pounding as he watched the chaos unfold. Victor moved through the villagers like a predator, leaving destruction in his wake. The rest of Team X followed orders without hesitation, their faces devoid of emotion.

And then there was Logan, standing at the edge of it all, fists clenched, his jaw tight. Wade could see the internal battle playing out in Logan’s eyes, the same conflict he had witnessed thirty-five times before.

“Logan!” Wade shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

Logan turned, meeting Wade’s gaze. For a fleeting moment, Wade thought maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. Maybe Logan would stay.

But then Logan ripped off his dog tags, the small metal pieces clinking as they hit the ground. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his silhouette disappearing into the smoke and darkness.

Wade felt his chest tighten, his throat closing up as tears pricked his eyes. He clenched his fists, his grip on his swords trembling as he tried to hold back the crushing weight of failure.

“Damn it,” Wade whispered, his voice breaking. “Why can’t I fix this?”

The loop would reset. It always did. But as Wade stood there, watching Logan vanish into the night, he felt the hope slipping away, leaving behind only the hollow ache of knowing he would have to start all over again.

#poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool 3 #logan howlett #peanutbub #wade wilson #xmen origins

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luvmydogzvm · 2 months ago

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H.S teacher Spideypool AU

It’s the first day of school and Peter had just dismissed his last class for lunch. With a long exhale, he flopped in his chair so hard it spun a bit and drifted off to the right, nearly smacking him into the wall that hung a calendar dedicated to kitten scientists that was left by the previous teacher. He keeps forgetting to take it down. Till then it’s stuck in June with an orange tabby covered in ash from a failed experiment. He has no excuse why he hasn’t at least turned to the corresponding month. His head tilted back with his neck resting against the top back of the chair, staring up at the acoustic ceiling, particularly at a tile that has a mysterious orange stain.

Peter’s first class went pretty smoothly, if he does say so himself, some mishaps, but that was expected. His second class was also the same, learning from the first period, there were near to no mishaps then. The same goes for the rest of them, so why was Peter slumped in his chair exhausted you ask? Well, while he was prepared with his introduction, lesson plans, and icebreakers, he just didn’t factor in the energetic and rambunctious students. He had no idea how he could forget such a significant detail. It was to be expected really.

Peter inhaled deeply before sitting up again to let out another sigh through his mouth. “It’s your first day Peter, you knew his job was not going to be that easy.” Peter is in his late twenties and that isn’t considered to be that old, but not too young either, so you would think he could catch up with them, right? Flat out wrong, because Peter was getting up and heading to the teacher's lounge to make himself a coffee that came out watery. Using some creamer from tiny plastic cups that he scavenged from the back of a cabinet.

“Are those still good?” Mr.Rivera– Peter reads off his district I.D–asks when walking in.

“Dunno and don’t wanna. I had freshmen for the last two periods and I need anything with caffeine. Expired or not,” Peter poured in a third one before stirring it in.

Mr. Rivera sipped from his travel mug before he spoke. “Understood. Though some advice, bring your own. Coffee is shit here.”

Peter took a sip from his sticky foam cup and smacked his lips afterward, “Eugh, All I can taste is tap water and sadness.” he said, his upper lip involuntarily curling as he stared daggers at the nasty coffee.

Mr.Rivera let out a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, it does that. I’m Abigail Rivera, 9th grade algebra,” he introduced himself and extended his arm out to shake Peter's hand.

“And I’m Sorry.” Peter said in return, taking his hand and giving it a shake. The side of his lip curled when he got a laugh from the man, “Peter Parker, 9th grade bio and 12th grade chemistry.”

Dropping Peter's hand, he rested his own on his hip. “Gotcha, you’re the newbie replacing Mrs.Newbury?”

Peter nodded while lifting his cup to his lips and drinking his coffee, which didn’t taste any better or worse. He didn't know how to feel about that.

“Her retirement was long awaited. I think she actually stopped teaching three years before and had just made the kids watch Bill Nye The Science Guy.”

Peter mirrored Mr. Rivera's stance as he lowered his cup from his lips. “Oh, Love that guy. Guess that means I’ve got competition huh?”

“Definitely,” Mr. Rivera chuckled. "They still sing his name. But don’t worry, you are young, so you’ll probably get some attention.”

“Really?”

Mr.Rivera, Peter will only ever address him because even if they are colleagues the man has gray hairs from his head to his long stubble, nodded. His aunt May have raised him right. “You are the youngest, and every teacher is married and has kids. Well, maybe not them all, but the majority. There's this one the kids really like. He's got the attitude and humor of a high schooler, so he fits in with the kids—has his own table, actually.”

Peter’s eyebrows perked. He had his fair share of favorite teachers, but he never had any that he ate with—he ate with his friends. Why am I clarifying myself? But seeing other students eating with them? Sure, but having their table, though, maybe that's a little too much.

“Talking about lunch, I'm going to head down there right now. You?”

“Nah, the Mrs. packs me one.” He dangles the most boring style lunch box known to man. Peter thinks it puts his Spider-Man one to shame. “If you see him—trust me, you will—try not to stare.”

Peter raised a brow. “Got it. Usually mine does too, but I was cutting close to being late so I couldn’t stop by any convenience stores,” Peter had finished his sad excuse for a coffee and tossed the cup into the bin that was by the door. He walked towards it, about to leave, but stopped to look back at the confused Mr.Rivera. “I’m Mrs.” He said with a slight grin and left, hearing himself getting another laugh from Mr.Rivera.

On the way to the cafeteria, Peter reflected on his interaction with Mr.Rivera. Saying he made a friend seemed a little too early to say— not to mention desperate, he thinks—but he made a good impression on someone at least, and he could live with that. Then, he reflected on Mr.Rivera. The man looked good for his age. The married man was tall, maybe a foot taller than Peter and he dressed exactly like Peter’s old geometry teacher did when he was a student. A sky blue dress shirt with navy blue dress pants that hugged his legs so snugly that Peter remembered people Mr.Rivera’s age still go to the gym. Or maybe he goes outside, he did have a good tan on him. “Lucky Mrs.Rivera,” Peter muttered to himself before he pushed through the double doors that led to the cafeteria and the noise of chatty youth.

He made his way to the canteen and waited for a student to get their lunch before he walked up to grab a tray. Suddenly, a ladle was shoved in his face, causing him to stumble back and look up wide eyed at the ladle handler.

“End of the line is over there.” She used her ladle direct Peter, he nearly ducked his head. “I ain't dealin’ with none of you line cutters,” a voice too deep and raspy for any woman told Peter. He blinked in response, trying not to falter at the sight of the large lunch lady that looked like she'd dealt with more than just line cutters. Peter had to fight his flight response, which was telling him to go to the back of the line.

Fixing his glasses, which had nearly fallen off his nose, Peter attempted to clarify himself. “Ah no, I'm not a—”

“No?” The woman somehow managed to sound deeper, scarier, and taller too, or Peter was crouching in slight fear.

He quickly patted around his breast pockets, reached into his blazer, took out his teacher's I.D., and showed the women. Swallowing before he spoke. “I’m a—a teacher! Not a student. Though I'm flattered,” he gave a nervous laugh, but it failed to be one and instead, he cleared his throat. He's 28, he should not be having a voice crack.

The giant woman leaned back and her expression changed completely. Ladle safely out of the way of any faces. “Oh! Teacher! Mr. Parker?” She read his name. “Sorry, but you have the face of a baby’s bum. Oh, but the body of a twig! You should eat more, let me serve you sweetie,” before Peter could say, “You don't need to,” a tray was shoved into Peter's hands that had what looked to be everything that was being served. “Enjoy!” Peter looked up to see the giant woman have a giant grin that flashed him a few of her silver teeth.

“Thank you,” Peter squinted his eyes at her name tag. He needed to update his prescription. “Ms. Johnson.” He looked up at her with what he hoped was a smile that didn't show his fear of the woman and turned to leave with his quite hefty tray. He darted for the double doors he entered through—hoping to hurry back to his classroom and eat before lunch ended—when he passed by a large table that was the loudest of the bunch. He stopped in his tracks and took a look because, from the side of his eye, there looked to be a real buff kid—Nope not a kid, Peter corrected himself. Just a big broad-shoulder man sitting with a bunch of teens ranging from tiny freshmen to seniors. The man’s body looked out of place from the children. His silhouette was reminiscent of an old high school bully of Peter's. The only difference is that instead of a varsity jacket and a pair of jeans, the man wore what looked like a black and red compression shirt and a matching red pair of slim-fit gym shorts. So fit, that Peter wondered if it was just barely meeting the dress code.

Oh and the obvious scarring covering every inch of the man that Peter could see, but he wasn't so focused on that. Through the patchy skin, he admired how muscular he was. Eventually his suspicions of him wearing obvious gym attire, his eyes trailed down the man's chest and Peter saw a whistle and the bright blue lanyard around his neck which meant he was a teacher and not some student. Peter mentally sighed in relief—he wasn't trying to get fired or get called ‘The Weird Teacher’ on the first day by looking inappropriately at a student.

This guy seemed more lively than the teachers he'd seen, especially himself. Maybe even more of a student than a teacher by his manners, eating with his mouth open and laughing loudly. Peter guessed the scarred man was in his early forties. He doesn't look too old, but not too young either.

Peter hadn't realized he was staring when the whole table was staring back at him. Those whose backs weren't turned were now. The tight shorts-wearing man was also looking at him blankly.

“Mr. Parker?” A student spoke up, probably questioning why their science teacher was just staring at a bunch of kids and a teacher. Peter did not blame him. He bet on his life he looked like a creep. Great first impression on his future students too, nice going Peter. And the Weird Teacher award goes to…!

Peter was about to say something, he didn't know what, but his mouth opened though the words that came next were not from him.

“You've got a problem Mr?” A male student, who was sitting next to the oh so fit-and-even-fitter clothing-wearing teacher, had stood up with his hands flat on the table as some sort of support or intimidation stance—Peter wasn't sure, probably the latter.

Now Peter is an adult, but the kid was taller and bigger than the others, even compared to Peter he was probably three of him in width. The buzz cut was not helping him look any different than a prisoner. He caught something from the boy's neck—Oh my God, no way that's a tattoo.

“What? No, no! Sorry, I didn't mean to—Just uh, couldn't help myself and noticed you were just sitting here, with them,” he cleared his throat. He jerked his chin toward the other teacher. “I was uh trying to figure out whether you were a teacher or just a special case of a super senior.” He gave a nervous chuckle, his eyes darting away as he used his index finger to push up his glasses.

Some, if not most, of the students from the table eyed him suspiciously. Peter couldn't help but notice a glint of protectiveness in their eyes and from the air around them. Could it be all these kids where this guy's body guards? He could probably take some of the smaller ones. Wait, you are not fighting children!

As Peter was trying to convince himself that he does not need to defend himself like he is reliving his own highschool experience, he saw the scarred man stand up.

“Would you believe me if I say that I get that a lot?” The man said with a grin at the end. Peter saw how the scars stretched and wrinkled at the sides of his lips. “Alright, hold your fire kids! This guy looks like bully food—I don't think there's anything you can say that this guy hasn't heard yet.”

“No Offense, Wade, but if you’re talking about the language back in your day, we can definitely think of better insults for Bobble head over here than just four-eyes.” A girl with mostly black hair and pink highlights spoke up. Peter wonders if her parents know just how much eye shadow is on her face.

“Bobble head, that's a new one.” Peter wasn't the type to over use his teacher powers and get very offended. Peter had to admit this generation was a whole new breed and he couldn’t help but be impressed...

#spideypool #spiderman #wade wilson #spiderpool #marvel #spiderman x deadpool #peter parker #i started this awhile ago that even I forgot about it #never gonna finish #like this is the only fic i ever wrote #maybe i might but uh idk #posted it here rather than have it rotting inmy college email doc #its so unedited so sorry not sorry 4 da spelling mistakes #and prob misplaced words #or even misued #i had only written booble.. where did i get booble?? I changed it to booble head lol

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