fandomhigh | Avoiding Dealing With Your Problems, 1st Period

There was no teacher in the room by the time class was scheduled to start. No, it was about ten minutes after the fact that Deadpool came wandering on on with a pumpkin spice latte. Because it was fall, motherfuckers. According to Starbucks, at least.

"Hey, you're still here. Maybe. Who knows if you waited or not," he said cheerfully. "Oh, different mediums. You make my jokes hard. And that is what she said."

He put the latte down to give himself a high five for that.

"Anyway, I was mostly hoping to find an empty classroom because, let's be honest here, I am absolute shit at teacher. Great in the box office and the bedroom, bad at teaching. I made my point in the same sentence. It's just eerie, isn't it?" he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. His teachin' desk. "But, you know what they say... 'Never trust a Serbian with your money' and here I am. Teaching you kids because I didn't listen to it. Moral of the story: teach what you love."

How the hell was that the moral?

"It just is. Anyway, this class is about ignoring your problems. Something I'm a bit of an expert at. We should probably do introductions, but to be honest, I'll just end up calling you whatever nickname I feel like. So, yeah. What's your name and favorite way to ignore your existential angst?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Roscoe," Roscoe said, waving at the teacher. "Probably drinking."

Uh oh, that wasn't healthy at all!

"Yeah, but what do you drink? Because if it's shitty, we have a whole new level of sad to go with budding alcoholism." Because he had standards. Not really. But he could pretend.

Roscoe liked this guy. Sorry, Negasonic. "Few months ago I mixed a single-malt with Hawaiian punch," he shared. "It sounds disgusting but it was pretty good."

No, it was genuinely disgusting.

"Oh my god, I need to try that now." He was going to throw a party in the teacher lounge with that. It was decided.

Roscoe grinned. "I recommend the blue flavor of Hawaiian punch and the bougiest scotch you can get," he advised.

Terrible. This was all terrible.

"You're alright, Ricardo Montalbán. You're alright."

Roscoe tilted his head. "I don't get it."

Because he wasn't a neeeerd and he'd only seen the terrible Benedict Cumberbatch version. It was a sad life Roscoe was living.

"But so are you. I like the wrestler outfit. Very chic."

You precious lamb, Roscoe.

"Thanks! I made it myself!" He did a little twirl to show off. "Mad props to cosplayers and costume designers, this shit was hard."

"Have you ever thought about adding a pouch that explodes glitter when you open it?" Roscoe wondered. "That's what I would do if I was making a costume."

He was full of good ideas. Most of them were about ruining good alcohol, but occasionally they involved fashion!

"No, but I would love a grenade that does that," Deadpool replied. "While also blowing people up."

"Weaponized glitter. That's the future," Roscoe said approvingly.

He didn't really like the idea of blowing people up, but on the other hand, glitter seemed like an appropriate tool for it.

Avoiding Dealing With Your Problems, 1st Period - Friday 9/2

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself

Re: Introduce Yourself