#mr warbucks

[ayaanlikesyou]

Out of Context Comics

Marvel Super Special Issue #23

[jackler1o1o]

Jason Todd is like if you mixed Annie and Aladdin and then gave them significantly more trauma

[allthebestscreennamesaregone63]

New HC:

In Disney's Annie (1999), the reason Oliver Warbucks decides to support an orphan is that someone (Mrs. Q) made him watch a version of A Christmas Carol, and Mrs. Q called him Scrooge. This happened 20 minutes prior to the last business trip's departure, and explains the whole "you're a girl, orphans are boys" comment, along with the look Grace gives him.

Grace: If you don't stop her, Mrs. Q will never let you hear the end of it.

Warbucks: I'd be delighted if you spent the holidays with me, Annie!

(Mrs. Q and Grace fistbumping offscreen.)

Basically, in that Annie's universe, there would be no Annie Warbucks without Tiny Tim, and his "God bless us, everyone!"

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[sleepytoycollection]

honestly I wouldn't' mind making Tirek and Cozy too

they're like an evil version of Annie and Mr Warbucks and that's hilarious

[agentbilliard]

saint senyoyi, better known as agent biliard has been with cerberus corp as an eo since 2023 and is LEVEL III. BEING CRUSHED BY A VENDING MACHINE has gifted them telekinesis, though PHYSICAL INFLUENCE WEAKENING WITH DISTANCE, DISTRACTIONS, AND LARGER WEIGHTS has also been noted. when they aren’t protecting the tri-state area, they are fond of playing rounds of fischer random by his lonesome and are never seen without A LEATHERBOUND JOURNAL. civilians think they are meticulous & benevolent, but some of the other agents see them as NEUROTIC & COWARDLY. cerberus corp should consider the fact that their last mission status was successful, although unsuccessfully cleaning up local garbage might have been more impressive when giving out the next one.

001.  GENERAL

name  saint senyoyi

nicknames  agent billiard, vender bender, any saint under the canonized sun courtesy of agent jester

age  thirty-four

date of birth  march 9, 1989

zodiac  answer

place of birth  harefield, hillingdon, london

current residence  brooklyn, new york city, new york

gender  cis man

pronouns  he/him

orientation  bisexual, biromantic

occupations  level iii agent at cerberus corp, mathematics teacher and head custodian at brooklyn academy of ostentatiously pubescent pricks

faceclaim  daniel kaluuya

height  5’8

tattoos  none (he does, however, have the divine patience and dearth of dignity required to doodle and calculate all over his forearms daily)

piercings  none (he does, however, have a fake nose ring from his stint in a school-sponsored production of annie wherein mr warbucks and his servants made liberal yet incorrect use of african-american vernacular english to teach middle schoolers about the cold war)

distinguishing features  there are few features of saint’s corporeal form that function as evidence of him being a good person, but at a minimum he has good grooming. his collars are pressed to perfection, his trousers are steamed to sublimity, his hair both facial and scalp-al is combed and clipped as much as possible. nonetheless, a good portion of his shirts are stained with presumably non-toxic paint or crumbs of a graphite muffin. the backs of his blazers are often adorned with sticky notes with adorable titles such as ‘YOUNGEST SENIOR CITIZEN’ and ‘NOBODY LIKES MATH’ and ‘MY FAVE FUNCTION IS =3’ from his students. what can he say? he’s sentimental to a fault. and far too broke to go to the laundromat every week.

positive traits  altruistic, diligent, humble, observant, organized, polite, pragmatic

negative traits  craven, cynical, deceitful, insecure, perfectionistic, pessimistic, unyielding

labels / tropes  absent-minded professor, bad liar, beware the quiet ones, stern teacher, the fettered

likes  alphabetical lists, dish washing, libraries, origami (he cannot do it whatsoever), pranks (if they’re done right), summer, students at brooklyn academy of ostentatiously pubescent pricks (at least they’re funny pricks)

dislikes  art museums, astronomy girlies (if he learns that he has pisces energy one more time he will lose it), drinking (hypocritical), level iii agents, living conditions in nyc (no relation to previous item), rollercoasters, the subway

fears  blood, cockroaches, crowds, death, disappointing his family, his family period, smooth peanut butter, snakes, spiders, vending machines

hobbies  assigning homework, billiards (surprising who?), playing chess, solving crosswords, scrabble, sudoku — only the coolest activities for him, obviously

habits  bites pencils when deep in thought, cracks back against chairs, gestures to whiteboards that simply don’t exist, writes with said pencils on imaginary paper

002.  EXTRA ORDINARY

near death experience…  

“you two! i swear on my non-denominational god that i am not forcing you to believe in, if i see you trying to axe deodorant the animals into making a little baby leopard in front of you, i’m calling your mums and telling them to pick you up this instant.”

the two snicker in response. saint isn’t sure how to respond if not with a wave of his hand, a pinch of his brow, a tour-guide-induced plug of his ear for when half his salary goes to dealing with the legal repercussions of incident number graham. this is his first field trip sitting in as a supervisor, and between the bloody boring itinerary his class has been breaking for the past few million hours and the boorish colleague he’s been paired up with he reckons that it will be his last. good riddance, he will say. good riddance, the class will say. really, the people of new york pay high enough taxes for their final destination to be more than a borough away. yet, here he stands in the densest stench he’s known since ap calculus was moved to seventh period.

this is not what he signed up for. you know what he said, when teachers asked what superpower he wanted to have? his voice would crack and his face would be lightning-split open into a barely-toothed grin and he would say he wanted to be a teacher because wow! they did so much for so little! and the teacher’s voice would crack and their face would be thundering with the truth and they would move on with their days because saint senyoyi had parents who hated him and peers who tolerated him and the guidance counsellor could deal with all that when she got back from happy hour.

he knows what he wants. something cold to drink. stupid brooklyn uniforms have gotten dark enough to hide period stains but continue displaying the effects axe deodorant has on his physiology with pure crystal. he excuses himself temporarily, tells the tour guide he’s off to the bathroom and that all the kids have do not resuscitates somewhere between their baggy pockets and knockoff gucci fanny packs, and gets to a vending machine. it’s bad, he knows, to continue to support capitalism and pollution after all the public service announcements from the lions of lying-about-admissions-policies colleges but it’s all he can afford and all that he wants and you know what superpower he did not wish for? guilt tripping. it’s a part of the faculty welcome package, but he’s never liked gifts.

no diet options. not like he cares. he hasn’t had much time to go to the gym lately. he just needs energy. a temporary fix.

the vending machine, he finds on a note far too small to be in compliance with the the occupational safety and health administration’s latest spicy issue, is temporarily unserviceable. not like he cares. he’s already annihilated the rules by leaving his class to their own devices, shiny and beepy and blackmail-filled as they are. this is just the narcotizing nightcap on the mushroom cloud. he slips a coin through the slot and waits.

and waits.

and waits.

and waits.

bloody hell. tommy j’s probably got his arse stuck between an alligator and a hard place by now, assuming sophie m’s greasy ipad hasn’t liquidated underneath the september sun. and assuming they haven’t broken up again, which is a flimsy variable by itself considering the seating arrangement’s got tommy j next to jason m and in front of jayson w and the three of them were exchanging notes yesterday like their lives depended on it. saint knocks on the glass. his parents never bothered to knock, but his sister had in the tune of an old ugandan choir song about welcoming and stars, so he does the same. welcome, cold coca-cola into his hands. welcome, please.

next he’s seeing stars. this is getting ridiculous. the machine is burping, whirring, choking, doing what saint should be doing as he details how the penguin populace has plummeted because of plastic straws and whatnot. he groans. only one thing left to do. he shakes.

and shakes.

and shakes.

and shakes.

next he’s seeing stars and blood and bone and you’re going to be a star saint because sophie m is taking a video of the entire ordeal as russell p drops his forged permission slip between sobs call 911 what’s the british version of 911 he’s english jayson same thing crapface pay attention in geology that’s geography jayson CALL 911 SCREAM CRY IS IT LUNCH IS HE DEAD SCREAM CRY I’M GETTING A REFUND CALL 911. there is glass everywhere. the ringing in his head is louder than the cries, the screams. pain is piercing yet heavy, paperwork that acts like a cactus to his poor eyes. that’s what he’s going to die as? the idiot who got crushed under a vending machine? no. he just needs to move. get out of the geysers and into a hospital that won’t charge him several billion dollars to get in.

he just needs to move.

he is not going to die before getting his one dollar bonus from the state exams.

SAINTS DO NOT DIE where did you come from father ABSOLUTE DISSOLUTION an inch towards the snake enclosure could save me SAVE YOURSELF swimming around nana’s lake house i wonder if i would taste good right now i wonder if a hot emt will try and save me SAVE YOURSELF you taught me how to swim by throwing me in the lake SAVE YOURSELF

he comes back with a massive headache, three exams to grade, and the power to move things with his mind. and a viral remix of his death, but he still hasn’t watched that in full. he’s told the chorus is incredibly vulgar.

power…  

“i wasn’t cheating!”

saint is making a scene for the first time since the tender age of five years old for bragging rights and a lukewarm beer. he hasn’t been accused of cheating since his preliminary foray into the cutthroat world of primary school mathletes, and that situation had the excuse of being started by a bespectacled potato sack no older than five years old herself. he’s kicked out for a myriad of reasons, none of which he believes are based on truth: he had fixed the game, he had fixed the bets, he had fixed his life and therefore had no business being with his friends. honestly? he thinks they just can’t look at him the same after seeing his broken body in a bed of glass, and he can’t blame them for that. he blames them for what happens, next, though.

he retreats to his apartment in shame, exile. daedalus has lost his son, he has lost his place on the top ten trivia masters. then he learns that he can fix everything in his apartment with nothing more than a mathematical buttload of attention and his mind. which, yeah, sounds boring when he puts it like that, but it’s telekinesis. objects already within arm’s reach require little to no effort to move towards him, while materials any farther than that require great concentration and a clear view to be moved. saint and telekinesis have a relationship comparable to a coparenting strategy on the verge of collapse, and none of it is particularly empowering. if he desires to take control of a stack of papers he has to focus on those papers, get an unobstructed path to those papers, stare at those papers for a solid few seconds wherein a hostile could stab him in the back. if he decides that he does not want to touch those papers, they have about a 50-50 chance of coming at him in an effortless tornado anyhow. it makes thinking inconvenient, which makes his life inconvenient. still, they’re something. he can lift roughly as much as he can with his arms, which is around the hundred-fifty pound mark with oscar-worthy thanks to a premium gym membership he passive-aggressively received from his mother some years back, although he has limits. many of them, in fact.

drawbacks / vulnerabilities…  

“shitterdoodle cookies.”

saint is on the same ground level of pathetic as his choice in curse words, for someone who has access to the school twitter account and all the bots that spam it for engagement. the heavier the object, the harder it is to move in manners that do not sound like nails on a chalkboard. the more he uses his ability, the more he is exhausted, liable to ramble about sensitive industry secrets or his feelings. neither will stop, neither will leave the conversational partner with any semblance of sanity. he has to be careful with how long he spends looking at anything, too, lest he drag some family heirloom other than his own through new york mud. also, everything he moves seems to really like his face. his pockets are nothing but bandaid collections by now.

cerberus corp…  

“and i am auditioning for the part of…”

that’s not quite right, is it? he clears his throat. a decade of teaching under his overly tight belt and there persists a lump in his throat whenever it must open. saint’s feelings on cerberus corp are complicated in the way that proving 1 + 1 = 2 is complicated. it’s a fact of life to most, easy to accept for some, but it’s also something that gets the smart alecks of the yearbook salivating and thus something he does not want to be involved in. well, strike that out and rewrite it in the past tense, his teachers would demand, for he now desires a status in american society that does not amount to school/fast food slander scene packs or graves with no return policy. his audition video was enough to get him invited for an in-person appointment, but he suspects that the possibility of him using lights and strings to get the effect of telekinesis pulled along a hundred-pound weight in comparison to his ounce of charisma.

he gets accepted, anyways, by some miracle. maybe it’s merely a seasonal investment in the marketability of a man who can soon hurl snowballs at unprecedented heights and velocities if he manages to concentrate. concentration is harder these days, however, and that descriptor of his career prospects comes with a near-overdose of pressure. he’s been with cerberus for roughly a month now, though the days blur with the hustle and bustle of extraordinarily tedious tasks assigned by the big bosses. saint is a worker bee to his core, though, and understands ranks, roles, and professional hierarchies better than breathing, so he questions nothing. as long as management of his powers is a possibility, the probability of him becoming a manger who has to do zero practical saving is above zero.

saint isn’t the best partner to have around, per se. his abilities are useful, but his personality isn’t much of an asset unless the mission involves stationary store espionage, and his desperation for a guide to everything is everlasting. nonetheless, he is nothing if not nice and accommodating to those he respects (ie everyone except agent jester. dishes can only go unwashed for so many days before his conscience is wiped clean of sanitary scruples) and aims for perfection. which isn’t the best philosophy to have around, per se, but at least he’ll do all the paperwork for you with zero prompting.

codename…  

“vender bender? i would rather die again than be called that for the rest of my life.”

it’s a joke, but saint’s never been proficient with making those. his comedy is a dependent variable, a misshapen animal lump coagulating to the back of circumstances that prove truth is stranger than fiction. proof: here, now, as his branding is being discussed in a manner far too formal for the setting they find themselves in. he has no idea how he got here, honestly. how he got with cerberus, how his card didn’t turn red at the door of the bar. he supposes it’s something like the pythagorean theorem, if the hypotenuse was meant to be the shortest side. he’s not the shortest level iii agent, thank the non-denominational god that he is not forcing anyone to believe in, but there is a nagging feeling that he does not belong, that however many lives he saves he will always be the guy stuck under the vending machine traumatising upwards of infinity children.

he’ll stick with something short and sweet, thank you very much. occam’s razor has never cut murphy’s law while shaving at three in the morning. it is time to show the party how real english billiards is played. he’s set up his own cushions at the left and right ends, shown off his custom snooker spectacles, let everyone know what a genius he is. this is his element, the art of arithmetic gambling. one shot and he’s set for the night, getting his drinks paid by everyone in a fifteen foot radius.

he takes the shot and gets his nose broken by the ball going straight to the hard, wooden edge and bouncing straight to his hard, idiotic face.

agent billiard. that’s a joke for the ages. it’s short, sweet, and a math pun. saint hates puns. cerberus loves the name. saint then decides he loves it, too, changing his social media handles accordingly.

(this is me begging for someone to have their agent suggest billiard after seeing saint smack himself in the face with a cue stick pls and thank you)

003.  EXTRA

tl;dr of backstory while i make it all nice and fancy: the middling middle child of a blackjack dealer for one of the most corrupt casinos in london and a professional sports gambler, saint has always wanted to help people. he’s just never liked people. he’s always liked math, though, and upon moving to the us of a for the sake of his older sister’s career in medicine, he made sure that, if he was to be ignored by his beloved parents, he would be ignored and rich. flash forward to getting his first job at his alma mater which has improved in much the same way that milk improves by growing curds and the lowest college admissions rate in the city, getting crushed by a vending machine, getting kicked out of his favourite bar for cheating at billiards with superpowers, and getting his cool agent nickname his cool agent roomie and his uncool first few missions; if you need a reluctant ass-kicker/incredible ass-kisser/high school math tutor, this is your guy. his mission suit is 100% an actual suit. it doesn’t look cool whatsoever tho it’s the same getup he got into for seventh grade winter formal <3 also he's a faithful reddit user. thats his biggest character flaw i think but he's addicted to r/billiards and does not intend on quitting ever

wanted connections page here!!

[jowritesfanfiction]

debatably cursed au

Okay okay okay. AU idea: bttf and annie (yes, the musical). Allow me to elaborate (sorry if it’s really incoherent, I’m quite sick-brained atm)

Marty is an orphan staying at Mr. Strickland’s Orphan House (basically Strickland is Miss. Hannigan)

He goes back in time to see his parents and meets Doc (Doc would be like Daddy Warbucks or whatever his name is)

and Marty screws with time continuum and his existence and Doc helps out (normal movie)

But when Marty goes back to his current timeline, Doc ends up adopting him because of how much they’ve gotten to know each other.

Bonus:

Marty meets Einstein the same way Annie meets Sandy. Do with this idea what you will. i dont even know how this idea came to me but it did

[thesandsofelsweyr]

WIP Wednesday

Just some snippets from some stories I've got in the works! If you see this post, consider yourself tagged (and be sure to tag me if you share your WIPs!)

Mmm... scars 😋 From Part 2 of The Sus Boy Next Door (ao3):

That’s when you notice the scars. You’d never been close enough to him to see that his face is absolutely covered in them. Faint white lines that cut through his features: his dark brows, his full lips, his freckle-dusted cheeks, the bent bridge of his nose. The worst one (aside from the J on his cheek, that is) is a deep gash that slashes across his right cheek and his nose, all the way up to his forehead. Another knife wound? Is this guy a masochist with a knife fetish or is there some freak out there who gets off on slicing up this poor guy’s face? Those marks on his neck imply the latter—the more sinister of the two—and that sends a cold chill shuddering up your spine.

Some Joker / Jason dialogue from His (ao3), Chapter 3:

“Oh, I get it. You think you have a future outside these walls.”

“No sir I swear, please!”

“You think that maybe someday you’ll find yourself a Mrs. Todders, and if the missus wants a couple a’ Jason Juniors running around… well, you’ll need the right equipment for the job.

“Hate to break it to you kid, but even if you did manage to escape from me... no one’s going to want you. Batman didn't want you. Ol’ Daddy Warbucks didn’t want you, either. And those junkie parents of yours? Couldn’t even give you away—yeah, I heard that story.

“How long have we been playmates now, hmm? Eight months, give or take? You’d think after all that time someone would come looking for you, but it doesn’t look like anyone even noticed you were gone. 

“Face it, kid. I’m all you have now. I’m the only person who cares about you. The only person who’ll ever care about you.”

“I know, sir. I’m yours. I’m yours.”

An Arkhamverse Jason kid-fic one-shot I started for the Touch-Starved & Flinching Febuwhump prompts:

Jason didn’t understand what he did wrong. 

When the bad men came they beat his dad up. They were punching him and kicking him, and one of them even had a gun! The long-haired man put the gun beside his dad’s head, and his dad was crying and begging the long-haired man not to kill him, while the other two men laughed. Jason was so scared that he was gonna shoot! His dad kept swearing that he’d get them the rest of their money. That made Jason’s heart do a flip in his chest. He knew his parents didn’t have much money. His dad always said it was Jason’s fault, that if he hadn’t been born then they wouldn’t have to pay to feed him and put clothes on him and stuff like that. His dad even said that he and mom tried to sell him when he was a baby but no one wanted him because he was a loser. Was it his fault that these men were hurting his dad then? He had to do something!

From a dark & smutty reader-insert fic 👀:

His men had followed his orders to the letter. The girl was bound to a wooden chair with heavy ropes. Handcuffs encircled her tiny wrists. A black canvas hood was pulled down over her head. Muted, muffled whimpers echoed off the concrete walls of the cavernous hall—sweet music to his ears. They were in one of the many safehouses he’d established across Gotham. This one was hidden deep within an abandoned subway tunnel, deep in the bowels of this godforsaken city. No one would hear her screams, not even Hanover and Lopez, two of his most trusted lieutenants that he’d stationed outside the heavy steel door that soundproofed the room.

[trashpidgeon48]

Cornley Annie cast

Annie- Annie Twilloil

Mr. Warbucks- Chris Bean

Grace- Vanessa Wilcock-Wynn Carroway

Ms. Hannigan- Sandra Wilkinson

Rooster- Max Bennett

Lilly St. Regis- Lucy Grove

FDR/Bert Healy/ others- Dennis Tyde

Sandy/ Mr. Bundles/others- Robert Grove

Other Orphans- Cornley Elementary school children 

I just had a little thought, what if the CPDS did Annie, so then I cast it, I shall put my reasonings under the cut

Annie- 1. Haha Annie as Annie 2. Nancy has a very pretty singing voice 3. She works as a little girl, she’s short, spunky, and we’ve seen her as one before. Chris would also trust her as Annie.

Chris- I feel like he just works the best as Mr. Warbucks, in a similar way that we’ve seen him as a grumpy old man, and he is one.

Vanessa- She has a very pretty soprano voice and has that kind of kind elegance about her. Perfect for Grace.

Sandra- She’s sassy and has an ego, plus I think it would be fun for Sandra to play a true villain, we’ve seen her semi-villainous before, but not like an out there villain.

Max- He would be hilarious as rooster, I bet 10 bucks he would have the time of his life making those noises.

Lucy- She has so much potential, I think Lilly would be a nice role to push her out of her comfort zone. Plus she’d be paired with Max, who’s always very friendly and comforting

Dennis- FDR Dennis would be funny because he doesn’t have the gravitas and messing up the larger speeches would be very funny. Plus I put him as burt as well because Jono has a wonderful singing voice not heard much outside of MMNI.

Robert- I just feel like Robert would be on probation number 2 because of shooting chris, also Robert doesn’t have the best singing voice as seen in the Christmas special and the use of a live dub

Orphans- The kids were told they’d get a free couple days of school off if they participated.

[kazscrows]

Watching Annie (1982) and why am I imagining Kaz as Mr. Warbucks-

[fetchmearum420]

So in 1776 you have Mr. Feeney, Sam Evans, Coach Ken Reeves, Hamlet, Daddy Warbucks, Holling Vincouer, Herbie, Weber, Mr. Best, Governor Gatling and Baron Von Swentin in one movie. What the fuck 🥳😃

[umbrellatte]

am i really the only one who didn't know that ann reinking (grace farrell) and albert finney died (mr. warbucks)? dude they played such a huge role in my love for acting. the first play i was in, annie, which sparked my desire to be an actor/actress, they played major characters for the movie version of the play in 1982 and i didn't know until recently that they died.

[fantasyfr3ak]

Watching Annie (1982) and I honestly have no idea how Mr Warbucks got to be where he is. He pretends to be all hardass, but the minute Annie or Grace ask him for anything he folds like a fucking lawn chair! He is So Weak to the women in his life it's Absurb! Certified wife guy.

[jellybeanium124]

I forgot that a drunken commie throws a cartoon bomb into mr. warbucks' office in this movie.

[maripilibarreda]

#TBT 2013 estrenamos #AnnieElMusical donde pude interpretar a Miss Grace Farrell, la secretaria de Mr. Warbucks. Sacarme el clavo por no haber podido estar en la primera producción que hizo Osvaldo en el Marsano porque creía ser muy alta 😂

8 funciones a la semana es una total prueba de resistencia para un actor. Compartir escena y camerinos con mucha gente maravillosa no tiene precio.

🎭: Carlos Lozano, @elenaromeroof @camila.dellepiane @adrianaquevedosanchez @truqui.bonilla @majitotirado_ @miluskaeskenazii @fernandopascomatos y tantos talentosos compañeros y huerfanitas que no me alcanzará el post.

📍Auditorio Mario Vargas Llosa de la @bibliotecaperu

Producción: Primer Nivel Entertainment.

Dirección: @henry_gurmendi

Dirección musical: @royalwalls

#Teatro #TeatroMusical #Annie #GraceFarrell #Musical #ActrizPeruana

[mayflwr]

thoughts || hc: to piggyback off one of may's prior nickname hc–she will also 100% have her contacts in the form of nicknames. if she ever has tony's number, you best believe it will be under: mr warbucks (she thinks she's funny). happy would be: frank farmer (when they have their fling) or earl of security (poking fun at his love for downton abbey). now peter would have a long list of rotating ones which would entirely depend on may's mood. but it would range from: pete, peep, pob, sweet pea, sunny d, itsy bitsy, my boy & more.

basically may has zero chill in making her nicknames well known.

[kkshowtunes]

💛 and 🚿 and 💅🏻 ^_^!!

ty!!

💛- Favorite role: For sure Lockstock from Urinetown. SO much fun

🚿 - Favorite song to sing in the shower: It’s a tie between Santa Fe from Newsies, Willard! by Will Wood, and Daddy Knows Best from Spongebob

💅- Cast Crush: A few heheh. I had a close friend in theater I did a few shows with and I had such a bad crush on her omg.. I also had a crush on this guy I did Annie (I was Miss Hannigan and he was Mr Warbucks) and Into the Woods (I was the wolf and he was Cinderella’s prince) with and I had a (small) crush on him.