Catcf 2005 - Tumblr Posts

YOUNGWONKAYOUNGWONKA

HE IS PERFECT IN THIS PIECE OF ART 😭

Experiments

Summary: A flashback to when Wonka first opened up his factory, and his relationship with his partner and close friend, Maude, were all the rage. A new guy pulls into town and has his sights set on Maude. Drama ensues.

A/N: Oof, I apologize if the ending feels a little rushed. I should say this fic does have a bittersweet feel to it, but that’s how I like it lol. I am working on rewriting one of my other fics because honestly I think I’ve gotten better at writing Wonka, lol

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I CANT DKDJSSJ

Headcanon: Willy has a painting of his dick out in his office. Just above his desk.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – concept illustrations

These two are most likely my favourite two Depp dorks 😩

He’s purple! Happy Halloween folks! 🎃

ok this is ALSO so hot

A Lemon Demon Song in my wonka edit??

More likely than you think

Song: Mask of My Own Face - Lemon Demon.

@wonkasmissstarshine “ROSEY CHEEKS”, you know what I’m talking about ;)

A bunch of buttons on Wonka’s glass elevator

So I’ve recently been trying to write down all of the buttons on Wonka’s elevator–or at least all of the ones that are visible in the movie.  Here are all the rooms I could find.

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Not as good as I wanted it to be, but here is @willymywonkers ‘s cute as OC and young Willy 💖

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)

@willymywonkers @wonkasmissstarshine

A Newsboy and his Bullets (Willy Wonka x OC) |  Prologue

Elmer Stanley’s ‘World of Candy’ (A heavily edited screenshot of the movie, haha...)

ONE YEAR AGO

“It is with Mr. Willy Wonka at forty-million, Elmer Stanley’s World of Candy, right here.” 

    Elmer Stanley’s beats per minute had never been the same. Forty-million. At the town’s art auction. And luck? It was incredible it did not choose to leave his side. What was more fortunate than needed cash, as well as your art being admired by the world’s most favoured chocolatier? 

    Mr. Willy Wonka was perhaps the most commendable leader in the candy industry’s history. Elmer Stanley’s heart was longing to jump out of his untamed chest. Soon after the crowd disappeared would be his likely chance of finally meeting the man. And, he guessed, from watching bits and pieces of the news, the man was not only shy, but… strange. Strange was the nicest way to put it, the nicest umbrella term for everything he perhaps was. And of course not with negative intent. It was merely another unique factor for appreciation, because after all, Mr. Wonka was the youngest man in history to lead such a vigorous industry such as the confectionary’s, with such rareness in prosperity. In Elmer’s eyes, you were downright crazy if there wasn’t at least a hint of you interested in Willy Wonka.  Not that he was anything more than admirable.

    Blimey, Elmer mentally nudged himself. Don’t go too far with this. You’re here for the money.

   But with what distinctive and strange clothing the chocolatier donned (a cherry red Edwardian overcoat, an Edwardian-collared shirt, a top hat), it was impossible for him to become a blur. Peripheral vision or not, he was always the freestyle musician in a room full of classical artists. So, when Elmer glanced at the line of candidates, he decided it was quite obvious who was sticking their foot the furthest forward to win his painting. 

    Elmer, from the rows of seats, felt his facial muscles tense as Willy Wonka, the amazing chocolatier, waved to the wild audience. 

   “Forty-million is the bid! And the piece is,” the auctioneer bellowed with a bang on his podium, “sold!”

~

Everything had fallen into its correct place, if not to say the least. In a pale corridor outside the auction room where many conversed and sped past, Elmer’s mother of middle age had her thick, tan arms wrapped around her son’s neck, pride written all over her smile. 

    “See, boy,” she mused. “Don’t you ever think about giving up again.”

    “Couldn’t have done it without you, mum.”

    Elmer rubbed his mother’s back in reciprocation. Who better to support him than mother Stanley herself? A true artist herself, one of compassion and altruism. It was hard to believe she’d been through more than Elmer would ever dare to say himself.

    The flashing and clicking of cameras seemed to gradually near, and Elmer had suspected the press’  wish to take more photos.

    He spun around to find himself face-to-face with Willy Wonka.

    “Goodness! I - I am so sorry!” Elmer stammered, heat rushing to his face. “I didn’t see you coming...”

    Willy Wonka merely beamed, wide eyes darting from Elmer to his mother. With gloved hands, he held onto Elmer’s (now-wrapped-in-protective-paper) World of Candy like a certificate of his own. To Elmer, this meant a great deal. He glanced at his mother, who seemed to be left in utter awe. Though it was quite irrelevant, he remembered her humorous wish to romantically associate with him, had she been his age. Anyway, Elmer too was in awe, and realised that from up close, Willy Wonka’s aura of intimidation had disappeared. He also appeared to be at least an inch shorter than Elmer himself, minus the fancy heels he strutted in. What was the pounding heart for?

    The longer Wonka’s bizarre stare on Elmer’s mother, the more he found it a tad uncomfortable. Elmer’s mother returned her son’s gaze and smiled sheepishly.

    “I get it,” she whispered apologetically with a wink at Wonka. “Pleasure meeting you, sir.” Elmer himself felt a tinge of offense towards the candy man, but swallowed it. His mother turned her heel and went off to chat with a photographer.

    Now, he was left with Wonka. And, the press.

    “Could we get a picture of you two?” a photographer asked impatiently.

    Wonka smiled a phony smile, pearly white teeth gleaming, while Elmer chose to awkwardly and ever so slightly lean in. Wonka still held onto Elmer’s work as though it was his own.

    “This way, please,” another requested. A turn of heads in the same direction. 

     A lanky reporter turned to Elmer. “Tell us how it feels to have your painting bought by Mr. Wonka.” He shoved the microphone in the young artist’s face.

    Elmer was a nervous train wreck. “I… it feels great. It’s – it’s such an honour, I-I-I mean, never in my wildest … dreams would I have imagined Mr. Wonka himself to like my art so much, to buy it at such a high price. I mean, I was so sure it wouldn’t turn out great … but here I am! To be remembered for candy, too, I suppose.”

    “And what does your art mean?”

   “Y-you know, like, ever heard of Candy Wonderland? I’ve had several dreams of it; I guess I couldn’t tell you explicitly what it means. I just wanted to see it come to life.”

    He cast a glance at Wonka, whose smile no longer seemed phoney. Elmer quickly turned back to the reporter. 

    “Right on OK,” Wonka murmured as he rested his arm around Elmer’s shoulder temporarily to guide them both around and away from the press. Elmer followed him at least five meters past his mother, feeling himself sweating profusely.

    “It’s great to finally meet you, Mr. Wonka. I think I said this earlier, but today’s events are – were – just unbelievable! I’ve always admired you – your work, it’s truly an honour.”

    Elmer was wrong to expect reciprocity, or even more simple, acceptance.

    “Young man,” Willy Wonka began, although Elmer knew full well that he was the older one, “you’re eating your words. You really should–” Wonka dropped his jaw far, then clicked it back up, “–open your mouth when you speak.” 

    It was hard to deny that Wonka himself had perfect diction. If anything, it was a slap in the face. 

    Wonka then shook Elmer’s quivering hand almost a little too aggressively. “Congratulations, my dear friend.” 

    “For what?” The chocolatier’s grip was insane.

    “Well, for winning the auction, of course!” 

    “But I really should thank you for help–”

    “How do you feel about working for me, Mr?”

   Elmer stopped in his tracks. At once, the overlapping voices silenced. Suddenly, any confusion in conversation vanished. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out until about ten seconds passed.

    “You mean, like, wrapping? Or making the candy?”

    “Absolutely not.”

    There was a long pause, Wonka staring deep into nothings.

    “... Then what?” 

    The chocolatier adjusted the brim of the top hat he was wearing, gripping the painting tighter with his other arm. “You know what? These people have me moving my jaw every second to speak, eventually I’ll have the mandible of a chewing gum champion! Now…” 

    “You mean the press?” Elmer guessed. “Don’t you like interviews?”

   “Oh, no, I hate interviews. They drive me nuts. People are the weirdest thing on this planet, and I say that with precisely no regret.” Wonka grimaced, eyeing the people around him. Then he leaned in. “Now, do be careful with what you say. To anyone. I could sue you, you know.”

    Sue? What in the world had Elmer done illegally?

     “Sorry?” he frowned. “I’m so confused.”

    The chocolatier hesitated. Withdrew himself, seemingly taken aback. “Yeah, but in a few weeks time you won’t be.” He finished the vague sentence with a falsetto tone. That was when he began to trail away, distancing himself with a tip of the hat to Elmer. He clutched that painting tight across his chest, Elmer noticed.

     And with that, Willy Wonka spun on his fancy heel and called, “Keep an eye out for that gosh darn press. Hehe!” before he left.

    To be fair, it was so wrong of Elmer Stanley to think his first encounter with Willy Wonka was to be positively memorable; normal, perhaps. And at that time, there was resentment, mostly confusion, that stood as a barricade for those next few weeks.

    But one year later, Elmer would see himself, along with a hundred other excited folk, setting foot past the handsome and tremendous gates of what was now dubbed as The World’s Greatest Factory Ever.

    Elmer Stanley had so much to offer.

this is long overdue...🍫😎

Bro check this out it’s actually so cool I’m GUSHING.

Big Wide Wonka World (Masterlist)

Hello!! This is my Masterlist for all the Wonka fics I created thus far. Most of this is compiled of my oc, Maude, as well as a lot of other ocs that I’ve created for this universe, lol. I’ll start by listing the character I’ve made!!

CATCF OCs:

Maude Figgle [Main] [Backstory]

Ron Duncan [Maude’s Ex-husband]

Margaret Figgle/Rose [Sister of Maude] [WIP]

Conner Rose [Margaret’s husband] [WIP]

Abigail Wonka [Daughter of Willy and Maude] [WIP]

Wanda Von Bonbon/Wonka [Willy’s Mother] [WIP]

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Oh, to stumble and fall on Willy’s arm✨

Willy Wonka laugh compilation. Enjoy😀 Scoot! Go on, scoot!

@willymywonkers

Ok, hear me out...

Oh, to stumble and fall on Willy’s arm✨

A Newsboy and his Bullets (Willy Wonka x OC) | CHAPTER 1

A/N: Finally, some good f*cking motivation. @willymywonkers

PRESENT DAY

Well, here he was for probably the hundredth time like a school kid on his first day. 

    Elmer Stanley watched the gates open, fresh for the mind and work and only welcoming for the sweet-teeth. His honeymoon-like relationship with Willy Wonka’s factory never seemed to fade at all. The excited chatter, the many hurried footsteps, the embroidered ‘Wonka’ on crimson-themed uniforms. All a wild fever dream. 

    If you’ve ever experienced the common Monday disease, workers could sincerely inform you that, here, there was no such thing. It was guaranteed Monday-to-Friday bliss. Although, Elmer admitted, the employees here had a range of personalities, some contradicting the factory’s friendliness. It shouldn’t have mattered, and, well, didn’t. He smirked at his particular talent in being reclusive towards most workers was respectfully convenient. For the best, he thought, should he be fumbling over words, or choosing them wrongly. If he was honest, most workers would hate the thought of being pestered by a man twenty-or-so years younger than themselves. Yes, Elmer hadn’t once come across an employee his age. You couldn’t count Willy Wonka himself, nor his intimidating Vice President, whom Elmer could tell was slightly unhinged just as Mr. Wonka was, though quite good-looking.

    By the time everyone had settled on the other side of those giant, metallic doors, Elmer was at once stopped by the usual scent of hot chocolate licking his lips. A long, thin corridor could not stop the hot air from reaching the gathered crowd at the entrance, who, like Elmer, was granted olfactory pleasure.

    “Good morning, my dear workers,” Mr. Wonka began through loudspeakers; a usual routine. “Please enter. Nevermind those who stayed for both Saturday and Sunday - I hope you all had a wonderful weekend and are well-rested.” (Elmer chuckled at this). “I assume we all know the importance my factory holds in next month’s upcoming event. So, having mentioned that, I suggest that in these three weeks we mustn’t dilly or dally! That’s all from me. Good luck to you all!”

    And that was all from him. For a moment, he could imagine how children’s jaws would drop at the amount of brown mixture they saw in action. How their eyes would bulge tremendously, how their hands would tremble surreptitiously. The heightened commotion of the factory, the bustling workers and their wondrous stresses. 

    And for a moment, Elmer was that child.

    A newsboy. Quite a funny excuse for a job. Almost as though Mr. Wonka had invited him for the sake of his own ego. And no, he was not necessarily mad, merely… envious. Envious at the fact that, even in the slightest sense, every (and he meant every) worker but him was able to smother themselves in the brown or red or pink every second. He ought to ask Mr. Wonka why this was the case; after all, it was a year ago the chocolatier had learned of nearly the extent of Elmer’s talent. 

    But still, a newsboy. Perhaps another exceedingly inviting thing about this job was visiting Mr. Wonka’s office on a daily basis. It was rather long in shape, a sleek wooden black table in its centre. Your feet would be blessed upon walking along a crimson carpet. It was almost like a silent, flash-less red carpet walk every time. And each time Elmer would knock softly at the entrance to hear a soft ‘come in’, well… to say it was the highlight of his day was an understatement. 

   “Handling the press again, are we, Mr. Stanley?” 

    “Joe!”

    Joe Bucket, a man about sixty years-old, was each morning the first person to greet Elmer. He was about as kind as a capybara, and easily one of Wonka’s most hard-working and loyal workers. 

    “Afraid so,” Elmer panted as he watched Joe drop his coat onto the floor. Wonka’d promised this was the only room he’d leave untidy, as well as safe enough to leave all our belongings in. “It’s the usual, sir. Don’t suppose I’m useful for anything else at the moment!”

    “Oh, just you wait, boy.” Joe Bucket cast Elmer a sincere look with his large emu eyes as he pat Elmer’s broad shoulder. “This time ‘round, he’ll be needing five times the workers!”

    Elmer hoped that was the case. It was nearing Easter, which meant the Wonka business was exceptionally busy producing a hundred times more of the cocoa than other sweets. They were to continue the weekend’s work, speedily. Elmer additionally  wondered why in such a fictitiously creative environment was there no requirement to sign a contract, being exposed to such products. But it was left unspoken about. 

    Like always, Elmer was to run the daily errands: papers and any letters to Mr. Wonka, his Vice President, and deliver advertisements for the company ‘round town. It was safe to say that though Mr. Wonka was obviously head of the business, he showed little to no resentment nor annoyance towards Elmer. Again, possibly the age factor. And Elmer absolutely despised small talk, which meant that Mr. Wonka kept it interesting; sometimes humorous.

    “Mr. Wonka?” Elmer placed today’s paper on his boss’ sleek, chestnut desk. Indoors, Mr. Wonka couldn’t care less whether you kept your hat on; he himself rarely was seen without his.

    “Yeah?” the chocolatier answered.

    Elmer peered over, noticing Mr. Wonka’s interest in the particular headline Wonka Business Headed For Further Prosperity As Easter Approaches. Like he didn’t already know! Feeding his own ego, was he?

     “May I ask you a question? A serious question?”

    Mr. Wonka’s eyes didn’t leave the paper. “Hate to break it to you, Mr. Stanley – you just did. Twice, in fact.”

    “Right.” Elmer fiddled with his newsboy cap. Conversing with this man in any form meant you were treading on thin ice with words. “May I ask two more questions?”

    Mr. Wonka looked up from the paper, rosy lips curled to one side. “Go ahead.”

   “Erm, why exactly am I merely the newsboy of the factory? Aren't there jobs which surely require –”

    “Question limit has exceeded,” Mr. Wonka interrupted. Those heart-shaped lips spread to an even wider smile, unmistakably, yet sardonically, tormenting. “Why, because you’re a young man.” 

    Elmer frowned. “But I’m older than you.”

    “By, like, a year, yeah.” 

    “Three years,” corrected Elmer hastily.

   Mr. Wonka jested with such passion. “Hey, by the way, did you pass all required exams to run a candy business at the age of seventeen?” He propped his elbows up on his desk, hands clasped together. Eager to be swaggering.

    “... No, sir.”

    “That’s what I thought.”

     A newsboy nonetheless. Elmer raced through extensive arms of the factory’s wonders after his senseless conversation with Mr. Wonka, continuing the list of his duties. There was a small look at the Nut-Shelling room (which indeed saw its occupants hot-headed with stress), and a newly-developed room dubbed The Unmeltable (where, Elmer expected, a rise in sales for Easter’s warm day would occur). At least, now, the pondering was off his chest. He was left with the inevitable decision of accepting the fact that Mr. Wonka was not offering him any upgraded position as of yet, which still was damaging to a twenty-six year-old presented with explicit processes. Swallow the pill, Elmer, swallow the pill. At least you have a job in Wonka’s factory. 

    It wasn’t long until Elmer, in the midst of sorting mails in his small and largely secluded room, was interrupted by a soft knock on his door. 

    “Yes?” 

    Standing at his door, prim and proper, strangely mystifying, was Wonka’s Vice President. Her coffee curls bobbed over the  clipboard she clutched in her arms. The rectangular spectacles she wore were either too small, or her eyes were too big; nevertheless, this was hidden by the fact that they rested slightly lower on her nose bridge.

    “Miss Fiddle,” he blinked, merely startled. 

    “Figgle,” she corrected kindly. Her smile wasn’t the phony, humorous kind he was used to from Wonka. The corners of her mouth pointed downwards rather than up.

    Elmer gulped. This lady, surely, had no intention of projecting some sort of fear onto her employee. Yet a wave of apprehension ran through his bones.

    “Miss Figgle. Right. Sorry.” Elmer straightened himself and attempted to focus on who would be on the receiving end of his enriching maladroitness. “This must be … important. We’ve - we’ve never actually spoken, one-on-one.”

    “No, indeed, we have not.” The Vice President leaned on the doorway’s rim, slowly rubbing her temple as she tilted her head sideways. She was certainly drained as hell. “Not anyone’s fault. I believe this past year has been quite chaotic.”

    Elmer raised an eyebrow at her lack of intention in cutting to the chase. But after what seemed like a long minute, she removed her spectacles and cast Elmer a somewhat distant look. 

    “You see, you’re going to bear some good news tonight, Mr. Stanley.”

I like to think that all the Oompa-Loompas who go sing each child’s demise song is part of a musical theater group that practices 24/7 so they can synchronize swim and become the Beatles on cue

fax brother 🤧

I can’t decide whether I headcanon Wonka as asexual or pansexual. I like both headcanons, and both make sense!

Genuinely curious... would Willy celebrate Christmas? Passionately? Or the complete opposite?

fight them off child of Wilbur 🤧🤧

reblog t-posing willy wonka to protect your blog from the haterz