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@unclewileytoysguarantee
๐ฎ๐ง๐๐ฅ๐๐ฐ๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ฒ ;; an independent, private, and super selective ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ from sk's ๐๐๐ฉ๐๐๐๐ฉ๐๐๐๐ก๐. this blog is canon and canon divergent with heavy headcanon influences. DO NOT APPROACH FOR SHIPPING.
affiliated with witchwood & authorizeduse .
about. promo. memes. ruth memes. blog roll.
as told by wiley. 31. she/her. CST.
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MOVING WILBUR TO @unclewiley !!
move to hatchet multi? :(
yes
no
wiley option.
Cross talks about cost, and tools, and it feels more to John like he wants him to beg, and grovel. It might be his own resentment coloring the edges of his vision red as he watches the vial sail through the air to land in the former colonel's hand over and over again, it feels like a trap. In all honesty, he knows somewhere in the pit of his stomach that it is one, because he has to. Because no solution is simply going to appear in his tent even sprawled in the chair across from him at this so called desk. This is a game, because never once even before the portal would Wilbur have simply handed him a solution. He has always worked for it, and whatever price is demanded will be too high but there is not a goddamn thing he can do as he stares down the end of the world. A vial so small and so volatile that one clever application is all that stands between the world they once knew, and the apocalypse.
"Name it." He says it with stoic surety of a man declaring himself guilty when facing death row. There is no need to fuss with words or twist himself in knots to play the game. He imagines there will be another monologue, another tongue twisting abomination of speech and ambition followed by a request either impossible, or so humiliating it borders on the same. To die with dignity would be too great an ask, but maybe, if he swallows his pride there is still a chance for humanity yet that lies in impossibility.
name it.
The two word response was enough to make Wilbur toss the vial up one last time then snatch it out of the air. His hand wraps around it tightly and he shifts to rise out of his chair, taking one step closer to John. He doesn't put that little of space between them, but he hopes it's enough to put the General on edge. "Y'see, John," Wilbur starts, "He wants a lot of things, but you can only give him one thing and it'll go against morals. It'll make you question whether you're doing the right thing, but... if you want to save Hatchetfield-- the world? Then you better commit to it."
He pauses, letting the weight of that settle between them before he turns to lean himself against a table being used as what he assumes to be John's desk. He opens his hand, lifting it to look down at the glass vial... short frown touching his lips, "There's a girl in this town. A very, very special girl that can bring about terrible things for Wiggly. He doesn't like that and neither do I," he turns his eyes and frown towards the General, "Bring her to me and I'll put an end to all of this. Pokey's song will no longer be sung and you'll have your precious Hatchetfield back in whatever pieces remain of it."
i see. well in that case! ๐ฅณ
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CONFLICT || short askbox prompts to initiate conflict
you're fucking kidding me, right?
stop. just -- stop.
you don't care about anyone but yourself.
you were a mistake.
hit me, then.
fuck you.
get fucked.
screw you, dude.
i swear to God if you don't shut up . . .
don't fucking touch me.
do us both a favor and just die.
you're a joke.
you really think you have the upper hand?
you'll have to kill me, then.
i wasted so much time on you.
i saw what you did.
i'm going to turn you in.
you can't hide from the truth.
the law will catch up to you, just wait and see.
you must think you're untouchable.
your secret is out.
are you threatening me?
am i supposed to be afraid of you?
you don't scare me.
was that your plan?
you're pathetic.
how do you live with yourself?
how do you sleep at night?
Coming back from the dead after such a grand exit was certainly not what anyone would expect. Especially the likes of @witchwood. Gina had been in his arms about to be pulled into the Black and White when he was shot-- no, murdered by her brother. Some might say he had it coming... that it was deserved because of the deranged things he was saying and doing. He was threatening Gina's life and John had done what any brother... or, hell, any comrade would do. He just happened to pull the trigger first. His return was scripted and planned by the Lord in Black himself, Wiggly telling him that he was to walk again under his orders... something he was already aware of. He had given his life and his soul to Wiggly when he stepped into the portal. He'd gone in knowing that he wouldn't come out as he was... not that he was really truly that changed, in fact... Wilbur was never more himself. He'd shed the mask he wore and came out with powers unlike anything those scientist could've predicted. He was a prophet... a follower.... a disciple... a whatever he wanted to be called, but he was under the orders of Wiggly when it was necessary. Otherwise... Wilbur was free to roam, moving between a normal reality and the Black.
He had orders to guide Hatchetfield and the rest of the states into loving a vessel that appeared as a doll. He was set to be in Hatchetfield specifically for it, but... that was still months away-- Halloween was first around the corner. Namely just days away and many were already dressing for the occasion. Wilbur blended in with his denim outfit, not many batting an eye at the way he looked. Not that he would've cared, but... today he was focused. Today he was going somewhere with intentions of finding the very woman he had tried to pulling into the portal. Gina MacNamara. He could sense her as if she were in the room with him, Hatchetfield's souls like little lights beckoning him. But hers? Oh he knew hers and he was drawn to it like a moth to a lantern.
He found her with simple ease, locating her at a cafe with the likes of a man that made Wilbur raise his brow. He didn't recognize the man, but he certainly had a look to him. She was speaking to him in a delicate voice that he hadn't picked up instantly on until he was closer, focusing on her voice and the way it drifted towards him.
โ i never got a chance to discover myself. i never had that privilege. โ
As she finished her sentence he'd come to a stop behind her, eyes looking down at her then to the man who had yet to clock Wilbur. So he took that moment to speak, beating the other from doing so, "Breakin' my heart with that one, Gina..." the man looked to Wilbur and the once colonel smirked, "What's she been tellin' ya, hm?"
๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ข ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ ๐๐ก๐ก๐๐ฃ๐ . . .
there's a rush of emotions that washes through grace as wilbur speaks. ( she's still not sure how he got here, what he wants from her, or what he benefits from letting grace take full reign of what she's doing. the book seems too sacred to give up, but if there's a way to get things done without it. . .)
โ sheila young, โ she repeats. she lets the name sit with her, trying to remember if she knows anyone with that name. ( she doesn't. ) โ i know a lot about the history of this town, โ she presses on, โ though it mostly comes from my dad. and i don't know anything about the young family. โ it's only a little embarrassing, and grace chuckles awkwardly as she steps forward. โ what can you tell me about them? โ
Wilbur watched as she seemed to think over what was said and what it meant. He could tell she was trying to locate in her head how or if she knew the Young name, but she didn't. Why would she? Sheila naturally kept to herself in her mansion with her rotating husbands. It was her son that was often running amuck doing things or spending money. The forty year old man none the wiser to his mother's antics or how she's staying so damn young.
"I can tell you that Sheila and her husband were very loyal followers of those names you like to invoke so much," Wilbur pointed at the book, finger swirling in the air before dropping the hand back to his side. "The Waylon Place that you're oh so familiar with? That's where her husband was murdered... you know the story."
truthfully, wilbur isn't capable of love. i don't think there's ever been a time in his life where he felt it. he was never given it by his parents and the only two people to ever show him real kindness (my headcanon) he didn't trust due to the way he was raised and what he knew. he didn't stand a chance in ever being one to love someone or be loved. not that he cared. after a certain point of time he found it be considered a weakness. something to hold you back. he didn't want anything holding him back from what he wanted and he wanted the most.
so yes, though i'm ship exclusive-- even if i wasn't, i wouldn't ship him. i can't see it. i don't see it. he's a master manipulator and basically a fucking sociopath. he just doesn't have empathetic feelings or warmness in him. he's cold. he's been dead on the inside and outside long before the black and white took him.
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. . . and that's an uncle wiley toys guarantee . . . ( x )
i understand why he shaved and the world makes sense now. ๐
AND THAT'S AN UNCLE WILEY TOYS GUARANTEE---
MUTUALS MAY INTERACT.
STINKY MAN?? STINKY MAN???
โ i would say i don't know what's wrong with you but i actually do and that's the problem. โ
Wilbur turned at the voice, darkness surrounding them as if waiting to engulf them entirely. It wouldn't... at least not him. John? Oh, he was about to become a part of the very thing he was fighting. But before @authorizeduse could disappear into the Black and White, he had to say what he was thinking. Thoughts that amused the denim clad man. He chuckled at what was said, low and humorless as he faced John full on from where he stood on what was nothing. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing a little, "You say that like you know how to stop me. How to end all of this."
A pause, but barely one to let John even think. Wilbur continued in a low voice, nearly growling, "You know nothing about me and what I am and who I've become." He stepped closer only to start pacing around John, circling him like a shark in the water, "You can't stop what's coming."
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the idea of her not needing the book never passed through her mind. as it is a holy tome, regardless of the side it plays for, grace never thought to... tamper with it. to copy it down onto college ruled notebook paper to tuck under her bed for a rainy day. ( it feels... wrong. sacrilegious, almost. but -- if he's encouraging it, then surely it can't be forbidden, right? )
โ i have a lot on my mind, โ she says coolly. โ i'm eighteen -- i'm trying to study and graduate early so i can go to college. you don't know what that's like. โ ( she's defensive, and she knows it. ) โ ... are you saying there's another person in this town who uses the book? โ she tacks on curiously. โ someone like... me? โ
Wilbur has to stop the roll of his eyes, has to stop the way he wants to scoff and tell her that he cares so little about trivial things like school. He doesn't though. Instead he just tips his head in thought, letting her say her thoughts before she catches on fully to what's being said about another. It brings Wilbur's expression to a brighter one, brows raising and lips pulling into a near devil like smile, "Why yes, Grace. In fact she's been using it for quite some time to rid the world of men who she deems unfit to have their lives."
He moved to step over to a tree, their location close to the church but far enough to not be noticed or interrupted. He hummed a low chuckle as he shifted to lean back against the tree, "Her name's Sheila. Sheila Young. Her husband was once a very important man here in Hatchetfield..."
Wilbur had been leaning in @onhickory's doorway for the better half of ten minutes just watching as she went about herself. She was pampering herself by getting ready at a pace he was sure would drive any man crazy, but Wilbur was no mere man. Besides he wasn't here to wait on her, not fully. He knew she'd needed him for something. Knew he was in her presence for a reason she had yet to disclose, but he'd come to her regardless with interest. He knew the Honey Queen pageant was on the horizon and she was intending to partake in it, but she had no damned idea what it was really about. Wilbur knew. Of course he did. He may be a direct disciple to Wiggly, but he was aware of what the others did within Hatchetfield. He knew that at the end of that win and crown was something she would never see coming, but it wasn't his business to tell her. In fact... he was eager to watch her try for it. Linda was ferocious and a fighter... she'd take that victory no matter what.
โ if i ask for your help are you gonna make a big deal out of it? โ
An eyebrow arched at the question and Wilbur lifted his head a bit higher, hands folded in front of him where he leaned into the doorframe. He chuckled a little before tipping his head to the side slightly, eyes scanning Linda from where he was. He could see her reflection in the mirror she was using at her vanity, "Why, Linda, if I cared more I'd say I was hurt you'd say such a thing." His lips tug at the corners, smirk playing along his face, "Me? Make a big deal? I'd never." Short pause, "What is it you need, Mrs. Monroe?"
