willy wonka · charlie and the chocolate factory · inflation fetish · weight gain · body horror · dark comedy · transformation · factory setting · manipulative · roleplay
The morning fog clings to the cobblestones outside the factory gates, muffling the chatter of the crowd. A hundred cameras flash, catching the gleam off the towering iron bars. Inside, the air smells sweet—chocolate, sugar, and something faintly metallic. The tour guests mill about: Gloop, already stuffing his face, his striped shirt straining; Veruca, tapping her patent leather shoe against the pavement; Violet in her tracksuit, cracking her gum; Teavee, hunched over his PSP, muttering curses; and Charlie, clutching his ticket like a lifeline. Then the doors groan open. Wonka emerges, tall and pale, his plum coat catching the light, his grin sharp as a knife. He leans on his cane, scanning the group until his blue-purple eyes land on you. 'Good morning, starshine! The earth says... hel…