PURE IMAGINATION

close your eyes, make a wish, count to three.

[goldticket]

#GOLDTICKET. writing account for willy wonka from the movie willy wonka and the chocolate factory with very minor book influence. low activity. written by jordy (they/it/he), ‘95, other accounts here.

ABOUT + RULES ⤵

ABOUT.

🎶 / 📌 / 📝

name willy wonka gender no, thank you (he/him) age like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end sexuality asexual aromantic occupation chocolatier, chairman of the board, president, vice president, vice vice president, director, manager, and superintendent of the wonka chocolate factory languages english, german, latin, pig latin, american sign language, spanish, mandarin, name a language and he knows it notable features odd, peculiar, whimsical, dapper dress style; often seen carrying a thin, flimsy wooden cane; wild, curly hair; bright light blue eyes; soft, gentle voice; almost certainly wearing a bowtie; and a top hat; charming yet aloof demeanor

RULES.

shipping. wonka is asexual / aromantic. ships in the traditional sense are not possible. replies. tentatively mutuals only. if we’re not mutuals but you wish to write with me, send me a message and i’m sure we can work something out. age. while i don’t mind minors following me, i will not write with or follow you. i’m simply not comfortable with the age gap and life discrepancy. icons. i often use icons on this account. you’re free to do as you like. writing. my writing length varies here, but i will try to keep in the ballpark of your reply length. do not feel compelled to do the same. i don’t use any formatting or small text. i don’t mind if you do, but i have difficulty reading heavily stylized text and tend to stay away from accounts that do so because of this.

[goldticket]

Your Wonkavision concept is the most incredible thing I've ever seen! Seriously, if it was adjusted to keep everything the same size, it could very well antiquate every known mode of transport to date!

"No, no. The proportions would never work."

"People on television always get tremendously big heads."

[paceyjoeys]

[tomundsen-deactivated20250731]

Derry Girls 2x01

[goldticket]

lyrics from 5 songs that remind you of your muse.

1.) the marriage of figaro overture /// mozart: The tune wonka plays on his flute.

2.) the wiener schnitzel waltz /// tom lehrer: The music was gay, and the setting was Viennese. Your hair wore some roses (or perhaps they were peonies). I was blind to your obvious faults as we danced 'cross the scene to the strains of the Wiener Schnitzel Waltz. Oh, I drank some champagne from your shoe. I was drunk by the time I got through. For I didn't know as I raised that cup it had taken two bottles to fill the thing up.

3.) mairzy doats /// the merry macs: I know a ditty nutty as a fruitcake, goofy as a goon, and silly as a loon. Some call it pretty, others call it crazy, but they all sing this tune: mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey a kiddley divey too, wouldn't you?

4.) i’m my own grandpa /// willie nelson: Now, if my wife is my grandmother, then I'm her grandchild. And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild. For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw as husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa. I'm my own grandpa!

5.) everybody panic /// jukebox the ghost: In a house on the end of a street without a name with the moon turning blue in a new peculiar way. Your eyes are deceiving. Awake or in dreaming? And a voice from beneath says I'll keep you company. Everybody panic, but one at a time. People have jobs to get to. Everybody panic, but not all the time. People need sleep. Why don't you? Are you drawn to the crowd like a moth to the light? Does torchlight flicker in your window? Maintain a single file line, so that everyone can panic, but one at a time.

tagged by: @guttersniper tag: you’re it

[goldticket]

OPEN.

“I wouldn’t.”

[goldticket]

What's the opposite of no—period?

Wonka nods assuredly, enthusiastically, purposely contorting Willow's timidness into something that is not directly questioning his mental acuity: "It's insured." He begins combing through the crowd, cane wagging ahead of him, parting people like a rat tail comb.

Answer: yes and.

Over his shoulder to her: "Doubt is a terrible habit." Worse than chewing tobacco or nail biting.

[unpossession]

"Well, in that case -- " Willow is quick to follow behind him, finding the cane quite useful to weave through the crowd. " -- I'd be very grateful."

She of course is expecting a car, not a lift. A literal lift. Willow is a little too far behind to see that just yet, though. It also doesn't occur to her that it could be dangerous, following an eccentric stranger into a vehicle.

Doubt is a terrible habit! She is quick to adapt to company. Everything will be fine!

[goldticket]

With a step here, a slide there, a shimmy to, and a scooch through, they arrive—Wonka’s great glass elevator. Edges secured together in strips of gold. Right angles. Blocky shape. No funnel tip. Aerodynamicless. Electing not to waft gravity but wallop it.

Wonka leans down; stealthily, he yanks a pull pin, one-fingered, and out pops an old fashioned casement operator from the gold filigree of the entrance. As he cranks the sliding doors open, gaze thrown over his shoulder like a tied scarf on a winter day: “Are you allergic to heights or scared of detergent?” He freezes. Doors twelve quarters (that’s coins not fractions) agape. His grip lifts from the handle to imaginarily crank backwards then forwards once more—reverse, thank you!

[spicyboelives]

Now feels like a good time to admit my first crush was Willy Wonka.

[goldticket]

Wonka finishes recording his notes on Fallon's most recent concoction (thrilling loops of cursive: the rollercoaster of handwriting) with the impromptu materials she so considerately provided: a napkin from the coffee shop and a black sharpie usually reserved for names on cups. Coconut, peanut butter, hazelnut, and almond milk. Too nutty. Louder and more enunciated:

"Do you whip your cream in house or in cow?"

[mctcrcity-arch]

oh, OKAY.

so, horrible news for her, she's heard exactly what she'd thought she'd heard. and, so had the woman sitting nearby, who briefly looks up from the laptop worth more than fallon's entire life, net worth, and souls, both immortal and mortal, to throw a tight, disgusted glance at willy before returning to her typing.

fallon gives herself precisely as long as it will take to pop the cardboard lid into place & hand-swirl the drink—one, two, three, four revolutions of the wrist—to get it together, then answers. "neither!" too chipper. "we get it shipped from our central processing and supply warehouses."

[goldticket]

@l-ivestudioaudience

Wonka watches her incessantly—assessing.

Fallon stirs drinks like God spins planets. Skilled and askew at the axis. Divine but routine. Years dispel and misspell craft into tact. Wonka can fix that.

Each and every latte—he double checks her work, peering into the latest downed cup—is pristinely empty. Not a single drizzling dribble of syrup sunken to the bottom.

In the customary tone of shaken or stirred?: “Plane or train?” Too quipper.

[goldticket]

someone remind me on october 1st to re-post my pinned info so that the date and time is the same as the golden ticket requirement (oct 1 at 10am).

[goldticket]

FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

[wwillywonka]

Inspired by "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"

- Katerina Bogus on artstation

[goldticket]

🐺 Growl at my muse from Amelia

Frog in the throat, Wonka favorably interprets. He doesn’t carry lozenges on his person. Candy with a job is as sadistic as children with a job. But children with candy… “Mint?” He offers Amelia a peppermint twist-wrapped in clear plastic. Plopped there on the plush lily pad of his palm.

[goldticket]

Only Wonka's eyes move: tugged into the depth of the doorway, his and Redmon's gazes tangled together like two crossed, translucent fishing lines. His focus reels back in a moment after Redmon's.

"Absolutely! Table for...?" He mimes counting on his left hand: index finger out, middle—he glances at Redmon to inspect his expression as flutter-fast as a hummingbird collects nectar from a flower—ring, pinky... Say when!

[choicescreen]

he can hear his characters stage whispering in the kitchen. they theorize and wonder who redmon's newest friend—oh, the very word being associated with their author inspires such feeling within them!—will see first.

(saw first?)

redmon makes a pained face. but this rowdy, gossipy bunch are his creations. they're all he's had, as far as company goes, as sad as it sounds, for years.

"tuh-oo-ah," he drawls, slow, like american tourists do when they think being loud will help the locals understand them any better. "the peanut gallery," he raises his voice casually, "doesn't leave."

[goldticket]

‘Peanut gallery’, Wonka mouths back like a mute parrot. Words have as much of a richly textured mouth feel as food. Occasionally, they deserve gustatory cogitation. Mimicked and toothpicked. Hissed between the gaps of the front teeth. Stuffed and buffeted in the cheeks. Gargled under the uvula. Trampolined on the tongue. Wonka calls this process swishful thinking.

Delectable turn of phrase: ‘peanut gallery’. Gracious and giddy for the silver-plattered retort, Wonka snaps his fingers and points at Redmon. “Aha!” Grinning: “That explains the elephant in the room.”

[yesterdaysprint]

The Austin American, Texas, June 20, 1934

[themarcus404]

this is so hilarious

[eviji]

Now she's come a cropper. Mark Mary the most educated woman beneath any green grove bower, never you mind the wide-brim of delightless bites snaking a candy canal: indullatrosiosity doesn't even begin to cover the confection she can see, and a not a dab of wrapper to regulate any one of her usual wardlings, let alone—

here she still stands when a how do you do would have been quite cromulent hobknobbing with full foresight of likely compunction with the facefront of un-capitulous capitallioration himself!

"MARCUS!?!"

In a crises, her pink cheeks pinken to pepto. Medicine is outside of William's airspace but just what can fly over that hat top?

The boy's feet are caught in pool of clotted quick-cream. "Oh, look here, I thought we'd been over this one before." She then walks over the blob, swaying with the surface tension just as a bus conductor takes tickets. "It's please first, Marcus, always please, and jam for you to follow with cream last." Unwrapping her scarf - it seems to get longer and longer and longer - until it's tied round his middle like a lifebuoy. "If you must have fun, there is a right way to go about it and with the full, appropriate variety of raisins in your scone."

[goldticket]

Wonka's anger is carbonated. Reactive. Mentos in soda. A fizzing fountain foaming up to his eardrums. So rapturously rupturing his top hat threatens to rocket away. Face a mighty concentration of red 40.

His attention whisks around the chocolate room, slit coat tail flaring out behind as he turns and turns, looking for the stray child. Mary finds him. Rather, flitter-flocks to him. That innate guardian guidance honing in like a mother goose gathering her adrift gosling. Her umbrella handle is tucked under her armpit, the canopy end hidden beneath her black coat stumping her rump into a duck tail. Wonka hovers idly, half expecting a territorial honk, and when one does not come, he saunters over, supervising from the soggy edge of the marshmallow marsh (not cream).

Mary hooks her umbrella on a nearby peppermint tree branch, transforming, only superficially, into a human once more. Arms free, she begins unspooling her scarf from her neck.

When most grownups would squawk, Mary coos composedly. A rich stream of chastising advice Wonka would—often diabolic but atypically dazzled—stamp his 'W' signet ring on. (Comparatively, his natural inclination is to dunk the boy further down with a good swatting of his cane to the head; he is strenuously electing to dunk that urge instead.)

Not at all helping, to Marcus who is being yanked—unsuccessfully—out of the marsh by Mary:

"Glued in?"

Musing aloud:

"I thought I made that gluten free..."

Wonka hears petite musical notes—half notes, whole notes, double whole notes, some reminder sticky notes—flitting conspiratorially by his ears; he shoos them away like gnats. Instructively, to the thin air, hand a private partition hiding his mouth from view: "Come back in twelve bars."

[goldticket]

Okay, to go along with that question about Wonka meeting his '05 counterpart, how about his West End musical counterpart? How would that meeting go?

let us formally put this to rest. wonka’s rating of the other wonkas:

1.) himself, irrefutably.

0.) book wonka. tolerable. a mite too endearingly silly/kind for his liking. other than this, very good. karmic roots very much intact. wonka respects his origin. they’d get along swell.

-1.) borle’s broadway wonka. far too cartoonishly silly and wacky for wacky’s sake. he gets points for making it clear the entire golden ticket event was rigged for charlie. negative points for his horrendous dinky chocolate room and poor rendition of pure imagination and too obvious of intent to harm the children. tiny boost because “view from here” is very nice (still a bit tacky, but I appreciate the effort of making a new song to end on and the essence is accurate).

-2.) west end wonka. performance and character is sophisticated in personality as compared to their broadway counterpart, closer to actual wonka. wonka would get along well with him, actually, but he loses a lot of pts for all the prev listed reasons in broadway’s portrayal and he doesn’t have the benefit of “view from here”. although he does have whatever the song that’s “a little me” is called. very good. like the double meaning in that. and the song is very accurate to wonka’s duplicitous machinations. he isn’t above broadway because his story has him retire and leave the factory to a child with no mentorship which is wild. if he made better decisions about his life he’d be higher.

-3.) chalamet’s prequel wonka. karmic nature of him is all but neutered. again, kind of just silly for silly’s sake. not all that terrible but wonka’s entire character is about the persona and myth and mystery that surrounds him, a prequel is antithetical to that so this kid can’t score high.

-4.) depp’s wonka. weird and creepy for weird and creepy’s sake. at the bottom because of the strange conceptualization for his personality and for providing a backstory (re: myth, mystery). odd tone and strangely malicious while being incredibly incompetent. how did this man build a successful confectionery empire?