nicolascagesempai asked: whats it like being chell
s c r e a m i n g
ver i love you
Mother of God.
(via kawaiiyomo-blog)
Posts tagged "Chell"
Fanart for Blue Sky, a Portal fanfic by the talented waffles.
”Wheatley’s first impression of the great outdoors was not particularly positive. He recoiled, clamped both his hands over his eyes, and screamed.
“AAAHHH! Aaahh ahgodwhat’sthat it burns!” …
…
For Wheatley, who’d been put together underground, who’d spent his entire existence either in the darkness of the maintenance tracks or under artificial light in the facility’s harshly-lit grey-walled chambers, the flood of natural light was staggering, blinding. During his time in space he’d guessed that the sunlight would be less intense down here beneath the blanket of the sky, but he’d been wrong. It was warmer, but no easier to bear. The filtered sunlight of his own avatar, tamed and modified as it was, didn’t even come close.”
Of course my picture is just all dramatization, the actual scenario from the fic would probably go like this:
;A; the lighting, the expressions, the weight, the anatomy,
THE LIGHTING.
Gaaaaaaaah I can’t even believe how much creativity this fic has generated. WAFFLES. DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. DO YOU SEE THIS.
It was a big door.
Very big, in fact. It was the sort of big, sleek, white door that might have looked more at home on the side of a jumbo jet; simply because it needed something about that size to excuse it for being so very, very big. As it was the cold metallic runway haphazardly smelted to the front of it looked a laughably frail and superfluous detail- like a bent paper clip glued to the face of a Siberian tiger.
Chell stopped in front of the big door. It was hard to tell if she felt anything like any other person might in the same position; small, vulnerable, impossibly insignificant and wondering at this unfathomable construction that looked far too out of place and important to be shunted back in this disused corridor of an extensive, forgotten, underground laboratory. What Chell thought was not to be known by man or beast, but she looked at it, and she waited. She knew she was supposed to be here, knew that it was supposed to be here, and she knew that it was a door. Chell also knew one other thing; that doors open.
The big door opened.
“OoOOoh-godthatfeelsterribnhk.”
The shivering, thin slice of life that had just melted out of the overly expansive doorway and into the hard steel floor before her feet made a damp, thudding sound as the wandering speech was impeded by the metal grid work.
A glance back up at the gaping maw of the freezer bespoke of either some colossal miscalculation or practical joke. Carved out of the center like the first scrape of a knife in a tub of margarine was the small, coffin-like space that the object had been contained within. The remainder of the machine appeared to be there simply for the sake of looking as if it was supposed to be doing something.
In comparison the ribbon of flesh and colourlessly blue overalls on the floor was trying to do something, but it didn’t seem to have the necessary equipment to do so. In its defense it was doing a fine job of making a constant stream of noise while ineffectually moving the parts that it could- namely the wrists, elbows and finger joints- which appeared to have no inclination to function in their set hierarchies or, indeed, with any united purpose the possessor may have had in mind.
“Lmm'ejus-izzabit-trickyt'get-allthebits-t'gethr…”
It spoke in a static, buzzing sort of way; like a radio with a poor signal striving to remember all the words of the song it was playing. Chell frowned at the familiarity in the intonation, crouching down to see the better, but not reaching out. Not drawing closer to the mass of dullish blond hair, steel-stifled mumbling and canvas white skin. One blue-veined wrist had clawed in front of the other, and with the cooperation of what might have, at one point, been functioning scapulae and deltoids, buckled and shook and craned the precarious construction of jagged cheek bones and cartilage up to look at her.
Wheatley looked at her.
“Oh. Hallo.”
Huh. Funny. Exactly the same as before. Still her up there, him down here. Well, of course, he had been up there most of the time before, but there had been that time, that bit, right at the start. Pity she hadn’t quite managed to catch him, but you know- humans. They came with all those extra bits, and she was probably feeling a bit off, what with the, well, the brain damage, and that, not to mention all those extra things they had to worry about, arms into the bargain, and the jumping business…
Still, looking up at that big, competent, monster-destroying face with its tumble-down locks and noble, Amazon nose and olive grey eyes that knew everything and know everything and see everything and see, at the moment, now, him; just, small, cold and not very noble at all him, he remembers, for once, what he was going to say.
“… I’m sorry.”
Excerpt from a fic that will never be written so don’t ask
Wheatley was engaged in combat, and he was losing.
“Been in a ball for decades and she expects me to figure out how to use these… fiddly diddly wotzits within a week…”
The sharp skulled man muttered ominously at his reflection, trying to fathom which way each finger was headed and attempting to herd them into some semblance of coordination. The thin strip of silk that he was trying to arrange around his neck without strangling himself was hardly helping matters, putting itself in the most unreasonable places which he had most certainly not told it to go, and gathering into such a collection of knots around his trachea that it seemed it was doing its utmost to resemble a noose if little else.
“She doesn’t even have to wear one.” He chuntered darkly at the mirror with the wrinkled nose and pouting lips. “She just has to chuck on one of those long things that doesn’t even have trouser legs.”
Contemplating this grossly unfair situation, and wondering why he wasn’t allowed to wear one of those long, trouser-leg-less things too, he grappled with the memory that had led to this ordeal. ‘It would be a nice way to start off’ she’d explained, with her sunshine face. 'Introduce you, get off to a good start.’
But what was a good start anyway? Did it have to include a dinner? Did it have to include getting dressed for dinner?
'I’m sure you remember how to do it’, she’d smiled, comfortingly, confidently. Of course he did, he’d replied, as he always did when he had no idea what he was getting himself into. How could she even imagine he’d forget something as basic as that? He’d be down before her, just you see, as fine as Fred Astaire and twice as dandy.
But Fred Astaire didn’t look as if he’d been put through a mangle. Fred Astaire didn’t have arguments with his collar, which stood on end as if electrocuted, didn’t have to re-fasten his shirt three times to get the holes and buttons to match up.
“I bet Ginger helped him at any rate…”
This forlorn sigh was accompanied by his eyes wandering to the myriad of confusing items strung up on the wall, as if trying to find anything to look at but the calamity that was unfolding and creasing and falling apart in front of him. He had some idea about them- people used those pokey things with bristles to sort out the sticky-up-stuff on the top of their heads so it didn’t stick up as much as his. Those things that looked like someone’s hands had dried and peeled off went over your hands (perhaps so they didn’t dry and peel off), and that thing there was… well.
The first thing that occurred to him was that it was blue; the very same blue as the new dual optics he had. It was this that led him to the second observation- which was that usually the first thought he had in regards to anything was 'what is that’ and 'how do I use it without dying?’
But he knew what that was. That was a bow tie. More than that he knew how to use it, and he knew how to use the long dangly things that were hanging up next to it.
“Huh.”
Said Wheatley.
“Fancy that.”
“And that one,” he’d said, pointing, “see, that little sort of letter ‘Z’ up there, all those little twinkly ones, that one’s the Management Rail.”
Blue Sky, Chapter 12I’m sorry but I had to attempt some ‘proper’ fan art for this and this scene immediately jumped up in my mind ahahaha. ♥
I think I may be getting slightly absorbed into this fandom. SLIGHTLY.
AAHHH I LOOOVE THIS
THE COLOURS and the expressions and those folds, man alive <333
I love the look on Chell’s face here. She’s listening, and clearly enjoying him talking, but at the same time she seems to be thinking, “Man, this guy’s such a dork!”
Oh my gosh adorable. Great color and expressions, and I love their clothes.
(via rubitrightintomyeyes)
whereisthatfootgoing.JPEG
Done! Thanks again to everyone who put up with me being an idiot on livestream yesterday, hopefully next time I’ll be aware that I’m being a moron when I’m being a moron. Which is inevitable in the best of times.
Page 6, and sadly I might have to call it at this one- school projects have to take priority. Besides, this has been great fun and I don’t want it to turn into a chore, if you follow. Don’t worry though! I’m certain to remain a hapless Portal and Blue Sky fan, and there will doubtless be more doodling in the short future.
Thanks to everyone who’s been kind enough to give me feedback on these, it’s really appreciated!
Going into Orbit
Someone with Wheatley’s height would make this sort of father/child bonding game into something absolutely magical.
As long as he didn’t put his back out first.
I think I’m proudest of managing to draw an expression that isn’t actually there on the page. Happy Wheatley~
This is amazing in too many ways to count.
A collective of miscellany and mirth. Also sometimes I draw stuff.