ASDKJF;OJAIS
GUYS
LOOK WHAT NQN MADE ME
HOW CAN SOMETHING LEGALLY BE THIS CUTE
Oh my god his serious face.
He’s just like; “I have got this.”
“I have totally got this shit down.”
“Watch me master this shit right heEERE NO NO NO WRONG ABORT CANCEL EMERGENCY SHUT DOWN QUIT NOOOO-”
(via waffleguppies)
“I have you at my mercy. And I have none. I have you at my nothing.”
Okay this is the last Portal fanart for a while because curiously enough, I do need to practice painting/drawing other things. It’s my last year of college and I need a portfolio that isn’t a… baffle of Wheatlies.
Oh my god so amazing, great dramatic lighting and color. Wonderful piece to finish on.
And the nice thing about having a baffle of Wheatlies in your portfolio is no one has ever seen the game with the nerdy blue eyed bespectacled character.
ahhhgghhh flawless
I’m sorry but I’m still flailing at the now officially head-canon fact that the collective noun for Wheatleys is a ‘baffle’.
(via saltbay)
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.”
For baysalt! Because she was a total sweetheart for putting up with me at her place for a bit, so this is just a little Thanks For Being An Amazing Human Being kind of thing.
<3!
Oh my god never stop being amazing.
Christmas prezzie pic #1, this one is for the lovely modmad! Her human version of Wheatley :D Enjoy and Merry christmas!
OOOOH MYYYYYY GOOOOODDDDDD
Megan, Megan I love you. I am going to kiss your socks off next time I see you. I mean it.
Tell me something to draw for you when I have time because aaaaaaaa it’s Christmas and THANK YOU.
Because people kept asking me about it, and because it is blatantly obvious I will never have the time/mental tenacity to write up a Portal 2 fic about this guy; here’s ‘my’ Wheatley’s back-story for those of you who are still mad enough to remember himholy shit I’m sorry what happened to my drawing this kid.
TL:DR central begins now.
Born and raised in Bristol, Wheatley grew up a natural entertainer. With his comical proportions and gift for absurdity he was always the funny man, always the kid with a sharp come back and the grace to laugh at himself. He’d been penned down as a man for the vaudeville circuit from childhood, but when the first two-reelers came to England, it was all too clear what his course was; watching Fatty Arbuckle and Charlie Chaplin lighting up the screens at fairs and movies, it wasn’t long before he found himself traveling to the fabled streets of Hollywood to land in the film circuit.
If his distinct, lanky-limbed self wasn’t enough to draw attention to him, he had a natural gift for comedic writing. He became a 'gag man’, and one of the best; working on ideas and prop mechanics for the earliest stars of the silver screen. He earned a good reputation and reasonable living- never the star of the show, but always welcome to brain storming sessions, and as good a laugh socializing backstage as working there. He had his quirks- notably a small twitch that became increasingly distinct, and his troubles with sleeping- but otherwise the Englishman led a happy and creative existence in the wild atmosphere of early cinema.
Towards the end of the twenties, however, things began to slide. Having moved onto the Keaton pictures, it was partway through the filming of Steamboat Bill Jr that the team were told the company was to be closed down, Keaton himself having already had most of his creative rights already removed from the perceived failure of his masterpiece The General. Knowing that he would have to make a move before this fate befell him he consulted with his agent, who suggested he move to the Walt Disney studios, which had now become a solid, enterprising company which was constantly looking for fresh talent and ideas. Seeing no reason to look this gift horse in the mouth he applied, and to his relief was taken on as an assistant to Disney’s finest 'story-men’.
He spent a hectic few years in this business, and whilst some of the spontaneity of his former employment had been lost, he still made a good name for himself and enjoyed the work- which was rare and valued in these days of depression. His habitual twitch had been growing more pronounced, however, and he suffered an increasing severity and frequency of headaches. After one viewing of a film in the 'sweatbox’ (a small viewing room for the early stages of the cartoon to be reviewed) he suffered a minor epileptic fit; initially supposed to have been brought on by the close quarters and flashing light of the projector, a doctor’s investigation brought a much more troubling reason to light. Wheatley had a brain tumor.
Treatment for such an ailment was risky and very new- the illness still very much a comparatively recent discovery. Although a valued commodity, Wheatley was neither rich nor essential to the company; it looked unlikely that treatment would be willingly paid for, let alone successful. Remarkably, Walt himself got wind of the plight, but his response was completely unexpected; he requested that Wheatley be brought to him and his own private medical team immediately.
Bewildered, and not a little bit suspecting, Wheatley met the great man face to face… and after that would remember very little else.
Rumours about Walt’s cryogenic freezing would flicker through history long after it had been proven the man had died and been buried in a regular fashion, but what steps he had taken to investigate the matter and methods of this mad science would be much less thoroughly investigated, or available for study. When Cave Johnson’s corporate empire took shares in Disney’s own, nobody thought it more than a shrewd business maneuver. That a rudimentary preservation cell should be included in one of the most secluded clauses of the deal was hardly an item of notice.
Years later, these mysteries and ordeals long lost to the annals of time, a very different dilemma was occurring in the laboratories of Aperture Science. Artificial intelligence was blunt and incomplete. When the cores were developed it was a matter of debate as to how intelligent or complete a personality had to be to control or inhibit a ravingly psychotic machine which was fueled by what had been a real human mind. Obviously, the next thought the scientists turned to was how to use another in retaliation. The first preserved specimens to be investigated were, naturally, the ones which were thought the least likely to have survived the process, and who would ever expect a consciousness frozen in the mid nineteen thirties to have survived?
Perhaps it was not entirely intact, but survived it had.
((If you want me to write up more of my deluded story- like how Wheaters ends up getting back to earth and re-humanized, I can try but 'tis the season to be sociable and write up a resume instead of crazy fanfic, so idk when I’ll be able to. Also sorry for the massive text dump. Oi.))
“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)
Ohhhh be jealous, nerds
Not only did I have both a Marshtwain and a Waffleguppies at my house all day, look what Wheats got for Xmas.EHEHEHEHE
OH MY GOD THE CUTEST THING.
(via not-quite-normal)