#Elliot Wiles

[moriavamp]

Still haven’t chosen a ship name but yeah

[femalesonicexe2]

We are so back AcMeep/Wile road nation

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Wile E.: Sir, request permission to leave the site. Elliot Sampson: For what purpose, Coyote? Wile E.: To give the ACME Company back their bomb. Elliot: Permission granted.

[creaturefeaster]

Hey erm, in this ^ is Elliot possessed 😳? Cause I vaguely remember a doodle of him getting possesed and I was wondering if this is connected in any way.

Yes. That is the spirit of his ancestor West Wiles possessing him. West can't rest until Bonnie is slain, so he's been a present spirit for a little under 400 years, and he likes to hang around his descendants as they pop up.

[slashingdisneypasta]

//I kind of feel bad for Dag, despite the fact that he killed a beloved bull and one voiced by Sam Elliot no less. Coyotes are fascinating if I saw him I'd want to put down some chicken (not the ones from the henhouse) and give him what I'm sure is his first good meal in a long while, he's so boney. Maybe he's just grouchy because he hasn't eaten in weeks.

Right??? Someone get him something to eat 😅😅😅 It's just like with Wile (though admittedly Dag is more asshole-y then Wile is ^^), he looks like a toothpick. He looks malnourished. Someone give a him a turkey.

I think he would still be a jerk- but feeding him is certainly worth a try 😅

[inevitablemoment]

ADDISON STANTZ - OC INFO

FULL NAME: Addison Louise Stantz

NICKNAME(S): Addie (by everyone)

FACECLAIM: Mary Kate Wiles

FANDOM: Ghostbusters (1984-1989; 2021-)

BIRTHDAY: November 18th, 1991

ZODIAC SIGN: Scorpio

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

GENDER: Female (she/her/hers)

OCCUPATION: Baby-sitter (age 15-18) || Intern at fertility clinic (age 18-22) || Cashier at Barnes and Noble (age 22-26) || Cardiothoracic surgeon (age 26-currently)

BIRTHPLACE: Manhattan, New York City, New York

LIVES IN: Manhattan, New York City, New York (birth-age 18, age 26-currently) || Cambridge, Massachusetts (age 18-22) || Baltimore, Maryland (age 22-26)

NATIONALITY: American

FAMILY:

Ray Stantz (father)

Willow Olson (mother)

Natalie Stantz (younger sister)

Grace Stantz (younger sister) [adoptive]

Gerald Stantz (paternal grandfather, deceased 1982)

Louisa Stantz [nee Crabtree] (paternal grandmother, deceased 1982)

Carl Stantz (paternal uncle, deceased 2021)

Sandra Stantz [nee Foa] (paternal aunt)

Justin Stantz (paternal cousin)

Zachary Stantz (paternal cousin)

Lindsay Stantz (paternal cousin)

Jean Stantz [formerly Garland] (paternal aunt)

Evangeline Garland [nee Stantz] (paternal cousin)

Maxwell "Max" Olson (maternal grandfather, deceased 2000)

Eloise Olson [nee Finnegan] (maternal grandmother, deceased 1996)

Suellen Nelson [nee Olson] (maternal aunt)

Michael Nelson (maternal uncle)

Michael Nelson, Jr. (maternal cousin)

Beau Olson (maternal uncle)

Abigail "Abbie" Olson [nee Prescott] (maternal aunt)

Margaret "Maggie" Olson (maternal cousin)

Elliot Olson (maternal cousin)

Anna Klein [nee Olson] (maternal aunt)

Quinlan Klein (maternal uncle)

Anthony Klein (maternal cousin)

Lindy Klein (maternal cousin)

Marcus Klein (maternal cousin)

Jocelyn Klein (maternal cousin)

Peter Venkman (honorary uncle)

Dana Barrett (honorary aunt)

Oscar Venkman [born Wallance, formerly Barrett] (honorary cousin)

Eliana “Elly” Venkman (honorary cousin)

Andrew Venkman (honorary cousin)

Kelly Venkman (honorary cousin)

Egon Spengler (honorary uncle, deceased 2021)

Cathleen Paige Spengler (honorary aunt)

Callie Spengler (honorary cousin)

Trevor Spengler (honorary cousin)

Phoebe Spengler (honorary cousin)

Marie Spengler (honorary cousin)

Janine Melnitz (honorary aunt)

Louis Tully (honorary uncle)

Lily Tully (honorary cousin)

MOODBOARD

CHARACTERISTICS: Protective, steadfast, passionate, caring, empathetic, charismatic, distrusting, compassionate, rigid, intelligent, self-reliant

LIKES: Her job, her family, playing with Elly, New York City, visiting Uncle Peter and Aunt Dana in Cortland, seeing her mother perform, the holidays

DISLIKES: Her job, the Spenglers (until 2022), Bianca Jacquard, losing a patient, systemic patient neglect/medical malpractice, interns and residents, reminders of her father's past as a Ghostbuster (until 2022), riding the subway, reality television

WEAPON OF CHOICE:

Medical knowledge

Medical expertise

Surgical expertise

PKE Meter (occasionally)

Proton Pack (occasionally)

Ghost Trap (occasionally)

Gigameter (occasionally)

Telepathy (while being controlled by Ariadne)

Telekinesis (while being controlled by Ariadne)

Reality warping (while being controlled by Ariadne)

Hand-to-hand combat (while being controlled by Ariadne)

Quick reflexes (while being controlled by Ariadne)

Levitation (while being controlled by Ariadne)

OTHER PERSONAL INFO:

She received her bachelor's degree from Harvard University and attended medical school at Johns Hopkins.

She has had a crush on Oscar Barrett-Venkman since she was little, and he seems to have feelings for her, as well. There was briefly a rift between them after his fling with Bianca Jacquard resulted in a pregnancy, but she has helped him raise his daughter, Elly.

For most of her life, she held a grudge against the Spengler family for their perceived betrayal, and refused to forgive the surviving members of the family even after Gozer's return and subsequent defeat. It was only after falling under and freeing herself from Ariadne's control, as well as accidentally injuring her father, that she finally let go of her hatred.

Her best friend is Kelly Venkman, but her best friend outside of the family is her former medical school roommate and current colleague, pathologist Dr. Tabitha Rashid.

Addison is Elly Venkman's godmother.

INSPIRATION: Amelia Sheppard (Grey's Anatomy), Elizabeth Weir (Stargate: Atlantis), Catherine Chandler (Beauty and the Beast), Elizabeth Patterson (For Better or For Worse), Kim Wexler (Better Call Saul), Dana Scully (The X-Files), Hannah Asher (Chicago Med), Katrina "Kat" Van Tassel (Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story)

NAME ANALYSIS:

Playlist available here

[zeemczed]

Silly Game Time: Who are some of your favorite "rogue" characters? And what do you like about them?

They can be of any class or race/species (in the fantasy or sci-fi sense), so long as being sneaky and tricky (a thief, a lockpick, a con artist, or etc.) is a major element of their job in the story and their identity as a character.

OOH, I got a lot of these.

Han Solo. Self-explanatory.

Slippery Jim DiGriz, the Stainless Steel Rat. A compelling character, despite Harry Harrison's trademark zeerust weirdness and the required once-a-book digression on ethical atheism (which varies from "worked in well enough" to "dropped with the impact of an anvil smashing Wile E. Coyote"). Jim's master thievery is hilarious; is he a Gary Stu? To some extent. Still fun.

Moist Lipwig. The antithesis and deconstruction of Jim. Jim gets caught and used by the powers that be as a peacekeeper/troubleshooter, which he wiggles out of at every opportunity to thumb his nose at authority. Moist gets caught and proceeds to throw himself into his new work with all his roguish talents. Jim never changes; Moist constantly arcs towards something grander. Jim loudly denounces the existence of gods; Moist slowly becomes a favorite of them.

The entire Leverage crew. Also self-explanatory, I think. Elliot was robbed, he should have had a crossover episode with Batman.

MJF, a wrestler with at least 10 levels in Rogue and a penchant for backstabbing (with a diamond ring). Honorable mention: Little Pete, from the Adventures of Pete and Pete. Granted, he's not a square fit for the archetype, but he DOES have a pirate radio station, which has to count for something.

[movienized-com]

Your Lucky Day

Your Lucky Day (2023) #DanBrown #AngusCloud #ElliotKnight #JessicaGarza #SterlingBeaumon #MousaHusseinKraish Mehr auf:

Jahr: 2023 (November) Genre: Thriller Regie: Dan Brown Hauptrollen: Angus Cloud, Elliot Knight, Jessica Garza, Sterling Beaumon, Mousa Hussein Kraish, Jason Wiles, Sebastian Sozzi, Spencer Garrett, Jason O’Mara … Filmbeschreibung: Nachdem sich ein Streit um einen Lottogewinn in eine tödliche Geiselnahme verwandelt, müssen die Zeugen entscheiden, wie weit sie gehen und wie viel Blut sie zu…

[ofwrxth]

Elliot cackles at Hunter's remark, taking off his hat to rake a hand through mussed up hair. "You're probably right. Thinks he's some kinda god, walkin' around all," Elliot gestures upwards, indicating their cousin's height with a sniff. "We're basically the same height," he says, crossing his arms. It's easier to make light of their cousin than to dwell on his position or what he's preventing Elliot from doing. But, he also knows Hunter is right – he could break the rules. He probably would. But he can't shake the little bit of guilt that, even know, his brothers are wiling to take the brunt of punishment for him. "Yeah, I don't wanna stir up shit for y'all, though." He admits with a haphazard shrug. "His head's just too far up his ass to see that unless he wants t'pull material from cabins we actually need, it ain't gettin' done sooner." Never mind the fact there's definitely someone undoing their work in subtle but annoying ways. As he glances away from Aidan, Elliot works his jaw and shrugs. "Not much to say 'bout it, Hunt." He sighs, taking a seat on the front steps, arms braced on his knees. Letting out a dry chuckle at his brother's words, he snaps his hat back on. "Maybe true...think he got the message to stay away though." He frowns at the recollection of meeting Aidan properly last week. If threatening the other man with violence can be called proper. "It's complicated," is what he finally settles on.

Hunter made a thoughtful grumble emit from his chest, focusing to the cigarette and giving his little brother a shrug. "You try talkin' to him. Pretty sure he just watches his own damn face in someone's eyes the whole time." he let out a dry cackle that was over before it really began. Hunter tried to not dwell on the fact Jack was technically in their lives, not sure how he was feeling about it. A natural contempt sat there alongside a feeling of lost time and memories, knowing that not much of it was really Jack's fault. But the man was a grown asshole now. "He can't kill ya if you just go." Hunter shrugged, his good old black and white thinking at play again. "Ryan said a while back, we could push a truck just outta the town one night. All it takes is you and Isla on watch at the same time, sneak out and me and Ry take over your shift." Hunter suggested but he watched the obvious battle behind his brother's eyes soon after that. He knew where his own mind was on the situation, but he also knew Elliot. Nothing was easy, and it sure was a complicated situation all on it's own. "Wanna talk about it?" Hunter offered, as direct as ever despite it being an invitation for something more meaningful. He couldn't help the slight smirk about trouble, eyes glinting with a small touch of mischief. "Nah, don't need it but can't really help it."

[damienzzdrinkz]

elliot no

[dont-do-murder]

Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party Blooper Reel (Dec. 5, 2016)

[thekatebridgerton]

Cressida would try to pursue Elliot until he roasted her and she never looked at him again.

😂😂 I think Cressida got the humiliation of her life when she tried her femenine wiles on Elliot Bridgerton and he acted like she'd straight up insulted him

There was definitely a roasting involved something along the lines of " You're too skinny, too mean, too self absorbed, your perfume makes me gag, the beautiful dress is ruined by the vapid coyote wearing it, your manners leave something to be desired, your niceness is as fake as the Flowers in this ball...wait don't walk away I wasn't finished listing the reasons why I dislike you"

You have to understand Elliot Bridgerton created a reputation for himself as the man who would willingly insult a lady to her face just to make it clear to the ton that he wasn't looking for a bride.

Sure he'd never do an innocent girl the discourtesy of roasting her in public, he'd just take them within view but out of earshot of their Mamas and say his piece.

Cressida was a special case because she wouldn't take the hint

[poptod]

Thoughts (Elliot Alderson x Reader)

Description: He keeps coming back to you and there’s no reason; you keep coming back to him with no reason, either. His thoughts try to make sense of it.

Notes: this ones a bit differentbut honestlyi saythat about almost allmy short fics so oh well. also myspacebuttonis stuck so you canimagine writing this was a pain inmy ass but anywaythis is an attempt at a sortofelliot monologueif that makes sense? its pretty angsty buti  hope you all likeitanyway WC: 1.8k

+

God, I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. Why would I ever imagine I could be normal, even for a single night? It's far too late to leave now and too early to depart. No one else has left. Would you even notice if I was gone? You said hello to me an hour ago, and now you're wiling away your time on the edge of the circle, but I can see the tension in your face. You think you're so good at hiding it. No one is.

The bathroom, like in many places, is the only room to find relief in. It's quiet in here, it's still in here, and there's an easy excuse to lock the door. The counter is still freezing beneath my already frigid fingers, only aiding my headache to dig further into my skull. Nothing, nothing. I wish I was dead, and there are footsteps outside the door, who ask for an attention I don't want to give. Not right now. I need to smoke more. I need a drink, or I need to know what to say; I don't know how to do this anymore. Did I ever know? Or did I just imagine that I did?

"Elliot?" You ask, rapping your knuckles twice against the white wood. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah," I say, but my voice cracks, and it sounds like I'm crying despite the fact that I'm already too high to cry.

You're quiet for a moment. I can see you past the door––leaning against it, your brow furrowed with an anxiousness found common in your expression, and your teeth biting your lip.

"Let me in, El."

Is the door even locked?

It is. My hand slams down on the door handle, unlocking the mechanism before it falls back onto the counter. A second later you slip inside the dim, candle-lit room, unable to stand anywhere but in my space, yet incapable of looking at me. It's alright––I'm just the same. I hate looking at you; how it makes me feel, like ants are crawling over my skin, like some bug is burrowing into my heart. I'm not going to be able to delete this––this bug is already engrained in my coding.

"You didn't have to come if you didn't want to," you said quietly, your arms crossed as you lean back against the small counter.

Usually I'd be staring at myself, at puffy eyes and a stupid, quivering lip, but I don't want to see you, your clothes or your face––again, it's too much. Too much. I can only stare at my hands.

"I know," I mumble. My fingers are digging deeper into the cold counter.

"Then what's the matter?"

"Nothing," I say, but we both know it's a lie, so I try to come up with something better. "I don't know, I don't want to talk about – I don't know."

"Did someone say something, or do something?"

"No."

"Well – was it me? Did I do something?"

"No."

"What happened then? Is it – did this start a while ago?"

"I don't know."

"Elliot," you sigh, and your tone is so familiar I almost chuckle, but it comes out as discomfort and distaste. I know you're picking up on it.

"You're not – you're not going to understand, you're not like me, you're – you've made an art of pretending to be normal," I say with a dry chuckle, and without thinking. I should know better. Why did I say that?

There are things I know about you that I shouldn't, private things found so easily across the internet. I can't let on what I've done––mention how achingly hard you stick out when you don't mask your neurodivergent behaviors.

"I've made an art of it?" You scoff. "You've made an art of pretending to be alive. Don't judge me just because I'm trying to be a better person."

A sharp breath rips through my dry throat as my fists clench involuntarily. At last some source of energy fuels me, and I can raise myself to the mirror.

"You really think this shit's gonna make you feel normal? Like you don't have any problems?" I ask in his words, gesturing violently towards the locked door. "You think hosting parties just to feel lonely while surrounded by people is gonna make you feel better? It's not. It's gonna make you feel like you're made of plastic, fucking dead like the rest of us."

You're staring at me in my reflection, and despite you having an even voice and mine cracking all over the place, you're the one with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm trying," you whisper out through the tension in your chest.

"To do what?" I ask. It's too harsh.

"I don't know," you say, and a few stray tears are now tracing these lines of silver down your cheeks. I have to bite my cheek to avoid wiping them away. "I feel like a bad person and I am. How do you deal with that?"

Of course you'd ask me. I know what you think of me; I know you think I'm pessimistic, and depressing, and apathetic. I know, and I hate it, and I don't know what to do about it.

Maybe this was my way of trying to absolve that, coming to this party; of course now I'm just solidifying your mindset, convincing you this is all I am. Cruel words from a bitter man made so by a crueler world. Why do I have to be like this? There's something burning in my bones; something that leaks into my nerves and my heart, crystallizing the already weary muscle. Is this what modern love feels like? This feeling of helplessness? I don't want it anymore. Could I liberate myself of you, or would the process rip from me what little is left of my mind?

I don't know you and I still miss you. I hate the feeling of people's hands on me even though they're always there; but you always adhered to that rule, despite the fact that I never told you to. I wish for a lot of things and your name has been whispered between my lips in those atheistic prayers.

You chuckle and shake your head. I must've taken too long to respond.

"God, I fucking hate you sometimes," you mumble, and before the last word ever leaves your mouth, you're gone out the door, slamming it behind you.

I really, really don't know you, and you don't know me at all, either. We're drawn to one another like dust into stars, like heroes to ruin, and there's no cure or fix for this fallacy. It's another constant of the universe that I wish I had the power to change; you don't need to see me, and I don't need to see how the life drains out of your eyes whenever I step into the room.

Yet I'm here again, approaching your side, imagining how I could quell the shiver in your chest with my hands; how I would've warmed you in a different life, or kissed you as a different person.

"Moth to flame, huh?" You say, staring at the lit cigarette between your fingers. A small grimace is on your face. "I'm gonna burn myself one of these days."

"With a cigarette?" I ask.

You stare at the embers before raising your eyes to meet mine.

"No," you say with a soft, humorless chuckle. "No, not that."

I never seem to understand you. There was only one time when I thought I did, when you came crashing into my apartment sick with drunkenness, wailing about not being alive or being human. Even in your haze you knew who to come to, and I thought that meant something.

It didn't. It never does. I don't understand you and I don't think I ever will, but to be perfectly fair, you're probably thinking the same exact thing about me. Do you wonder if I like you? Do you imagine I'll be brave enough to reach out to you? You left before I could speak to you that morning, and you're leaving now, trying to slide past me on the tiny balcony.

Something raises my hand to your chest, stopping you when you're near enough to feel the heat radiating off my neck. Beneath my fingers, I can feel how your breath tenses, how it halts as your gaze falls to me. How you try to swallow when I look you in the eye.

Can I say anything without sounding stupid? I've got your eye, your ear, everything for once––I have you, without anger or doubt or sorrow, and nothing comes to mind.

I love you is too much.

I'm sorry is too little.

Words are far too small for you, but these images and feeling swirling around me are entirely invisible and impossible to communicate. Action is the only solace, the only answer in a world full of failing promises and flat lies, and it's the only thing I can manage in the blissful silence between us, isolated from the worlds upon worlds below us.

You know what I want, even from a flicker of my eye, and you stay still when I kiss you. It's barely a kiss, barely even a touch, but this tiny shudder runs through your body, and a fierce sense of protection seizes me to pull you in, deepening an affection I'm not sure you even desire. But you're unmoving––a statue amongst the drifting clouds, above the bustling streets, within cavernous parts of me where my screams still echo from anguishes long forgotten; the ones that still linger nameless on the edge of my consciousness. I am too much and too little, too much catastrophe and too few words. No one wants that. No one wants someone too broken to fix.

You taste a little like tobacco and whiskey––it's enough to distract me from the fact that your hand came to tug at my sweatshirt, scared of fully touching me but desperate to pull me in. For your sake I shift closer, and I feel the way you release, how a sedative of chemicals washes over your usually anxious demeanor. Your lips are moving against mine and I could swear I'm short-circuiting, incapable of anything but taking whatever you're willing to give.

Please be mine. Please belong to me. Please stop this endless game. I can't keep chasing and running away at the same time anymore.

When you part, there's hesitation in your hands and eyes, in the way you linger to feel my breath coasting back across your skin in the winter chill. Then you meet my eye and I finally see you're crying again.

"I hate you, Elliot," you say, pushing back past me. "Make me feel like shit and then pretend t' try and make me feel better?" You pull your sleeves back up onto your shoulders. "Real fuckin' funny."

The door slams behind you, blocking me off from the party inside. It's what I wanted, isn't it? Isolation.

Nothing.

I wish I was dead.

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Wile E.: Mr. Sampson, what we are dealing with here is a perfect engine, an eating machine. It's really a miracle of evolution. All this machine does is spin and eat and make little Tasmanian devils and that's all. Now, why don't you take a long, close look at this sign.

[refers to the graffitied billboard]

Wile E.: Those proportions are correct.

Elliot Sampson: Love to prove that, wouldn't ya? Get your name into the National Geographic.

[creaturefeaster]

Who's the bluple you just recently posted?

West Wiles' daughter, Elliot's great+++(...) grandmother

[merry-the-cookie]

3, 7, 10? <3

hello ana dearest <3 sorry i forgot about these fghjGHJDFGJF

3. What ideas come from when you were little

this threw me right down memory lane ghjgfd i went digging thru some old drawings bc the only thing i can rlly think of is my girl Merry, who was originally a Pandora Hearts OC i created when i was like. 14 lol. also!!! username origin right there! merry and the cookie!

shes evolved thru the years, along with my boy Elliot who was. originally a Pandora Hearts character i just fully revamped into my own but dont tell anyone fhjGHFGHJDF

i dont do much with OCs and realized while answering this that i hadnt drawn her since 2020 so i went and doodled her again!! also heres stuff from 2013 for comparison (v much cherrypicked, theres only so much im wiling to show lmfao)

and heres some 2022 <3 i had a lot of fun drawing her actually, my lil gremlin. should dust her off more often

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

dude i admire painters so much. any kind of paint! also sculptors. stuff that has to do with volume, my god. also i guess more industry specific but background artists and like. color artists??? yeah ive long given up on my dream of making beautiful atmospheric full illustrations with dreamy little town bg and pretty sunlights, but i will be drinking in everything yall make like a vampire having lunch idk man. im so jealous.

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

i love drawing. sleeves. very specifically gfhjgfjgf i guess big loose shirts? but like specifically sleeves of any kind but especially big poofy sleeves and jacket sleeves! i love. i love the shape of them!!

thank u <3

artist ask game!