#sargent coyle

[catcadder8916]

Prime asset family dinner at sinyala ❤️

[aglitchysylveon]

Legends say he's still standing there watching the thunder guys/j

Heres the reference

Below is the full uncut version.

[soundscapee]

omggg finee ill call you daddy or whatever

[maddexfox]

[mrsvelseb]

Sorry I Lowkirkuenly forgot abt tumblr but here are sum doodles of the main Pa’s as kids

(I will draw liliya and the twins soon lol)

[thekingkhaos]

I just wanna say I love Coyle's lazy eye. Like genuinely. It fits him so well, he look so cute and adorable with it. Plus I remember someone in the comments of this reddit post saying they head cannon (which I'm doing as well) that, that is the reason he wears dark shades his entire careers even in his military service. I also HeadCannon that he is ashamed of it because it can effect his vision in the light and it's easier to see in the dark. Another HC I have is that because it's a huge insecurity Franco pokes fun at it but Leland genuinely gets quiet and grumbles and actually tears up and Franco realizes and then immediately comforts Leland. And from then on he lets all the PA's know to quietly help coyle See or direct him when he's wobbling or running into a wall or accidentally looking at something he's not supposed to.

[local-twat]

was too distracted seeing coyle and easterman openly flirting that i missed that bro was getting HEAD in the trailer 😭

[gorey-24]

⋆.˚ 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒔 ᝰ.ᐟ

Coyle X GN! Reader

Summary: Reader is going through withdrawals (thanks pusher) and it’s interrupting Coyle’s investigation!

It can be perceived as platonic as well!

I tried writing in coyle’s accent for better immersion so lmk how I did! Like instead of Pretty it’s Purty

This fic contains the following themes!

•Derogatory speech towards women, despite reader being GN (L coyle)

•Drug withdrawals

•Unethical interrogation methods (torture)

•Excessive swearing

The sound of the slap echoed three times before you even felt the pain, it was sharp, hot. It didn’t help your already excessive sweating. Colours radiated off every surface as your head, heavy as a dumbbell, swung to meet the eyes of the officer above you, his yelling a piece of reality through your gas born haze.

“ANSWER ME YOU SISSY STREET SLUT! Did you, or did you NOT fry that son of a bitch ta hell an’ back?!”

Your palms were sweaty, itchy too. Your nails dug into them when they weren’t being wiped on your trousers, desperate to get rid of the shaking feeling that the skinnerman could be around every last corner. You tried to answer, your voice a leaf in a hurricane, barely hanging on.

“I didn’t— did I? I was told to- I had to- he told me to!”

Muttering only got you a fist to the ribs, you cough and sputter as your head pounds itself against your skull. The sweat was visible now, and the officer leading this investigation noticed.

“The fuck you sweatin’ for? Is it cause ya know you’ve been caught, you maggot fuck?”

He noticed the shaking next, it rung a bell in his head. He remembered the countless druggies going into withdrawal in his police station before Sinyala, he remembered one guy curled up in the fetal position, crying and shaking about God coming for him personally. He was arrested for public intoxication.

He remembered how he got into the heads of those people. It was such a good feeling. Not only did he feel like god but he was praised for it. Wouldn’t harm to try that again, right?

He leaned back against the wall with you, smoking his cigarette before offering you one of your own, although you couldn’t really refuse since he’d already lit it with his cattle prod.

That first drag was electric, literally. The moment it touched your lips, you got a little shock, made the shaking worse. Coyle barked a laugh as he watched, muttering about some drug addicted people before he spoke again.

“I used to do what you do. Get high of the psychosis bombs or find the pusher for a hit.”

It was a plain old lie, and you knew it, but you let him keep talking.

“It felt great, colours I hadn’t seen in years, lights as pretty as a sunset over a farm. I could almost taste the coffee from my home towns’ diner. Ladies were awful purty. Sweet voices like songbirds. Then the shakes would happen, ya know what I did?”

Oh he was waiting for an answer.

“What?”

He took a drag of his cigarette.

“I laid down, turned on the radio and closed my eyes. Ya wanna give that a try?”

“…sure.”

The shaking didn’t stop as you laid flat on your back, the concrete digging into your aching spine, the radio crackled to life only to spew more of the teachings Murkoff gave.

“Don’ worry. I know how to get all this bullshit out yer ears, gimme a second.”

A smack and a twist, and Sinatra came through, it was beautiful, warm, but not enough to make you sweat more. You closed your eyes as Coyle leaned back against the wall once more, deciding to be patient enough let your body relax before he continued his line of questioning.