#dr quinn

[colorado-springs]

[sawbones-showdown]

[moonofthechilcotin]

I would like to point out, for absolutely no reason that Dr Michaela Quinn, MD at the new Frontier, and Lord and Lady Grantham would have been alive at the same time. -granted Dr Mike would have been in her 30s by the time they were born, but geeeee.

Of course, that is, if they would have been real life people 😂

I can rest now

[ladylion1969]

✨️ Michaela Quinn ✨️

[invisible-pink-toast]

some of my favourite demisexual headcanons

eddie diaz - 911

kala rasal - sense8

steve rogers - captain america / mcu

suzanne warren - orange is the new black

+ "It's not just sex, it's love! It's two people, connecting. With four other people, and aliens."

jane nichols - 27 dresses

chidi anagonye - the good place

michaela quinn - dr quinn medicine woman

marjan marwani - 911 lone star

yuuri katsuki - yuri!!! on ice

gamora - guardians of the galaxy

ryan wilder - batwoman

alec lightwood - shadowhunters / the mortal instruments

[wild-lavender-rose]

Sorry, first time requesting anything im not sure if im doing this right haha. But can you do a gender neutral reader with hank lawson. Where reader gets shot, dr mike does surgery, and we wake to up hank there. Fluff please!!:)

I've been waiting for inspiration to write this, anon, and it finally arrived! I hope this is fluffy enough for you :) Please feel free to send me another Hank request, I'm pretty sure we're the only two on here who love him and I'd love to grow my Dr. Quinn master list!

My Fault - Hank Lawson x reader

Warning- Cannon-typical language

It had been your own fault. One second you were between Hank and the black-clad stranger, trying to keep the two from killing each other over a misunderstanding about a horse. You had focused on the stranger, knowing Hank would listen to you and stand down the moment you intervened. You thought that the matter was settled and had turned around, walking back to where Hank waited, broody and silent.

The gunshot had sounded practically in your ear. You had fallen forward, pushed by the bullet. More gunshots. People were screaming. You tried to get up and fight. Hank was shouting but you couldn't understand him. You felt numb and cold all at once. The dirt was wet under your hands. Blood. But whose?

"Get Michaela, now!" Hank was on his knees next to you, keeping you from getting up. You had looked at him, vision blurred. You called to him, your voice sounding hollow and distant. His blue eyes were the last thing you remembered, frantic and helpless. He picked you up and the world went black.

The next time you woke you were in Dr. Quinn's office lying on her examination table. The pain was white hot, coming from your right shoulder. You cried out, trying to move, to escape. You were calling for someone over and over again. Hank. Hank, please. It's my fault, I'm sorry. Please.

Dr. Mike appeared over top you, pressing a white gauze to your nose, calming you with a soft voice and worried eyes. You sank back into darkness.

The next time you woke you were in one of her recovery rooms, the sunlight highlighting the cream colored quilt you were laying under. You were naked from the waist up but were covered by the quilt. A thick bandage was wrapped around your right shoulder. You felt stiff and hazy, but the pain was gone.

"Hey," a familiar, husky voice sounded by your head.

You looked to find Hank sitting by the bed, his oversized form hunched over in a chair too small for him. He smiled, his eyes even more bleary and red-rimmed than usual. It looked like he had been crying.

"Hank," you tried to talk but your tongue felt thick and fuzzy.

"Here," Hank hurried to pour you a glass of water from a basin sitting by the bed. He raised your head, helping you to drink.

Finishing the glass, you cleared your throat, trying once more. "Did he, am I," you glanced at your shoulder.

"Shot you in the back," Hank shook his head. "Bastard."

"You get him?"

"Jake did. Right in the head."

"Shoulda had a trial." You muttered, pretending that you weren't glad that your attacker.

Harry gave you a half smile. "Talkin' like Michaela now."

You smiled back, the gesture lessening as the memory of earlier washed over you. "M'sorry, Hank. I should have kept out of it. I just, I didn't want you hurt."

"Hey, shh. Don't worry about it," Hank leaned forward, brushing at your cheek with a soft and uncertain touch. "You just focus on resting up, all right?"

"Hank,"

"You'll be back to bothering me in no time." Carding his hand through your hair, Hank blinked a few times, smile wavering.

"Hank," you reached up, fingers tangling in one of the locks of hair falling in his eyes. You caressed his grizzled jaw with the back of your hand, your touch causing his eyes to close.

Hank leaned into your touch as if starved, like he was trying to memorize the moment. You felt yourself drifting off once more but fought to hold on, touching his face, conveying the thoughts you were unable to explain. I love you, you thought. I couldn't live without you.

Your hand grew weak, falling back rest on the quilt as your eyes fluttered shut. Hank pressed his hand, warm and steady, over yours. He whispered something you probably weren't supposed to hear. Something you would never forget.

"I love you, sweetheart. Don't leave me."

Fanfic Masterlist

[vivalyndacarter]

🇪🇸 Feliz Cumpleaños a la bella y recordada Jane Seymour, la inolvidable Doctora Quinn, quien celebra hoy 73 años.

Aquí un bella fotografía del año 2018 junto a @reallyndacarter.

Mujeres icónicas y legendarias que siempre recordaremos.

🇺🇲 Happy Birthday to the ever beautiful and remembered Jane Seymour, the unforgettable Dr. Quinn, who turns 73.

Here a beautiful photo from 2018 with Lynda Carter.

Iconic and legendary women we'll always remember. 

@teamlynda ❤️

[everydayblog]

Joe Lando & Jane Seymour

[emelies-lifeinpictures]

Joe Lando & Jane Seymour

[emeliesmusic]

Joe Lando And Jane Seymour

[sarahaubel]

Star Ac' et pipes à crack.

Je ne vais pas mourir aujourd’hui. Je le sais car j’ai demandé au pendule que Clotilde m’a offert samedi dernier. Par contre le con il a pas sû me donner la date de mon rendez-vous avec la Fin. Vraiment ça sert à rien ce machin. En revanche ce que je sais c’est qu’hier soir j’ai senti sous mes doigts une petite bille dans mon sein gauche, ou c’est le droit. Gauche par rapport à qui. Ça y est je m’embrouille. Bref, un truc qui n’a rien à faire là où je l’ai trouvé. Parce que les billes normalement on joue avec dans la cour quand on a 8 ans, on est pas censés les ranger dans ses nichons quand on en a 35. Enfin en 1972 je veux dire, les billes, parce qu’aujourd’hui j’imagine plutôt les pré-ados jouer aux mikados avec des pipes à crack. Fissa j’ai pris rendez-vous avec Docteur Quin. A une lettre près je consultais une star de sitcom c’est dommage. La mienne a 67 chats, mesure 1m90 au bas mot et fume des clopes dans son cabinet entre deux patients. Je l’aime beaucoup. En attendant le verdict et comme je suis une personne mesurée ce matin je me suis mis en tête de choisir la musique de mes funérailles. On prévoit jamais de mourir à 35 ans mais en même temps mon pote Guillaume il avait pas prévu de mourir à 17 et ses parents lui ont passé l’hymne de la Star Ac’ à l’église. Damn. Mon père adore Zaz. Soyons pragmatiques. Organisons-nous. Que vous dire d’autre avant la fin… J’aime pas les orchidées. Les compo d’interflora me filent de l’urticaire. Je veux être incinérée dans un cercueil low-cost. Gaspillez plutôt votre argent dans une bouteille d’Hennessy XO que vous boirez au goulot à ma santé. Je souhaite que mes cendres soient jetées dans l’océan, celui des Landes de préférence. Mais pas sur la plage de mon camping naturiste favori. Bien qu’imaginer tous mes proches à poil lors de mon dernier envol me fait quand même marrer. M’enfin bonjour les souvenirs pour plus tard lorsqu'ils se feront griller la saucisse au soleil en plein mois d’août, obligés de penser à leur pote morte qui leur flingue un peu le paradis (pas celui d’en haut avec les vierges tout ça, celui d’en bas où les gens sont tous nus sous les pins). Si la casse-bonbon du crématorium, la fille avec les cheveux derrière les oreilles et le tailleur prune de chez Cache-cache vous dit “non mais c’est interdit maintenant les urnes doivent rejoindre une concession gniagnia mesures sanitaires gniagnia un protocole gniagnia”, flanquez lui votre genoux entre les jambes et partez en courant (sans oublier l’urne ce serait idiot). Je serais pas contre une dernière course poursuite en Fiat Punto. L’idée d’être enfermée dans un vase, ça m'angoisse. Au pire renversez-le sans faire exprès “oups pardon quelle maladroite”. Je préfère finir dans un caniveau que dans un tiroir. Et pour terminer si vous pouvez glisser une invitation à Josh Hartnett n’hésitez surtout pas.

PS : Les meufs, on le dira jamais assez, palpez-vous les miches, pétrissez vos tétés, examinez vos loches. Il n’y aura probablement rien mais un jour vous pourrez tomber sur une petite nouvelle, qui elle-même ne sera probablement rien. Dans le doute. Les crabes se cachent parfois derrière les billes.

Ma playlist pour le jour J :

I will survive - Gloria Gaynor

Respire encore - Clara Luciani

Santé - Stromae

J’ai oublié de vivre - Johnny Hallyday

Le Grand Sommeil - Etienne Daho

Breathe - Sean Paul

I Feel better - Hot Chip

Gravé dans la roche - Sniper

Plus près des étoiles - Gold

Je reviendrai - Dick Rivers

Les adieux d’un sex-symbol - Starmania

Cache ta joie - Claudia Phillips

Taking me back - Jack White

Mourir sur scène - Dalida

L���adresse de Josh Hartnett :

Josh Hartnett Entertainment 360 10100 Santa Monica Blvd Suite 2300 Los Angeles, CA 90067 États-Unis

[colorado-springs]

[sawbones-showdown]

[tuttle-did-it]

brief M*A*S*H reference in Castle

a team of bank robbers take on fictional doctor's names, including Trapper John (M*A*S*H), Dr Huxtable (The Cosby Show), Dr Houser (Doogie Houser, MD) and Dr Quinn (Dr Quinn Medicine Woman).

Raise your hand if you were going to rob a bank and would 100% use the names from M*A*S*H characters.

4.07 Cops and Robbers

Kate Beckett: [on phone] This is Detective Kate Beckett. I understand that you wanted to speak with me.

Trapper John: Yeah, I don't like that other guy.

Kate Beckett: [on phone] Yeah, me either.

Agent Peterson looks annoyed. Beckett covers the mouthpiece of the phone, whispering to him.

Kate Beckett: [to Peterson] You said to build a rapport. [on phone]: So what's your name?

Trapper John: You can call me Trapper John.

Kate Beckett: A "M*A*S*H" fan? It's nice.

[ladylion1969]

💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙

[hjbirthdaywishes]

July 2, 2024

Happy 34 Birthday to Margot Robbie.