I don’t post enough rough sketches and there’s probably a reason why tbh but here have this sketch of a Princess Pacifica I did for a mabifica/billdip au I’m not gonna do anything with but also can’t stop obsessing over! :D
Season 3 theories for Piper’s 180 personality switch
These are all very solid and serious.
Piper was abducted by aliens. They replaced her with a doppelganger and did a terrible job.
The bedbug infestation was really a group of mind-controlling insects; they got to Piper (they’re in league with the cockroaches).
After the season 3 episode 4 scene we were all so happy that we
died. Then went to hell.
The writers read alxvse’s fanfiction, decided they couldn’t compete, and gave up.
Norma hexed Piper.
The writers were captured by the Piper-haters and forced to destroy her character development. Quick
– launch a rescue mission. Don’t let them get to Alex, too.
Piper is still in the SHU. This is all her imagination.
Lolly was right. The NSA is inside the prison. They got to Piper.
(Kubra did too. That’s why she was so
Suzanne’s fiction is real: Piper is stuck in an alternate dimension but hopefully Admiral Rodcocker is going to help her get back home.
Alex is actually a CIA agent, so is Piper. This is all part of a very confusing plan to bust someone on the inside. It’s not going well.
When looking around the prison, Piper found a helicopter and escaped with Alex. They sent back actors in wigs, one of whom was more convincing than the other. The new guards didn’t notice. Alex and Piper are currently on a beach in Cambodia with three guys in drag.
Piper was given a ‘Godfather’ script in drama class. She took it a bit too seriously.
are people starting to compare us who love benedict cumberbatch to people who love justin bieber? like, seriously? if benedict ever started spitting at his fans, DROVE UNDER THE INFLUENCE ETC., WELL, ANYTHING THAT MADE HIM A BAD ROLE MODEL, i would definitely stop supporting him even how much i still love his work, and that’s what today’s fans of justin bieber DON’T DO.
there is a HUGE difference in both the fanbases AND the actual person we look up to, well, at least from my point of view.
(takes place after an AU ending to 2x05, When The Bough Breaks)
Her coffee is bitter that morning, too thick with grinds that float to the surface and cling to her tongue. She wasn’t willing to give the stupid espresso machine a try, hadn’t even entertained the idea of asking Ryan to teach her how to use the overly complicated appliance, and instead resorted back to their old coffeemaker that still resides abandoned in the corner of the break room counter.
Beckett winces through another sip before finally giving up on the black sludge and shoving the half empty cup away. She’ll just buy her own coffee later.
It’s too quiet in the bullpen that morning. Not because he isn’t there to chatter the silence away, no, she simply arrived far too early, her shift still another hour away. Not many detectives are milling around the floor at this time, the 6 a.m. crowd slow and somber with the yearning for rest, but she hadn’t been able to stand another minute alone in her apartment, lying in her bed, glaring at the ceiling and fighting off the multitude of ‘if only’s.
The sinking feeling of regret that has claimed her stomach since he walked away from her yesterday afternoon has failed to dissipate and she doesn’t even understand why. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself.
Castle is gone, just like she’s always wanted, she should be overjoyed, she should be reveling in the relief of solitude his lack of presence provides. Yet here she is, alone at her desk at six in the morning, damn near sulking as she stares the phone down, willing it to ring.
At least if she has a murder, her mind will be on the victim, not on him.
The elevator chimes from across the bullpen, but she doesn’t glance up from her desk, contemplating which coffee shop she should walk to and wondering if maybe she should try something new, maybe substitute two pumps of caramel for her usual vanilla, or try one of those special fall blends Starbucks always advertises-
Kate startles at the placement of a to go cup on her desk, her brow scrunching as she notices the thick, familiar fingers curled around the white cardboard.
“You’re here rather early this morning, Detective,” he chirps and although it lacks his usual flare, she knows that voice, and when she finally lifts her gaze from the coffee, Richard Castle is standing before her desk with a hesitant smile on his face. “I was kinda hoping to beat you here, surprise you.”
He didn’t exactly fail.
“You came back,” she murmurs, her brow still in a deep crease as she stares up at him, so utterly confused by his presence. She knows she didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, but she couldn’t have reached the point of hallucinations… right?
“Yeah,” Castle swallows, oddly apprehensive, and scrapes a hand through his hair - hair that is uncharacteristically lacking its usual styling of gel and a comb, short locks sticking upwards in disarray. “I never should have left.”
“I thought - British spy?” she gets out, curling her hands into fists to keep from fidgeting.
“Is not Nikki Heat,” he shrugs, his eyes not leaving hers as he locates his chair, still seated faithfully beside her desk, and sighs in visible relief as he sits down. “Beckett, as soon as we parted ways in the apartment… I just wanted to turn back around.”
Her heart stutters in her chest, stumbling before picking up speed, beating so loud she can barely hear him speak.
“As soon as I made it home, I called Paula, told her I didn’t want the book deal. I want to keep writing Nikki, if that’s okay with you.”
Beckett scrambles for a face of indifference, for that blankness she’s learned to wear so well, an expression that keeps him from seeing it all, but he’s taken her by surprise, slipped in while her guard was down, and even though she tries, she knows he must catch the hope that flickers to life in the subtle widening of her eyes, the gentle parting of her lips.
But she can still gain the upper hand.
Shrugging, Kate accepts his apparent peace offering, brings the coffee to her lips, humming in satisfaction at the welcome burst of her regular order spilling over her tongue, down her throat.
“I think we can work something out,” she muses, meeting the intense blue eyes staring back at her from behind the cup. “I have over an hour until I actually have to be here, so if you wanted to talk somewhere else…”
Castle is up in an instant, snagging her jacket from the back of her chair and holding it up for her. Kate bites back her grin and stands, slips her arms through the leather and tries not to shudder when his fingertips brush the bare skin of her nape.
“I know a place just down the street that has a fantastic breakfast menu,” he beams, his eyes so very bright as they walk in sync towards the elevator.
Once inside, once the doors have closed and the lift has descended downwards, Kate drifts in closer to his side, grazes her knuckles along his, flirts with his fingers, and bites back her grin when he practically startles at the contact.
She doesn’t want to lie in bed tonight with yet another round of ‘if only’s swarming her mind. She wants to give him a reason to stick around that goes further than Nikki Heat.
Castle doesn’t hide his surprise when she slides her palm into his, threads their fingers and squeezes his hand even as the doors glide open into the lobby.
And you’ll ask me to stay with a voice quivering of good intentions,
You’re all honesty and sincerity and love;
Love more than anybody knows what to do with.
You’re the greatest moment in everybody’s life.
You’re standing ovations and encores and heartfelt appreciation.
You’re spring time with orchids and cherry blossoms and dandelions;
a garden of dreams and desires.
And you are good to me,
too good to me.
You have to understand that I’m not the good guy in this story.
We’re not the main characters that have brilliant resolutions despite the foolish actions we take.
We’re not the happy ending that everybody in their lifetime believes, at least for a second, that they’ll get.
We’re no good for each other,
me and you;
We’ve never been any good together,
but it was worth a try, baby.
It was damn well worth a try.