#the more I write kipps the more sad I get for him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

duchezss · 2 months

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I recently finished reading all the Lockwood & Co books, and my god they were good, but it got me thinking. If the show continued, like it deserved too, would Holly and Kipps have gotten a signature color the same way the trio did? If so what would they be? Well I was looking at twitter and I saw that most people agree that Holly's color would be yellow, and Kipps' would be white, and I'll be honest I disagree so badly I'm about to write an essay. It's funny because I distinctly remember finishing the books and thinking, "ah watch everyone put their colors as yellow and white cause it's easy". LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER. Y'all just don't get color theory OR the characters the way I do so listen up.

Holly is many things. She's positive, and compassionate, and kind, but she is so much more than that. She's not just a "yellow", yes maybe she is the sunshine of the group, but honestly? Not really, and that's ok. She's fierce and sometimes she has a short temper, she pretends to let everything slide off her shoulder, when really she's just keeping it inside. That's why her and Lucy are constantly budding heads in the beginning of their friendship, they are so similar. I think her color should be red. She's constantly described as wearing it, and I think it really fits her. Red represents passion, energy, confidence, and excitement to name a few. Holly is always described as having a presence, and her energy and enthusiasm comes off her in waves. Red is usually described as the color of love, and I still think that fits. She has such love for the entire crew, and it's so clear she would go to the ends of the earth for them. I also think this would blend in with the others very well. Despite it not actually being blue's real opposite, blue and red are often seen as polar opposites, which really fits for Lucy and Holly's dynamic. It also works because red and orange are both warm colors and George and Holly have always gotten along. They are similar in their methodical and sometimes odd ways of life. I also think it's fun cause Skully's color is green, and green are red are direct color wheel opposites. I'm pretty sure he hates her the most, but Kipps is also competing hard for that title. And lastly black is kinda the color in between, now more on that in a second.

I see what twitter was going for, Lucy and George are blue and orange, direct color wheel opposites, because they are quite literally direct opposites. So it makes sense for Kipps to be white since he's the direct opposite of Lockwood? LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER AGAIN. Tell me y'all didn't understand their dynamic without telling me. Lockwood and Kipps didn't get along cause they were so different, they butted heads so hard because of how similar they are. It's exactly what happened with Lucy and Holly. Plus white represents a lot of things that are definitely not Kipps. My proposed color for him is purple, I know that's a little odd, but walk with me. Although it's never explicitly stated, one can assume that Kipps was an absolute prodigy when he had his talents. I only bring this up, because purple often represents royalty and luxury, and he practically became a fallen king when he lost the only thing he was ever good at it. But purple is much more than that, it also represents bravery, uniqueness. ambition, and justice. I think Kipps' original color is grey, and not just because of the uniform. Grey represents seriousness, sadness, and boredom. That's how Kipps was before, but when he remeets the crew during book 3 and 4, we begin to see the shift. The group helps him gain his ambition back, and with all of their love and support we even begin to see how brave he really is. He has a unique way of going through life, and even when all the odds are stacked against them, he still seeks justice. Purple fits with the general color scheme as well. It's very close to black, which represents how similar him and Lockwood are, and it's also a cooler color like blue. Kipps and Lucy certainly got along the easiest out of the crew.

Overall it just makes sense. George and Holly are the warmer colors, Lucy and Kipps the cooler, and Lockwood as the mediator between them. I feel like red might be a little hard to incorporate without being overpowering, and I know that purple isn't a super masculine color, but hell if those costume designer made full orange outfits look good they can literally do anything. Anyways I know this isn't that important, but ugh I love color theory so much, and I love how much thought the costume designers put in the first time. I feel like having Holly and Kipps color being yellow and white is just a cheap easy shot, and doesn't take into account the characters and their growth enough. I rest my case.

#lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #holly munro #quill kipps #SAVE ME COLOR THEORY SAVE ME #God I want another season of this show more than anything #THIS COSTUME DEPARTMENT DESERVED TO BE ABLE TO EAT LIKE THIS AGAIN SMH #it keeps me up that we'll never see holly and kipps' development

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teaandransacking · 1 year

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Heyyyyy <3

I just wanted to ask if you could write a Lockwood x reader where the reader can't sleep because she had to much coffee in the day because of pervious nights events and she needed the energy. So Lockwood cuddles with her until she falls asleep

Love flames xxxxx btw happy easter xxxxx

Of course! Thank you for the request <3

How much coffee can someone drink before the caffeine in it starts to give them adverse effects?

You stand in the kitchen of Portland Row, staring at the back of the tin of coffee. The only warning is: can lid and edges may be sharp after opening.

Fat lot of good that is, you think, snorting, and you’re about to spoon out another heap of coffee grounds into your mug when you notice your hand shaking a little.

Maybe it’s time to switch to decaf coffee. Or tea.

The kitchen door opens, interrupting you, and Lockwood saunters in. It’s the only way to describe his walk - although if Kipps is nearby, swagger works better.

He sniffs the air as he comes to stand next to you. “Not coffee again. Have you not tried tea?”

You shoot him a withering look. “Don’t you have any other jokes?”

He grins. “None you’d laugh at.” He takes a mug and a teabag from the cupboard, and looks at you again, and you get the feeling that he always sees more than you want him to. “Seriously, are you okay?”

You take a deep breath and sag against the kitchen worktop. “I keep thinking about the haunting last night. I expected it to be scary but instead, it was just…”

Letting your eyes drift closed, you picture the child ghost, scared, lashing out to protect itself from whatever, or more likely, whoever, had hurt it in life.

“Sad,” Lockwood finishes, softly.

“And I don’t want to sleep, so.” You salute him with the empty mug.

He gently takes the mug from your hands. “I think I’m going to confiscate this and the tin of coffee. It’s about a hundred years old, anyway - definitely past its use by date.”

You chew your lip. “If you’re going to take the coffee away, I’ll need another way to stay awake.”

Lockwood shakes his head. “You’ve been awake for what, now - over twenty four hours? You need sleep, darling.”

The endearment makes your stomach flip in the most delicious way.

“But-”

“No buts.” He pushes aside his own mug. “What can I do to make you less afraid?”

A memory surfaces, but you hesitate.

He sees it. “What is it?

His voice is so gentle and his brown eyes are warm and bottomless.

“My mum used to curl herself around me, when I couldn’t sleep as a child.” Your face heats. “But I don’t-”

Lockwood nods, as if it’s settled. “That’s what we’ll do.”

You stifle a surprised laugh. You’ve been yearning after him for weeks and all you had to do was develop a little bit of insomnia?

Except it’s not really funny, is it? Not when you think back to the naked fear on that little visitor’s face.

“Are you sure?”

“I need my agents at full health,” he responds, but his tone is feather soft. He holds out his hand, palm up, and you put yours over it. His fingers curl around yours, and just that bit of contact sends every fibre of your being into a flurry of sparks.

Will you get any sleep with him so close?

“Where?” you ask.

“Your bed? If that’s okay, of course,” he adds.

That he’d repeatedly check with you is such a balm to your tired soul. “Yes. That’s perfect.”

Lucy and George are out. Lucy’s been drafted in as a deputy researcher today, so it’s just you and Lockwood at home. He leads you up the stairs to your room, and they creak under your steps, but it’s a happy, familiar sound.

You push the door open with your free hand.

“Pyjamas?” Lockwood asks.

“Nah.” You’re already wearing comfy clothes. Now that you’re faced with your bed, you’re exhausted. Tiredness drags at you with heavy hands. You yawn hugely.

“Excellent sleep prep,” Lockwood teases gently, as you toe off your slippers.

You’re hesitant to get into bed, but he says, sensing your discomfort, “You go under the covers. I’ll go on top of them.”

“Thankyou.”

He inclines his head, says nothing, just waits for you.

You slip under the covers, but then your whole body tenses up. What if you dream of that small, sad face, frozen forever in fear?

Lockwood climbs on to the bed and settles in beside you.

“We put the child to rest,” he reminds you.

You turn to face him. “I’m afraid I’ll have a nightmare.”

Whisper-soft, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll stay here, so if you do, you can wake me up and tell me about it.”

You wouldn’t, you think. He always looks so tired. You wouldn’t wake him. You’d do anything to get him the rest he needs.

Maybe this will serve you both.

You snuggle up to him, as much as you can with the sheets and quilt between you. His lips are warm against your hairline. He folds his hands under his cheek and you do the same, facing each other like kids on a sleepover.

“Okay?” he asks.

Perfect. But you just say, “Yes. Thanks.”

But you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes.

Lockwood clears his throat and begins, “Did I ever tell you about the time George and I found a stray cat? It had this awful smell, and we decided to bathe it…”

The story is hilarious and sweet by turns, but you don’t hear the end. You fall asleep to Lockwood’s deep, soft voice and the feel of his warm body snuggled up to yours.

And in the morning, when you wake, rested, he’s snoring softly next to you, and it’s your new favourite way to wake up.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwod and co fanfiction #tumblr askbox #anthony lockwood x you

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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Lovely, that's what I hoped to hear🩷 absolutely love the stuff of yours that I have read so far, and I'll definitely read the test when I have time, but in the meantime i'm gonna leave this request: a george x reader, somewhat inspired by the "Flower" oneshot you wrote for Lockwood. I'm thinking they go to the Fittes Ball, and the reader goes shopping with lucy for dresses. And I'd love some flustered George who is just wholly overwhelmed by reader who is all dolled up in a pretty dress. And here you can maybe include some locklyle? Like Lockwood showering Lucy in compliments and being charming and confident as usual and reader hoped for a similar reaction from George but he just kinda says nothing bc he doesn't know how to handle himself. And they go to the ball and while lucy and lockwood go off to retrieve the book, reader and george just are kinda awkward until some guy (or someone we know, kipps or someone) comes up to reader and asks her to dance. And she jist goes with him bc while she is disappointed with georges reaction she is still determined to enjoy the evening. And maybe when they are about to leave George wants to get her and she dismisses it and says she's having a good time and she's coming home later. And when she comes home george is still awake and waiting for her in the kitchen and they have a little fight and some confessions 👀

Let me know if you like that idea! And thank you in advance if you decide to write it🩷

a/n: i love this idea so much!!! it’s going to go a little differently due to the fact that after the fittes ball, they have to go get the mirror, but i hope this has turned out ok as i've cut out a big chunk of the actual story to keep this moving lol. strap in because this is a long one <3 also can i just appreciate your username i love it

warnings: angst, mild language gn reader

"Best friends have correlating dresses. It's law, basically."

Lucy laughs at you, flicking through the dresses on the rack. "Is that so? I have to admit, I'm not great when it comes to clothes. You just pick for me."

Grinning, you show her the dress you've already picked out for her. It's simple, made of royal blue satin with flowy sleeves that bunch at the wrists, and it falls to what would be about mid-thigh. Lucy doesn't look entirely convinced, but when you show her the pair of sparkly tights, she smiles.

"It's part of the Lucy flair," you explain. "I have a pair of boots you can borrow to go with. I have the image in my mind."

"Alright, then," she says, taking the dress and tights from you. "What are you going to wear, Fashion Expert?"

"Hmm." You tap your finger on your lip before selecting a dress from the rack. Red, also satin, with fluttery capped sleeves and thin gold stitching in the shape of flowers at the hem. "What do you think? Red and blue - pretty iconic"

As you expected, Lucy shrugs. "You'll look pretty in it. You look pretty in everything."

"Thanks," you laugh. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"Who, George? I'm sure he will. Whether he tells you that is another story entirely."

"True."

The sad truth, really. As you both go up to the counter and purchase the dresses, you can only hope - dream, more like - that George will come out of his shell a little. He's not overly keen on the fact that he's coming to the Fittes Ball, but he agreed a little more easily when you said you could stick with him on the outskirts while Lockwood charms people until his socks blow off. You can't blame him for not wanting to come. He doesn't like people, really, and his thing is staying at home and sticking his nose in a book. If you guys weren't going to infiltrate the Black Library at Fittes for this book by Mary Dulac, he wouldn't be going at all, even with your promise.

On the walk back to Portland Row, you keep yourself talking, if only to keep the nerves away. If you're being honest, the whole prospect of breaking into Penelope Fittes' private library and stealing a book isn't what's making you sweat. It's the thought of George seeing you in a dress.

Most days are spent in pyjamas or your work clothes. There's nothing overly special about your faded jeans or ectoplasm-spotted jacket, not even your sturdy boots that you spent time making little embroidered patterns on. George has seen you at your worst - hair frizzed from sleep, crumbs left on your T-shirt, wearing socks with far too many holes in them, so the thought of dressing up for a special occasion makes you a little nervous. Will he think you look nice?

Lucy would scoff if you asked her that question. She'd say that you don't need a boy to find you pretty to be worth anything.

But George isn't just a boy. Not to you, anyways. He's much more than that.

The better part of the afternoon is spent getting ready. You fix Lucy up with a pair of your nicer boots and sit her down to put some makeup on her, for which she doesn't stay very still. Yeah, immediately after you're all going to go on a heist and steal back a very important mirror, but who's to say you both can't look good doing it?

George and Lockwood come in shortly after you've finished your own makeup, as well as styling yours and Lucy's hair, and you stop short, watching for George's reaction.

He's dressed in a nice black suit, with a white shirt and orange tie, and his hair is slightly neater than usual, but it suits him. Your heart flutters a little looking at him.

Lockwood, for his part, looks completely wonderstruck by Lucy, who watches him carefully. The tips of her ears are tinged pink.

"Luce, you look -" He clears his throat, and you hold back a smile. "You look great. Amazing, actually."

She presses her lips together, but you can see the smile tugging at the corners. "Thanks."

"Uh, I have something for you, if you'll accept it." From his pocket, he pulls out a thin silver chain on which a small gem glitters. "It belonged to someone close to me. I'd like for you to wear it."

Lucy takes it with gentle hands. "What if I lose it?"

"You have a pretty good track record with precious necklaces."

She laughs at that, looking over at you. You smile as you fasten the necklace around her neck. "Thank you, Lockwood."

His grin is confident, clearly bolstered by the fact that she accepted his gift. He keeps looking between her face and the glittering necklace.

Silence ensues, and your gaze travels over to George. He's standing there, staring at you with those gorgeous dark eyes of his, and for a moment, your heart feels like it's going to explode. You wonder what he'll say, if he likes the dress or not.

"I'll go check on the cab," he says before darting out of the room.

And, just like that, every piece of confidence you had dissipates and it feels as if you're a balloon with a hole poked in the side, slowly deflating. You should've expected it, really. George isn't the complimenting type, but you liked to hope that for once he might say something.

Swallowing your embarrassment at your failed hopes down, you plaster on a smile and turn to Lucy and Lockwood. "You're right, Lockwood. She does look amazing, doesn't she? Blue's her colour." You give a pointed look at the blue tie he wears, and notice he's even wearing blue socks.

The little detail makes you happy for Lucy, truly, but it doesn't make the hurt any less painful.

Lockwood smiles, but Lucy's quick to notice the expression hidden under your smile.

"Come on," she says. "We better get going."

The Fittes compound is bustling with people - wealthy socialites, young agents, supervisors, everyone dressed up in fancy clothes, sparkling in the twinkling lights. Music plays from every corner of the massive room in which the Ball is located, packed to the brim with people. Waiters breeze by with trays holding drinks and food. Lockwood plucks a flute of some sort of drink from a passing plate.

"Shall we make the rounds?"

Lucy groans. "Posh people and small talk. The worst form of torture."

George makes a sound of agreement but doesn't speak. Beside him, you shuffle awkwardly, clasping your hands behind your back.

"Plan still the same as earlier?" you ask Lockwood. "You and Lucy find the book while me and George stay to - what was it you said?"

"Mingle," Lucy says in a mocking tone. You've half a mind to believe she's done it to make you laugh.

"Just keep the attention off of our absence," Lockwood says. "Kipps probably expects the worst of us tonight."

"He asked you to this, didn't he?" Lucy asks you. "Won't be much of a problem to keep him distracted. Just dance with him or something."

Tension snaps in the air. Beside you, George doesn't say anything but his hands twitch a little bit.

You shrug. "Probably won't dance with anyone tonight. But I'll make conversation. I'm good at that."

Soon, Lucy and Lockwood split off from you and George. The two of you slowly drift towards the edge of the party, out of the tightly packed crowd of old people with expensive-smelling perfume and cologne. Once or twice, you almost choke on the strong scent.

George keeps close to the wall, watching the crowd carefully, while you stand a foot or two away, arms crossed over your stomach.

Truthfully, you'd love to be dancing. It's not so much about the party or even the music, but who you'd like to be dancing with and how it'd probably be the only time you ever get to do anything remotely like it with him. But here you stand, staring out at the few couples with the bustle that are shuffling together, grinning.

"Thanks for coming tonight," you say to George, trying to make conversation. Usually, it comes easily, and you can find anything to speak to him about, but it's strained now. "I'm not sure I'd be a great distraction on my own."

George shifts slightly. "I'm not sure about that. You've got a fan coming over now."

You try to ignore the hint of irritation in his voice. He's allowed to be irritated - about coming to the party, at least. This really isn't his scene. But if he's mad that someone else asked you to go with them, he's got no right. He's made no effort.

But, he's right about one thing. Quill Kipps is making a bee-line right for you.

"(name)," he says upon reaching you. "Karim. Where are the other two?"

Plastering on a sweet smile, you say, "It's Lucy and Lockwood. They've been making mooney eyes at each other a lot recently. I wouldn't be surprised if they're off dancing somewhere."

"And what about you? I can't imagine that you like just standing on the outskirts of the party."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Kipps," you say. "In fact, I have company that is far more preferable than you."

Kipps glances back at George. "Yes, you look like you're both having the times of your lives. Well, I only came over to ask you if you'd perhaps come dance with me. If not, Bobby Vernon has asked me to suggest he be your partner."

"Bobby? Isn't he, like, twelve? And aren't you twenty, or something? Both options sound positively strange."

"It's just a dance."

You look over at George, who's watching the encounter carefully with narrowed eyes. He rubs the lenses of his glasses on his orange tie.

You've made a promise to stick with him at this party, and you don't intend to break it. No matter how disappointed you feel that he didn't even say something like You look pretty when he saw you in your dress, it doesn't entitle you to leave him.

"Sorry, Kipps, to both of those generous offers. Like I said, my company is much more enjoyable."

He takes the rejection better than you thought he would, but soon it's just you and George again.

"You should've gone and danced with him," George says after a while, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Otherwise you've bought that dress for no reason."

You're not sure why that comment makes your skin flush hot with anger, but it does. You bought the dress to feel pretty in, not just for George but for yourself. It wasn't for no reason. Crossing your arms over your chest, you turn away from him. If you look at him any longer, you're worried angry tears will start prickling your eyes.

"Well, then maybe I will go dance with Kipps. You don't seem overly interested in conversation with me, anyways."

"Fine."

Maybe you expected him to put up a little more of a fight. Maybe that's why, once more, you feel your body deflate a little. You don't spare him another look as you trudge through the crowd until you find Kipps.

"Oh, (name), hello again."

"I've rethought your offer," you say. "I'll have that dance if you're not busy."

He's not your preferred partner, but it was starting to get stifling standing with George when you had so much you wanted to say. Kipps at least tells you what's on his mind.

For example, "Karim seems pretty unhappy with your decision to dance with me."

"He doesn't tell me what I can or can't do."

How ironic. He has in fact told you to dance with Kipps, and here you are, obeying like a dog on a lead. You scowl at the thought.

"You look nice," Kipps says. "Red suits you. And your hair looks nice."

"Thank you." It's sad that the only compliment you've gotten beyond Lucy's is from Kipps. Even then, you're not sure how to feel about it. He's old in a teenager's terms.

"If looks could kill, I think I'd be dead."

You turn your gaze, eyes catching George's distant figure, but he's looking at a little book he'd stashed in his suit pocket just before leaving.

Looking away, you try to keep the sadness out of your voice. "Stop messing with me. I'm trying to enjoy this party. I'm standing in the same building as Penelope Fittes. This is a big moment for me."

Even then, it's clear to even Kipps that the enthusiasm just isn't there.

A flash of blue catches the corner of your eye, and you see Lucy waving as discreetly as she can.

"Thanks for the dance," you say, offering him the best smile you can muster.

Kipss grabs your wrist as you make to walk away. "Be careful with Karim, okay? I know our teams don't get on, but that doesn't mean I want to see you get hurt because you want something he can't offer you."

For a moment, you just look at him. Finally, you say, "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

The bone glass is gone. Pamela Joplin is no longer a threat. The ghost of Edmund Bickerstaff is no more. Lockwood's bullet wound has been treated. George and Lucy are safe.

And yet...

Sitting at the kitchen table the following morning, you scribble away at the thinking cloth. After the events of last night - the Fittes Ball, the 'Battle of Kensal Greene' as it's now known - you couldn't sleep, so you've sat here all night, scratching away at all the swirly shapes on the cloth. Really, you should throw it out and replace it, but there are a few funny drawings you've recently drawn that you'd like to preserve a while longer.

The stairs leading down to the kitchen creak, but you don't move. There's only one person it could be.

Lockwood is sleeping off his bullet wound, and Lucy is up in the attic having a nap.

George steps through the door, shutting it softly behind him, but you don't look up at him. Instead, you take an angry bite out of your toast.

"Is that my egg cup you're using?"

"Yup."

Usually, he would've made a little scene out of this because, typically, it's Lockwood that uses his egg cup and the two of them love causing a scene. But he doesn't say anything; he only makes himself a cup of tea and some toast before sitting across from you.

It's silent for a while. You're not sure what to say, so you opt to keep scribbling on the thinking cloth. The most recent doodle you've made is of you and Lucy as stick figures, which is nothing compared to the sketches she's got pinned up in your shared room in the attic.

"So, last night."

You don't bother to look up. "What about it?"

"You dancing with Kipps?" His tone is cautious.

"Me and Kipps?" You scowl at the hidden implication. "He's, what, twenty-something? I'm a teenager. That's gross."

"No, I know, I didn't mean that. I just meant you two dancing together."

"No one else was going to dance with me. Well, other than Bobby Vernon, and he's about half my height."

George is quiet for a moment. "I just..."

The sigh that leaves your lips is exasperated, to say the least. "You just what, George? You're usually very straight to the point, so I'd like to know what said point is."

You know you're being harsh, but all of your emotions feel frayed from not sleeping and the boil-over from yesterday. You're still frustrated about it.

"I didn't like seeing him dance with you."

"Well, you don't really get a say in it, seeing as you didn't speak to me most of the night, and when you did you were telling me to go and dance with him. Seems a little confusing, right?"

"I didn't know how to say what I wanted to," he says, frowning. "Seeing you in your dress... I don't know. I don't know how to say it now."

"Oh, I have an idea: (name), you look pretty. Four words. Four words, George! I get it - you struggle to say things when you get overwhelmed, but I would've appreciated something as simple as that. I didn't need you to dance with me, or to give me a necklace that belonged to someone dear to you, or even wear a tie that matches my dress. I just needed four words. Three if you take out my name!"

"It isn't that easy! My throat closes up around you, and I forget how to speak."

"You're speaking fine right now."

"Yeah, because we're arguing. You're not standing in front of me looking like you've been blessed by some god."

You blink, stunned. "Well, I suppose that's one way to put it."

"I could put it a million different ways in my head, but I just can't say them." He won't look at you. In fact, he's taken his glasses off. "(name), I've never felt like this before, and it's hard to vocalise any of it. Last night I was - well, a lot of it was spent trying to figure out how to word it all without embarrassing myself. Like - like, I enjoy mornings with you before Lucy and Lockwood get up - well, most mornings - and we just talk about anything. You listen to me about things you probably don't care about."

"I do so care about Jonathan Fro-yo's books -"

"Jonathon Arroyo, you mean." There's a little smile on his face. He's fiddling with his fingers. "But that's beside the point. There are a lot of things I like about you or enjoy doing with you, I just don't know how to say it all."

Watching him for a moment, you decide to take a leap. "Would it make it easier if I told you I am hopelessly head over heels for you? Those mooney eyes Lockwood and Lucy are always doing? I'm also a culprit of it, but you're the source."

The glasses are back on, and you have to admire the way his hair flops over his forehead in messy curls when he turns to look at you abruptly. Those entrancing dark eyes of his widen in shock.

"You're telling me you couldn't guess? George Karim, perhaps your research skills aren't quite on par with what you think they are."

He smiles, a little less subdued this time, and your heart soars at the sight. "I'll try my best to talk from now on," he promises. "But it gets hard. All I ask is that you understand that."

"So, am I correct in assuming you like me back? Because if I've just admitted that I'm crazy about you and you don't even feel the same, I'll be mortified."

"I do," he says. "And you did look pretty last night. Beyond pretty."

It's not much, but it's a start, and you're willing to work on it.

#george karim x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #george karim #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #george cubbins #givemea-dam-break

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oblivious-idiot · 1 year

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Hi ! Do you write for Quill Kipps too ? If so, is it possible to have something with Quill meeting the reader for the first time please? 🙇🏻‍♀️

The Recruitment Fair

AN: Thank you so much for this request!! It took me a few different plot ideas before this came to me, so I hope you like it!

Warnings: Fluff, young Quill Kipps

Word count: 1k

Pairings: Quill Kipps x fem!Reader

Once a year, the Fittes Agency opened its doors to young aspiring agents, giving them a tour around the headquarters and showing new recruits what it would be like to work there. Most of the time Fittes would require a letter of recommendation from the agents' current supervisors and to have passed their grade four exam, but the recruitment fair was a way for young agents to join the agency early and complete their training with them.

Almost as soon as you had passed your grade four exam, a letter dropped through your letterbox, Fittes Agency, London was stamped onto the top corner of the envelope and you let out a squeal of excitement. You had been sent the details to the recruitment fair, just like your supervisor Mr Hendricks had promised to sign you up for. You were 15, turning 16 soon, so you knew being able to spend the next few year using your talent for the biggest agency in the country was always a goal of yours. Your supervisor had always said you were hardworking and a natural born leader, as well as being an exceptionally gifted Listener, and although he would be sad to see you leave his little local agency he knew he couldn't stop you for going to London.

As you stepped off the train into Kings Cross station, you could already tell the atmosphere of the city was different from that of your small village, the ghost lamps hanging dormant in the late morning sun, the familiar smell of iron and lavender filling your nose. You found a nearby map and searched for the Fittes House on the Strand, planning out which tube you would have to take in order to get there "Piccadilly line, perfect" you muttered to yourself and you headed to the underground station.

You weren't sure what to expect when it came to the Fittes House, let alone what the recruitment fair would have in store, but the sheer expanse of the banners, music, and bustling people around the building absolutely took your breath away. As you walked into the centre of the building you looked up and gasped, for the ceiling looked like it spanned at least 6 or 7 floors, you'd never seen anything quite like it. Pulling you out of your excited daze you heard a soft voice getting your attention "Excuse me miss, are you here for the fair?" it was a young guy, maybe a little older than you by the looks of it, wearing the signature silver Fittes uniform "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I must've got carried away, I've always wanted to come here" you admitted sheepishly, which just made the boy chuckle "I'm more than happy to show you around and get you aquatinted with the building, if you'd like?" he asked, shooting you a charming smile before holding his hand out for a shake "I'm Quill Kipps by the way."

Quill took the time to take you all around the fair, making sure to introducing you to each member of the agency that was working and helping in any way that he could, but soon it came to lunch and you had started to become hungry from your long morning "Hey, so I was wondering if you knew any good spots for lunch?" you asked as you checked your watch "Oh yes of course! I know an insane bagel place if you wanted to go?" he gave you a soft, almost nervous smile and attempted to tame his short blond curls "I would absolutely kill for a bagel sandwich right now" you admitted, which made the two of you laugh. The two of you seemed to get along quite well, and he continued to help you out throughout the rest of the fair if you needed it.

By the end of the day, it was getting late and curfew wouldn't be long, so you thanked him for all of his help "I've really appreciated all of your help today, especially for lunch! Now I just have to hope I'll get in, I've always wanted to work here" "Oh I wouldn't worry about it, you're references are exceptional and we could do with more Listeners like you on the team" Kipps admitted to you, before pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket and scribbling on it "Here, so you can tell me the good news yourself" he smiles as passes you the paper with his phone number scribbled on.

You had gotten into the Fittes agency, and before you knew it you had moved to London to be battling the worse Visitors you had ever seen. You wouldn't even notice the years passing, working with Quill everyday without fault, watching him become your team supervisor and his ego getting bigger, which you would have to reign in for him on occasion.

You held a polaroid picture in your fingers, one that you kept in your wallet at all time - it was of you and Quill when you first met, fresh faced and full of life. The two of you had grown up in many ways, seeing the horrors of being an agent, watching your colleagues die in your arms, battling relic men and vicious Visitors alike, but seeing the two of you so young always made you smile. "Are you ready to go?" Quill asked, poking his head around your door into your room "What've you got there?" He queried as he came to sit next to you on the bed "It's us, from when I first joined Fittes, do you remember?" "As if it was yesterday. I must say, I've definitely gotten better looking with age" he joked as he picked up the picture to get a better look "Oh you wish Quill" you teased, which he just pushed you away playfully "Alright, not more special treatment for you then" he grinned and handed you the picture back "Come on, before Barnes bites my head off for being late."

#allie writes #quill kipps x reader #quill kipps x you #quill kipps #lockwood and co #lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #lockwood #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #35 portland row #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co imagines

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deadsnothere · 1 year

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End of the barrel

Synopsis - Instead of Lockwood and the end of Fairfax's gun it's Alias?

Masterlist

WARNINGS! - Involves threats with a gun, talk of experimenting on people, and death of a family member.

Request - No! BUT PLEASE REQUEST!!!

Word Count - 2k

Speak Ali! - I started writing this two weeks ago finished it at an craft fair for my aunt. I'm dying i'm so exhausted.

I, Alias Kipps, am not scared of death.

I've been surrounded by it since I was young, I've been to over 20 funeral’s in the 17 years of my life. I've seen and witnessed the most terrifying deaths from touching sources as someone else's test subject.

so when Fairfax held a gun out, with me at the end of the barrel, I could say I almost felt free.

This situation was interesting to say the least, Lockwood was hiding behind a table along with Lucy, while George was hidden behind a chair. Hopefully, None of them had been seen when Fairfax himself caught me. “You know it's dangerous to be “alone” in a house like this, Alias, But to be fair in this house you're never alone, are you?” His assistant stood tall beside him. “You! You broke into our house to get the ring!-” we’d just figured that out not long ago. “And by the way bitch- Get better perfume, with a job with a man like that, I know you can afford the good scents-”

All in one sudden moment, Fairfax had shot a gun he pulled from his back pocket. “Woah buddy be careful with that thing you might just get hurt-” I chuckled as he pointed it at me, “Where is the ring Kipps?” I put my hands behind my back, smiling at him. “Wow, last names? how formal for a man I've known my entire life.” He laughed right back at me. “I still remember how sad you were at my wife’s funeral…to bad I killed her.” On the inside my pulse was beating, my heart was going miles in seconds but not because a gun walked with me as I paced, but because I could see Lucy holding Lockwood back in the corner of my eye.

“Really? You cried with us and everything! shocking honestly.” Well now I see why he was in show business. “Ya know John we’re not too different. I'm about to be in a musical as a “bad girl” and you're going to be in jail with your name in the paper writing you, rightfully, as the bad guy!” I spoke enthusiastically, he rolled his eyes and scoffed at me. “Oh please, Kid we both know you don't wanna die so just give me the damn ring!” I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I have the ring?” He laughed right back at me. “No one is stupid enough to leave something at home after someone has attempted to steal it already, so hand me the ring kid. Or I will shoot, and I'd hate to shoot my test subject.”

I laughed along with him. “See John you have almost everything right up until one little underestimation.” I let a smile twist onto my face again. “What is that, little Alias?” That nickname made me want to hurl, but I couldn't show it. He always called me that nickname after he would experiment on me. Put me in rooms with type 2’s and 3’s to see if I could survive, he went too far one day, and it all happened because I was selfish and scared of death.

I walked towards him, slowly. Taking my rapier out of its sheath and flinging it in the direction of George watching it hit the chair sticking inside of it, George hopefully a-ok on the other side. The closer I got the more nervous you could visibly see Fairfax get, But it all had to be an act. I stopped once The gun touched my forehead. “I'm not scared of death.”

He cocked the gun, “bye bye, Little Ali.” I turned around facing the other members of the agency, a bright smile on my face, as I could feel the shake of him pulling the trigger. The plan here was to flip around before he could pull it and unarm him, but it never happened. “HEY FAIRFAX-” Well that plan went out the window…

Lucy shot up, She was the one who had the locket with the ring inside it, I know she did because she slept with it on at night and dropped it, (And I gave it to her) I already knew what it was of course, i'm the one who designed the locket, and put the ring in there. “Lucy, let me handle it!-” I’m sure if any of us were thinking straight, we would’ve been freaking out but I felt great!

“You want the ring?- Take your damn ring.” she threw down the locket and watched it crack open as it slammed onto the floor, the ghost of Annabel screaming out.

I wish I could remember the rest but…all I can remember is the feeling of someone's hands on my head after I fainted. The weight of the explosion finally kicking in.

–

“Alias!- Alias we need you to sign this?!- Alias wake up.” I don't remember much from this either, Mostly the feeling of the cold van on my body, except for my head it was laid on Lockwood’s lap. I signed some papers with hopefully my signature, and immediately went back to sleep.

–

When I woke up again, I wasn't sure what had happened. I was incredibly confused and had a huge headache. The sunlight was beaming down on me in- LOCKWOODS CLOTHES- Wait wait wait- Now that I got a proper look around the room I realized, I was in Lockwoods room.

“So you finally woke up?” The door opened to a tall man standing in the door way, Anthony. I nodded with his words sitting up in the bed. “Yeah…so- What happened exactly?” he shook his head at me, almost like he couldn't believe me. “Alias, I almost watched you get shot in the head. Can you remember that..?” I went quiet playing with my hands. “I-I’m sorry. it's my fault I know..and I should've told you guys I knew him before- just please…anthony, don't run away now.” I sound pathetic, but words were slipping out of my mouth like water glides with sand.

“What?” He was confused, you could tell by his facial expressions and his hand movements. He always played with the seam of his pocket when he was nervous. “Don't leave me please.” It was quiet coming out of my mouth, but the words spoke so much more. “Alias why would-” I cut him off. “Please anthony. Just say it- Say you won't leave me.” He finally got close enough to stand beside me. With a closer look I could see how distressed he looked, Tousled hair, eyebags deeper than a soup pot, and oil stained casual clothes on. (my fault)

I grabbed his hand and put it to my heart. “I need to know if I tell you why, If I tell you what happened with Fairfax as a child. You won’t leave me.” It's happened before, my last lover. Anthony looked at me with pure feeling in his tears eyes, which I can't tell but it was there. “I promise you Alias, I will not leave you. I will sit here and listen to your story and I won't pity you.” I can't say I'm shocked, I think I’d be more shocked if he didn't say it. “I’d sit down..and this is your own bed, so come on-” I patted the spot beside me, letting him sit down and get comfortable, his hand immediately moved to my waist to give us both some comfort.

“When I was young, my parents and Fairfax had a deal, if I gave up myself to use as a test subject I would be someone with one of the best touch abilities in years.” Which obviously didn't work well. I leaned onto Anthony, his arms were hesitant to pull me closer but they did.

“He would put me in this ghost room, where they’d slide a source in and uncover it after it was secure in the room. I have so many cuts and bruises from that room,” When around the house I normally wore long sleeved shirts or jackets to cover up my arms, no one asked questions so I never told. There were many scars on my arms. Big, small, wide, thin. And a long one that went down both of my arms and across my chest. Anthony's hands traced the scars like they were art on canvas.

“Four years of pain and torture…but when I turned 10, He put a type three in there with me, it was a normal experience, at first I’d scream and cry but soon I’d just finish the job. What they failed to tell me was they’d also be adding my sister to the experiment-” Anthony wanted to throw up the second I said it, He looked like he did at least. And when he looked at up at the ceiling I could tell he was trying not to cry., but it wasn't out of pity, it was Sympathy.

“She was pushed into the room and I did what I normally did hiding behind the bed, but she wasn't scared. She was too young to be scared.” We both wanted to throw up now. “I was too scared to help her because she was too reckless. I was terrified of death and because of that, she ended up where I was scared I would-” He drew his arm around my shoulder putting his mouth to my temple softly. “-She died, Anthony. And I could've prevented it because I was supposed to protect her, I was her big sister-” We were close, she always said it was stupid of mom and dad to hurt me like they had. To make her watch, She was right, she was always right. “meant to be, forever and always.”

“Are they going to hurt you Ali?” Lainey was holding onto my dress for the life of her. Scared of the man standing in front of me, shaking my parents hand. “No Lainey, they don't hurt me.” I knew she didn't believe me but I had to keep it up. “Then why are you crying?” I tried my best to laugh it off. “Because I'm just so happy it's me and not you, Lain.” She stood up tall, finally letting her grip go on my dress. “Alias, are you always gonna be able to protect me?” … “Always and forever Lainey.”

“She meant the world to me.” Neither of us spoke for a minute. It was a minute exactly, I counted. “That's why I'm not afraid of death.” It was a simple statement that made Anthony flinch softly. “And maybe when I saw Fairfax pull out that gun I wasn't scared, because me and Lainey would be dying to the same hands.” Anthony finally looked me in the eyes, We we're holding eye contact for second. A tear prickled down my face, I didn't even realize I was crying.

“I love you Ant.” He didn't say anything until I went to stand up. In one quick motion he stood up and grabbed my hand. “I love you to Ali. I've been in love with you long before you moved in with me, I was in love with you when we were kids.” He looked almost relieved. “I've loved you since I moved in. You said I always had a spot in your bed if i couldn't sleep and I think right then I wanted to pass out-” …We both started to laugh. “Ali..can I kiss you?”

“Of course Ant-” We got close quick, my hands were on his shoulders, his are on my face. We both closed our eyes it was magica- “Oh i'm so sorry!-” Our noses bumped eachother, us both bursting out in laughter. “Wanna try that again?” I nodded back, still giggling. This time we succeeded our faces slotted together perfectly, our hands played together the tips of our fingers played together, and so did our lips. Now this was magical, absolutely magical.

“...wow-” I started to giggle again. “Wow?” He questioned. “Yeah wow- that was amazing.” He laughed at me. “Better than our first kiss?-” “That was not a kiss!” when we were kids we accidentally fell into eachother bonking our heads together and making us kiss. Anthony said that was his first kiss, I said it didn't count.

“I kinda want some tea?”...“We should make some tea!” I was grinning lazily, almost as if I was high. “Making some tea with my boyfriend…i'm so cool.” Anthony raised his eyebrow. “Boyfriend?” I nodded. “You have no choice! Love confession = boyfriend!” we were giggling at each other, He never disagreed so as I see it, he's my boyfriend. We finally walked out of the room to make ourselfs some tea.

I'm dying :D Pls request more guys, I need motivation 🫶🏼

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co dr #speak ali!!#mentions #lucy carlyle #george karim #the chronicles of alias forman #reader has a name #anthony lockwood x alias foreman #self shipping #selfshipping #self insert x canon #self insert

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formulax · 3 years

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A Few Thoughts on Family -- Simon Nightingale

I have a “worrying” issue.

I've always had this problem. It was much worse when I was younger, and that’s when I started to keep a personal journal. Even if I wasn't completely honest with myself back then, putting my worries onto paper helped. I was writing them into a book that could be closed and put away. And... it helped me to work through my worries, in a way. Process them and organize them when they came to be too much. Thought is hardly ever simple, after all.

I've been Simon Nightingale for a month now— been myself for a month now. This quaint house has proven to be smaller than what I am used to from a home on land, of course, but the crew gave me more money than I can handle in this small town, and anyway, I’m more than happy with the decision I've chosen. It’s quiet and cozy here, and I'm living comfortably compared to life on a pirate ship.

I’m becoming part of the community. I take my walks to the library, to the market, to the Marigold household, and I've been recognized, been waved to. The librarians know me, and smile when I walk in. There is even a black cat I now feed that follows me to and from my home; company that is much appreciated.

I’ve missed this... but it's not quite the same, of course. I do not hold much social standing here, aside from being “a friend of Angel's,” which admittedly has gotten me a long way in gaining my own friends. But... well that's just it. I am a friend! Not a soldier, or a son of a naval officer. The townsfolk here dislike such people, anyhow, and I’m beginning to think I do as well.

With my newfound free time I've cataloged my experiences in the pirate world and written as much as I could about its wonders, and I’ve hit a bit of a block with it. Overwhelming myself with writing, I suppose. So I've been taking a few days to just exist in my new world, and look inwards at myself (which is something I am not accustomed to one bit).

I mention my “worrying” issue because I've been having a bit of trouble sleeping lately. When I think about Angel, Kipp, and Ezra, I start to feel that dreadful fear. They have not visited yet, and I know that they’re quite busy, but when you see someone every day for so long and then suddenly separate, it’s just... difficult. So, I am nervous. Terribly nervous. Afraid that they will never visit, that they will never return because something tragic has happened. I did ask them to send me a letter every time they stopped at a port.

It’s getting late, and I should rest, but I need to get this written down. Last night, as I was trying to sleep, I had a thought that disturbed me. I wondered if this is how my mother felt when I was away.

I did not send her many letters.

I’ve been spending time at the Marigolds’ place in the market, running errands and putting fresh fish on display for some extra money.

They told me a little bit about Angel.

They did not name him; he was left at an orphanage by his alleged parents, who we now know were Vincenzo Cielo and the (former) Guardian Mariah, with a note and the infamous amulet. The note had a vague explanation, a command to keep the baby loved and cared for, and Angel's name. The Marigolds took the child and heeded the note.

“You two’re good parents,” I said. “You care so much. How do you handle him being away? On dangerous quests, no less.”

Mrs. Marigold looked at her husband and smiled. “Our son is much too stubborn to die,” she said. They both chuckled. (They at times can be a little morbid.) “But anyway, he was in good hands with you, and he is now with Ezra and Kipp. You boys have good souls, you do.”

“He writes,” Mr. Marigold added. “When he’s able. He’ll write you. And it will be pages and pages long.”

It is past midnight, judging by the moon. I can’t sleep, and I need to get some things off my chest.

I am guilty. I will always be guilty, for the rest of my life, about leaving my mother behind as she died. I did not want to see her sick... but I did not want to see her sad either. She was often sad and it hurt my heart and I thought that there was nothing I could do to cheer her up. But somewhere deep down I knew that coming home as a Captain would make her even sadder, and that means that somewhere deep down I knew that she wanted me to quit. She was sad because of what I had become. It all seems so obvious now and it makes me so upset that I sometimes need to cry. It was a mistake to be away for so long. It was a mistake not to write her and tell her about the stars in the sky where I was. It was a mistake to disregard her just as everyone else in my family did.

She was SICK and she was SAD and she was ALONE. I feel like I KILLED her. And now I can never tell her I’m sorry, or show her how much I've changed for the better.

The black cat that has been following me around town is meowing at the window. I’m going to let her in and try again to sleep.

It’s the morning— I feel calmer than I did last night. Talking to the Marigolds about Angel got me thinking about my own parents, and... awful things just seem so much worse late at night. My thoughts got out of hand.

I... well. I did not have a tight knit family. My parents did not love each other— at least not while I was around— and my extended family was as cold as my father was. We did not talk about feelings; my parents hardly spoke to each other at all. I had no siblings, and I did not relate much to my younger cousins.

There was my mother and I, of course, but our relationship was often sabotaged, either by my father or by myself. I think he was jealous of her, of my similarities to her, and so grew to resent her. As I sought to impress my father, I began to resent her too, though I was never conscious of it, and never would have admitted it.

We were closer when I was younger. She held her ground on just a few things, one of them being my physical safety, and as a result I did not go on long trips with my father when I was a young child. I spent more time with her, then; she was my teacher, and I loved to hear her talk about her passions. She read me stories, she showed me local wildlife. We watched the stars for hours on end, and she would help me trace constellations with my finger. The world was so big, and we were so small, and she found that so magnificent.

She was the closest thing I had to a family. And I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had done things differently, but in the spirit of improving myself I know I have to own up to my mistakes, and accept them, no matter how terrible they make me feel. Life would have been so different if it had just been her and I— but that was never a possibility, and lingering in the past isn’t ideal, I know.

The thing is, I have a family now— it’s not conventional in the slightest, that’s for certain— but Angel, Kipp, even Ezra... I consider them family. I have been through so much with them, have watched them grow so much as people; and they have helped me grow, as well. They supported me at my worst, and helped me come to the decision to live like I do now. I miss them all, and it’s frightening to think that they’re out there without me, without my extra protection and guidance.

I don’t mean to sound self-centered. They can take care of themselves. It's just a matter of family. I just want to do things better this time.

I was helping the Marigolds at their shop today, and thank the Lord, a letter from Angel arrived! I just about hugged Mrs. Marigold when she handed over the one meant for me... Pages and pages long, like Mr. Marigold said.

Angel says things have been going well, but everyone is missing me. They’re headed off on another mission— Ezra reportedly had another Eye-induced dream— and they’ll head back in my direction after they’ve done that. He says he’s dying to know how I’ve been doing, and I better be missing them just as much. This is, of course, very condensed.

It is such a relief to hear from them, and I haven’t been able to stop re-reading the letter since I got it. It’s midday, and I’m in bed, the black cat sitting at my side. (She lingers in my house more often than outside now, and I don’t mind.)

Angel's last sentence to me was, “Don’t get too lost in your thoughts, Simon Nightingale— your mother would be so happy for you right now.”

I’ve never understood how he always knows exactly what to say.

#my writing #pirates!#my ocs #important: names & ideas subject to change later on

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mariocki · 5 years

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RIP Sheila Steafel (26.5.1935 - 23.8.2019)

I recently started watching Granada's 70's children's series The Ghosts Of Motley Hall (1976 - 1978), as certain mutuals will attest, and found it suddenly became compulsive viewing - so much so that I watched all three series in a little over a week. It's with some sadness, then, that I read of the passing of Motley Hall star Sheila Steafel during that very week.

Born Sheila Frances Steafel in Johannesburg, in 1935, to English emigrees Harold and Eda, Sheila was introduced to the stage at an early age. Her father directed and acted in amateur theatre productions, whilst her mother was a gifted pianist, and her childhood was one of music and culture: both parents were involved in organising a choir at the local synagogue, which Sheila sang for. At school she got into trouble for writing a risqué pantomime - already she was making waves as a comic performer.

In 1953, Steafel abandoned her university education in South Africa and moved to Britain. She applied to study at RADA, and completed a preparatory term before being told that her 'unusual' looks and mannerisms would be a hinderence for a young performer; she was advised to wait until her thirties and try to become a character actor. She refused to give up on her career, however, instead enrolling in the renowned Webber Douglas Academy, winning the Margaret Rutherford award for comedy.

Roles on television soon followed, with guest spots on the likes of No Hiding Place (1959), and a supporting role in the 1960 adaptation of H. G. Wells' Kipps. She fared even better onstage, taking over the role of Barbara opposite Tom Courtenay in Lindsay Anderson's celebrated production of Billy Liar in 1961. There were some more genre credits - episodes of The Odd Man (1962) and it's sequel It's Dark Outside (1965), Sergeant Cork (1963) and Danger Man (1966), as well as small film roles in the likes of Daleks' Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. (1966), Quatermass And The Pit (1967) and Otley (1968). By the middle of the decade, however, Steafel was settling happily into the genre for which she had always seemed destined: comedy.

Over the next decade or so, Sheila became the first choice of support for almost every major comedian on British television. The list of shows she worked on makes for an enviable CV, and she was variously comic foil, stooge, straight-woman and love interest to anyone who was anyone in TV comedy. She worked with Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, Frankie Howerd, Eric Sykes and Spike Milligan; she was in every episode of Bernard Cribbins' 1970 sketch show, appeared alongside Tommy Cooper, The Goodies, Kenny Everett and Roy Hudd. She was part of the regular cast of the seminal satirical series That Was The Week That Was (1966 - 1967), playing against John Cleese and Ronnies Barker and Corbett, all at the start of their long careers. The 'unusual' looks that had seen her dropped from RADA did not, seemingly, prevent her from becoming an almost ubiquitous face on British comic television throughout the 1960s and 1970s - it didn't hurt, either, that she had impeccable comic timing and a versatility which meant she could turn her hand to almost any role.

In 1976, Sheila was cast in the role which, for many viewers, she would be best remembered. Richard Carpenter, the actor turned scriptwriter, had already made his name with the children's series Catweazle (1970 - 1971) when he started work on The Ghosts Of Motley Hall. Unlike his earlier work, Motley was more of an ensemble piece, following the misadventures of a group of spirits tied to a former stately home as they attempt to prevent it's sale or demolition. There were to be five ghosts in all, representing a range of eras; from Arthur English's Elizabethan jester Bodkin, through to Freddie Jones' 19th century General, Sir George Uproar. The cast was completed with Nicholas Le Prevost, as Jones' dim ancestor Sir Francis Uproar, and Sean Flanagan as young stable boy Matt. To round out the show, Carpenter needed a female character - so Steafel was cast as The White Lady, the spirit of a long-forgotten and mysterious woman whose true identity is a mystery to everyone, including herself.

I was a little wary, going into the series: although I have enjoyed quite a lot of the classic children's television I have watched as an adult, it is undeniably a mixed bag. I needn't have worried, because Motley is that rarest of things - a show that truly appeals to the whole family. It's fun and it's silly, and there's just enough excitement to cater to a young audience, but it's also filled with subtle comedy, jokes and references for the older viewer, and moments of surprising pathos. At it's heart, it is held together by five superb performances from the central cast; Freddie Jones is having just the time of his life as the loud, blustering blowhard Sir George, Arthur English is gently good humoured as the fool whose jokes have aged as badly as the Hall, and Le Prevost reveals a gift for subtle physical movements that make his moments of confusion or distraction much funnier. As a young performer up against four seasoned professionals, Flanagan equips himself very well, and makes for one of the more relatable and likeable teen leads in this kind of programme. And, floating between them, Steafel creates one of her most memorable and endearing characters. Particularly nice is the unique relationship she has with each of the others - she is the ghost best suited to calming Sir George from his pompous rages, or curtailing Bodkin's comic performances when the others have had enough - and especially in her relationship with Sir Francis. It isn't outright stated, but the two spirits are clearly close friends: whenever there is a dispute, they side together; whenever the ghosts must search the hall for an intruder or lost item, it is Francis and the White Lady who team up first; if ever one of the others is rude or ungentlemanly in her presence, Francis immediately springs to defend her honour. Most adorably, they are shown more than once to spend time together relaxing without the others - in an early episode they discover a television together, and end up practicing yoga as a duo. It's a lovely, deep, subtle friendship that is never brought centre-stage but plays itself out in the background of the main plots.

Like her earlier comedy work, Motley allowed Steafel to try her hand at new things and to stretch her performing skills - the White Lady gets some wonderful moments, and a real range of storylines. There are moments of sorrow, concerning her lost identity and feelings of isolation; fury, when the business of the other ghosts interferes with her practice of wailing on the stairs; and much comedy, particularly from the discovery late in series one that she is the only spirit that can be seen by Gudgin - the hall's caretaker, played by sitcom stalwart Peter Sallis. This revelation leads to an ongoing element in the series, as the White Lady brings messages to Gudgin and notifies him of any complaints among her fellow ghosts - her insistence that the caretaker is slowly becoming accustomed to her presence, and in fact even becoming fond of her, in the face of his obvious and continuing terror, is one of the sweetest things about her character.

Like the other four key cast members, Sheila appeared in all twenty episodes of The Ghosts Of Motley Hall. Afterwards, she continued to make television appearances, but spread her wings wider - she became a regular voice on radio, and returned to the stage, making memorable appearances in the 1985 RSC production of The Merry Wives of Windsor and as Meg in the 2006 revival of Pinter's The Birthday Party for the Bristol Old Vic. She took numerous one-woman shows to the Edinburgh Festival, and her dry wit and sparkling personality made her a regular booking on all manner of panel shows. She continued working into her later years, making numerous appearances on TV soaps like Holby City and Doctors, whilst also turning her hand to writing. Her first book was an autobiography, When Harry Met Sheila, published in 2010 - in it she recounted her long career, as well as the story of her marriage to Harry H. Corbett. The two had met as young performers and married in 1958, divorcing some six years later. Sheila didn't remarry, but had several relationships and many close friends and colleagues throughout her long and distinguished career. In 2012 she published another book, a collection of short stories based on real encounters she had in her long life. With wry good humour, she titled it Bastards. Sheila Steafel leaves a legacy of laughter and entertainment, and a litany of comic performances that would be the envy of any young actor.

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