nat. lover. dreamer. doer.

let's do something great together.

tracked tag: l00kingup

Hmmm...I'm going to think of more headcanons to send you, but what's your own personal favourite gglam one? :) also you're a fantastic writer!

a personal headcanon? oof, here goes.

so, i’m a huge huge fan of chauncey d’ysquith, and so i want him to somehow get some d’ysquith family recognition. in my head, his son ends up with monty and phoebe’s daughter, but they think for a while that the other is trying to kill them. so edith and oliver (yes they have names #dealwithit) try to outwit each other for a while until realizing that it’s all one huge misconception and they end up together and chauncey can die happy after living vicariously through his son.

also thanks! :D

One day while Monty is out, he meets a man in a pub. They strike up a conversation, which eventually turns to their spouses. This other man is bragging about how well behaved, ad loyal, and attentive his wife is. It is only when the man slips and says his wife's name does he realize he's been listening to Lionel Holland go on for 15 minutes about how "loyal" and "obedient" Sibella is to him. He teases Sibella relentlessly the next time they meet.

omg i love this

Monty hadn’t realized he was staring into the distance until the hulking, mustachioed man beside him elbowed him in the ribs.
“Oy, chap, don’t want you falling off your stool!” the man remarked in a too-loud voice, a vibrant red flush in his face.
“Oh, th-thank you.” Monty held in a small burp and began fiddling with his wedding ring in an attempt to stay awake. With Phoebe out visiting with distant D’Ysquiths and Sibella “otherwise occupied,” Monty had no other entertainment than his second-favorite pub. He had ordered two beers to begin with and it had gone downhill from there.
The man pointed to Monty’s ring with tipsy interest. “Noticed your trinket, sport. You’re married, I assume?”
Monty managed a nod.
“I as well.” He sighed in delight. “An angel, she is. The picture of the perfect spouse.”
“How so?”
“She’s more loyal than an Englishman on the battlefield. And quiet as a mouse, to boot.”
“That’s it?” Monty was unimpressed, and began to find interest in the wood grain of the bar.
“Oh, of course not!” The man guffawed. “She’s everything a man could want! Pretty as a picture, meek and mild, hangs on my every word, she does! And would never dream of disobeying me!”
“Hmm.” Monty thought fondly of Phoebe, of Sibella, neither of whom fit this man’s mold. He supposed his values were rather distant from the standards held by the rest of high society, if this fellow could be called such.
“She’s quite the woman, my wife. As if I, Lionel Holland, could settle for less!” He slapped his knee in mirth.
Lionel Holland?
He couldn’t wait to tell Sibella.

Reblogged from wadsworth-dysquith  10 notes

Pentonville Prison, nineteenth of October, nineteen hundred and nine. This is the memoir and perhaps final confession of Lord Navarro, ninth earl of Highhurst. It is a fact of life that no one ever really tells the truth about themselves, but in the event of my execution, while I still have time, I have decided to leave behind a purely factual record of events. I suppose one could call it “A Gentleman’s Guide To Murder”. Or, should I say, “Love and Murder”? By Montague D’Ysquith-Navarro, A Gentleman’s Guide To Love And Murder. (via khaytra)