#too wise to woo peaceably.
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ANDREA DWORKIN, ‘Wuthering Heights’ (1987) from Letters from a War Zone
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Things are happening! (All good)
Just a quick update on the comics- the holiday seemed to slow the printer down but I did finally get proofs on the 12th. I went ahead and approved them that day, so now I’m waiting for my order to be printed and shipped to me, for distribution. Once I start mailing them I’ll also send out the digital copies, and re-open my store for sales of the digital version and the limited supply of extras I ordered. I don’t expect it to be much more than a week more or so, but thank you for your support, I’m excited to get these babies into your hands and eyes 😆
#good omens#good omens fan art#aziraphale#crowley#ineffable husbands#good omens comic#with bated breath#too wise to woo peaceably
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Hey there! Do you still have any plans to finish Too Wise to Peaceably Woo? Of course, I understand if life has gotten in the way of things, and it is entirely your choice whether to continue the story or not, but if it is indeed finished one day, I would love to bind it into a true hardcover book and keep it forever! It is by far the most beautiful fic I've ever read and I never get tired of rereading it. I hope that life is treating you well! <3
Hi there! I'm sorry it's taken me this long to answer such a kind question.
I have every intention of finishing Too Wise! I've had the next chapter a little less than halfway finished for over a year. It's slow going, but I'm really hoping to get that out sooner rather than later.
2023 was a busy, chaotic year for me, in both good and bad ways. Professionally, I went through unemployment (yet again), and that had the additional effect of sapping me of a lot of confidence and creative energy. Thankfully I started a new job in September and I have a feeling this is a place I can be settled in for a while, which is a huge relief!
Personally, I got married! And they aren't kidding when they tell you that weddings (and particularly wedding planning) can bring out some bad things in people that you love, as well as some of the most overwhelming, wonderful outpouring of support and affection from people you never expected. Also, I just really love my husband and the life we've built together, which leaves a little less free time to write (he would boo me for saying so, as he's very supportive of my writing in general, but it's the truth!)
So in a very rambling answer to your question: no, Too Wise is not abandoned, and yes I will be finishing it! If you do end up binding it into a book when it's complete, anon, I would love to see it!
A huge thanks to you and everyone else who has stuck around for this long labor of love of mine--I hope to have a new chapter for y'all soon!
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I’m in deep. Enjoy, doves.
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Steve and Eddie AU where they meet in detention because they're both failing English and missed the hand in deadline for an assignment, cause neither of them had even started reading it.
They're studying Much Ado About Nothing and neither of them have actually read it, they start studying it together and they argue like Beatrice and Benedick constantly and their "getting together" heavily mirrors the play (it's been a long time since I read it so if I were ever actually to write the fic I'd need to do research 😂). I get the idea that they both probably struggle with focus when reading, but reading aloud helps Eddie to him and Steve start actually taking it in turns to essentially "run lines".
The story has an epilogue in which they're finally getting married after spending decades together and Eddie uses the "When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I would live till I were married" line in his vows.
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#much ado about nothing#i love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest#thou and i are too wise to woo peaceably#i will live in thy heart die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes#for which of my bad parts didst though first fall in love with me#but for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me
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much ado about nothing. can we fucking talk about much ado about nothing
#crack cocaine in this fucking play#thou and i art too wise to woo peaceably#head in my fucking hands#ivy speaks
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Loosely based off the brilliant AO3 fanfic “Too Wise to Woo Peaceably” by @feralbutfluffy
(Ack! I had FeralbutFluffy’s name backwards! Edited to fix)
Wine + Someone you’re totally crushing on + avoiding discorporation TWICE in one night= Sexy Results
@toowisetowoopeaceably
#illustrator#good omens#good omens art#aziraphale#crowley#gaimanverse#good omens aziraphale#goodomens crowley#illustration#artist on tumblr#good ineffable omens#ineffable spouses#ineffable husbands#1941 crowley#good omens 1941#good omens au#good omens fanart#good omens fan comic#good omens fandom#frenemies#artists on tumblr#digital fanart
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Started reading @feralbutfluffy's amazing fic "Too Wise to Woo Peaceably" and the 1941 flashback chapter got to me... so. I had to draw these two idiots lying on the floor stupid drunk talking about ballpoint pens.
#good omens#good omens fanart#good omens fic red#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#ineffable idiots#aziracrow#too wise to woo peacably#seriously if you haven't read this yet what are you DOING#it's time for me to go to bed now and read the rest of this goodbyeee#my art
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62. Convergence
Chapter 62 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably
It was patient urgency.
It was impatient restraint.
It was being in the eye of a hurricane; everything moving overwhelmingly fast and not at all.
Aziraphale had been stationed on Earth for thousands of years. He had existed for aeons. He had learned so much in that time, experienced so much in that time. He had lived, and felt, and enjoyed, and in the entirety of that duration, in all of those years, in everything he had felt, there had been nothing - nothing - like this.
And had he ever expected to be here?
No, of course not. An angel and a demon, hereditary enemies, digging a grave for their mandated conflict and burying it deep - six millennia under - beneath the comforting weight of friendship, and longing, and care, and love.
And had he ever dreamed of being here?
Yes. Oh, yes.
In private. In secret. Ever since the kiss in the bookshop he had dreamed of it, and he had folded and folded those dreams until they were hardened squares, folded them tiny and tight so he could tuck them away, wedge them between his memories, and pretend they were never there at all.
And now...
His focus was sharp with greed, his entire being overwhelmed by a hunger that yearned to taste the specifics of the moment, that longed to savour them, swallow them down, keep each one somewhere safe and secret and sacred, keep them guarded in his heart, in the back of his skull, in the marrow of his bones.
The damp hair curling against Crowley’s temple.
His pupils, fully dilated, obsidian surrounded by molten gold.
The pulse visibly drumming against his skin.
The sound of rasping breaths being dragged in and out, rough with want.
Aziraphale was pinned beneath Crowley’s angular frame but he felt as if he might be floating, actually, and his heart was in his throat, and he was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be lodged in his airway making him feel like he might choke, like he might be smothered by the intensity of the love he was feeling, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was stuck fast.
He pulled his hands from Crowley’s to place them tentatively on his waist, and ran them up his sides and over his back. Crowley shook and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into the curve where Aziraphale’s neck met his shoulder, and Aziraphale lightly dragged his fingernails down and back up the former demon’s back, reveling in every twitch and shudder.
He wanted nothing more than to wrap Crowley in a tight embrace. He wanted to pull him in and hug him to his chest, cradle his head against his heartbeat, let him hear it repeated and repeated and repeated - I love you I love you I love you - until it sank into his skin, until the truth of it was a part of him, until it eased every harm he had ever done, soothed every hurt he had ever inflicted, as he stroked his hair and kissed his eyelids and drowned them both in the downpour of everything he had ever held back in his denial.
But he thought that would be too close to a feeling of restraint to be welcome, so he kept his arms loose and his hands soft and his touch gentle.
And he trembled with the effort of it.
A ferocious, rocketing need was burning through his body, his nerve endings sizzling and catching alight where Crowley’s fingers grazed his skin, and the small fragment of his mind that was still able to formulate thoughts was picturing the Rod of Asclepius.
It was picturing the Rod of Asclepius and wondering if - in some other telling, in some other rendering - the staff might perhaps have been a flaming sword.
****************************************
Crowley was… surprised.
He was surprised he wasn't smoking at the edges where his thighs pressed against Aziraphale's.
He was surprised at how easy it felt, this thing that had seemed impossible for so long.
He was surprised he hadn't discorporated from pure pleasure.
He was surprised to be here at all.
He was… surprised.
Aziraphale was touching him. Really, purposefully, intentionally touching him. He was touching his sides, running his nails lightly down his back, and Crowley felt the gentle rake of them like forked lightning down either side of his spine.
And had he ever expected to be here?
No, no. Fuck no, he hadn't expected it but-
And had he ever dreamt of being here?
Yes. No. Not here exactly. For a demon with a banked love that had spanned thousands and thousands of years, his dreams had been embarrassingly chaste. Usually, they were companionable silences; an angel and a demon enjoying a quiet evening together, one having a cup of tea, the other having a glass of wine, nothing to see here, only two peaceful beings and an appalling, enveloping love.
Sometimes they were alternate endings, rewrites of bitter memories or hurtful phrases, doors pried open by his imagination when in reality they'd been slammed shut. Dreams of-
"I don't even like you!"
"You dooooo!"
"....I do”
And dreams of-
“We could… I don't know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.“
“I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”
“... Alright. Take me to yours.”
And dreams of-
“I don't think my side would like that.”
“You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We're on our own side.”
“... I like the sound of that, actually.”
And of course, dreams of-
“We can make a difference!”
“...You can't leave this bookshop.”
“Oh, Crowley… Perhaps I could leave the bookshop, but not you. Never you.”
… And other romantic, frothy nonsense concocted by a tired mind sick to the teeth of pretending; it had used his moments of rest to jettison futile thoughts in order to keep him moving, like sandbags thrown overboard to keep a balloon in the air. They never went anywhere, but they were enough. Sometimes, in his wildest dreams, Aziraphale might make a tiny move towards him, might tilt his body, might do something Crowley would interpret as intent, something that would lead him to think of leaning in for a kiss... And he would wake up instantly to find himself on the ceiling, sweaty, flustered, and too agitated to see the angel again for at least a couple of months.
So being here, now, was not exactly a dream come true.
He’d never been insolent enough to dream of this.
This was much, much more. Much more. He put both hands out for it, a prayer from a fervent believer. He was tongue-tied, words of devotion caught behind his teeth, and he had burned so many times - in sulfur, in hellfire, in the Bentley after speeding through a blazing M25 - but he had never burned like this.
This was a delicious, heavy smoulder. It made him want to melt into Aziraphale completely, made him want to wrap around him like a serpent basking on a rock, basking on his rock, and wasn’t that just the most romantic frothy nonsense? Only this was no dream, this was happening, wasn't it? This was real.
Aziraphale’s movements were careful, and gentle, and steady, and Crowley felt his touch and thought of reach out your hand and put it on my side.
He felt his kiss and thought of stop doubting and believe.
And he did.
****************************************
Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tug him to his feet.
“Feeling better then, are we?” He said, arching an eyebrow at Crowley’s improved stability.
“Much,” said Crowley, stealing a kiss.
“You could barely walk earlier-”
“Angelic kisses must have restorative properties,” said Crowley, grinning, and their feet tangled as they stumbled across the carpet, Crowley unbuttoning Aziraphale's shirt as they went, bending to press dutiful kisses at each point of skin revealed. Aziraphale sighed happily and allowed himself to be gently pushed back onto the bed, into a pile of blankets and pillows and cushions so deep he was almost buried in them. He laughed as he tossed some to the floor, the laugh dying in his throat as Crowley pulled off his top, the black one with the thin yellow stripes, and stood at the foot of the bed looking long and lean and angular.
Of course Crowley had been bare-chested after the rescue from Heaven, but everything had been so awful then, and there had been so much pain, so much hurt, it hadn’t mattered, hadn’t even been a consideration. But now…
He stood there, any lingering pain pushed aside, his torso marked with pale lines and raised carvings, his bruises splashes of indecent colour on an otherwise pale canvas. He looked brave. He looked alive. And, well, Aziraphale thought it was probably a good thing he’d been a demon really because he was spectacular, and it must be sinful to look quite so tempting.
Crowley dropped the black fabric on the floor and Aziraphale must have been doing something with his face because when Crowley looked up and caught his expression he froze, his pupils contracting slightly, his jaw tightening.
“What? Should I not have-?” There was uncertainty in his voice, fear that he had overstepped, a hollow echo of you go too fast for me hanging in the air between them, and his shoulders hunched inward, the hollows at his collarbones becoming more pronounced with the movement. He tilted his chin up in a gesture of defiance even as he looked down at Aziraphale with a chastened expression, an oxymoron made flesh.
Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows and smiled at him, and he tried to pour everything into it - his admiration, his wonder, his desire, his fascination, his joy - and he hoped Crowley could see it, wondered if he could feel it radiating off him in helpless waves.
He certainly must have seen something, because his jaw and shoulders relaxed, and one corner of his mouth kicked up into a fraction of a smile, and he came forward to kneel on the edge of the bed, falling forward over Aziraphale, bracketing his shoulders with his arms. He looked down at him, his hair falling forward on his forehead, his eyes wide and imploring.
“Yeah?” Crowley said, and the word was almost-shy, packed dense with apprehension and hope.
Puppy dog eyes thought Aziraphale, and a hysterical giggle almost bubbled out around the heart in his throat. Not puppy dog eyes at all. Serpent eyes. Beautiful, adoring, hopeful serpent eyes.
He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands in such a gentle hold that he was barely touching him. “You are magnificent.”
Crowley didn’t flinch at the touch, but he flinched at the comment, a reflexive recoil, and his lips parted to form the shape of some denial, some interjection, but Aziraphale shook his head minutely and put two fingers to his mouth, staying the words.
Crowley stared at him, his breathing heavy, and Aziraphale was mesmerised by the rising and falling of his naked chest. Crowley flicked his tongue against Aziraphale's fingers and huffed with laughter when he pulled them away in shock. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and retaliated by pushing up to trace Crowley’s collarbone with his lips. Crowley’s elbows almost gave out. He let out a long, shaky hiss, and then his pupils widened again, and Aziraphale felt positively wicked in the most wonderful way.
“Crowley, you are-”
“Lucky,” interrupted Crowley in a low, earnest voice. “So lucky.”
“Shhh don’t be silly,” he said, rubbing at a faint white mark that underlined how very unlucky he had been. “I’m blessed to know you,” Aziraphale said, and put his lips to a thin white scar that crossed Crowley’s chest.
"Blessed," Crowley repeated, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. He gave him a lopsided smile. “Blessed either way,” he said, prodding his chest with a finger, “...Angel.”
Aziraphale’s smile was crooked as he wondered if this would be the thing that pushed him over the edge into a Fall, if this was what would tip him over into something he had been afraid of for so long that the fear felt like an intrinsic part of him. He wondered if this was what would cleave him from Heaven, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the familiar icy terror, the asphyxiating guilt, the feeling of celestial duty stomping on his wants and needs in steel-toed boots, grinding them to dust.
But it didn’t come. There was something - a whisper of censure, a muffled shriek of outrage - but it was so far away as to be almost inaudible, and then Crowley kissed him again and it vanished completely.
There was no going back. He had tasted, for good or for ill, and it had awakened an appetite that couldn’t be ignored, and Aziraphale kissed Crowley back and thought, I’ll be damned.
And he remembered Crowley’s reply of it's not that bad when you get used to it and he thought that if it involved this, then he could get used to it.
Oh, he could definitely get used to this.
****************************************
Aziraphale was smiling up at him. His jacket was... somewhere (now with three fewer buttons), and his waistcoat had been removed and carefully folded (by one sheepish demon feeling guilty about possibly having ripped the jacket). His shirt was fully unbuttoned, hanging loose against his sides, exposing his torso. Crowley had unwrapped him like one of those chocolates Aziraphale liked so much, and now he was lying beneath him panting happily, looking as rumpled as he'd ever seen him, and he loved him, so much, so much, and he thought that if he could, he would reach into his chest and rip out his heart, press it into his hands, close his fingers over it, and he wouldn't feel a thing because after all hadn't it always been there?
And he sat up on his knees, curling two fingers of one hand into one of Aziraphale's belt loops as he used his other hand to drag black-tipped nails down Aziraphale's stomach, eyes creasing in happy satisfaction at the little sounds it elicited. He ran a fingertip along the skin just above his waistband and watched, fascinated, as the angel's skin leaped at his touch.
Aziraphale swallowed, and whimpered, and then said his name, but - unfortunately - it wasn't a mindless utterance spoken in pleasure, it was a question.
Crowley tilted his head and met his gaze.
"Do you-," the angel licked his lips and tried again. "Do you... Do you have an awful lot of experience with this sort of thing?"
Crowley stared at him.
"What?"
"How many times have you...?"
Crowley blushed. Properly blushed. "Er...."
"I just want to know how similar this is to temptations you might have done in the past-"
"You think I do this with-"? Crowley is so indignant he almost chokes. "A kiss, maybe, at most, and that's only if absolutely necessary!"
Aziraphale was the one staring now. "So you've never...?"
"No!" A moment of silence passed while he turned the question over in his head and a thought occurred to him. "Have you?"
"No! No of course not!" Aziraphale says hurriedly, and the quick stab of jealousy that had pierced Crowley's chest immediately disappeared.
"Oh. Right. Good. I mean, okay."
Although Aziraphale is rather pink, and he has been known to lie...
"Are you sure?" Crowley can't help it, he just blurts it out, this needy question, this desperate request for reassurance, for yes I'm sure, and yes you're the only one.
"Quite sure," Aziraphale frowns at him, but his cheeks are magenta.
"You're blushing, angel," he points out.
"Well, I may not have done it before, but I've read things..."
"... Of course you have," said Crowley dryly.
"... So I'm certainly familiar with the theory."
Crowley's eyebrows rose. "Right. The theory."
He nodded at Aziraphale, enchanted as usual, besotted like always. Here he was lying beneath him, struggling to draw breath, flushed with pleasure, and the blessed angel was trying to talk to him about theory.
"I can tell you about it," breathed Aziraphale, "I can tell you about- about- about erogenous zones."
Crowley groaned and buried his face in Aziraphale's neck.
"I could tell you about- about-" Aziraphale stuttered as Crowley nipped at his shoulder with teeth that were slightly sharper than they ought to have been. "... th-th-the different-"
"If you say erogenous zones again, I swear..." growled Crowley, pinching one of his nipples, making Aziraphale arch off the bed with an embarrassingly loud cry. "What do you take me for?"
As charming as he found Aziraphale's love of learning, Crowley didn't think this was the time to discuss theory. All he wanted to do was trust his intuition and keep experimenting and exploring until he discovered how to make Aziraphale see stars.
He would figure it out as he went. He was sure he would.
He always did.
****************************************
In the ensuing hours, Aziraphale and Crowley slowly explored an aspect of humanity they had long ignored.
They made an effort to indulge in human pleasures they had been denying themselves, and after that there were no more miracles.
There was no snapping of fingers, no shortcut taken, no instant gratification. They had waited for so long, wondered for so long. Reverent, trembling fingers explored creases and dips, curves and hollows, millimetre by millimetre.
There was an urgency that shook them both, powerful and electric, and it was the feeling of a door they’d been pushing against forever, shoulder to shoulder, suddenly opening so that they were tumbling through it and falling into each other.
They harnessed it. They channeled it into the gentle pressure of fingertips digging into sensitive skin, and unhurried, leisurely kisses, and deliberate, tender touch, and skin being revealed by degrees, and adoring hands, and worshipping mouths, and achingly slow strokes.
Words were exhaled by one to be inhaled by the other, and their names fell from their lips like prayers, and they were together, and they were inhabiting each others' hearts, and they were inhabiting each others' bodies. Angel, demon...
And neither of them exploded.
And both of them saw stars.
#good omens#ineffable idiots#ineffable#crowley and aziraphale#aziraphale x crowley#aziracrow#good omens fanfic#good omens fanfiction#ineffable divorce#crowley#good omens fic#good omens fic request#anthony j crowley#gomens fic#ineffable partners#ineffable husbands#ineffable spouses#ineffable husbands fic#azcrow#azicrow#crowley x aziraphale#aziraphale#go2 fanfic#good omens longfic#good omens fix it#gomens fanfiction
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No I'm not "on the aromantic spectrum" I'm just too wise to woo peaceably
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Hi, I’m not here to ask for anything but I’d like to recommend a fic called ‘Too wise to woo peacefully’ by Ventriloki (Feral_but_Fluffy). It’s set just after the events of season 2 and it’s healing my soul so I thought other people should know about it too. There is some violence so check the tags.
Also thanks so much to this blog, ur so helpful and I wish every fandom could have this!!!
Thank you for this rec, and for your kind words about our endeavours here. 😚
Too Wise to Woo Peaceably by Ventriloki (Feral_but_Fluffy) [NR, 54k words, WIP]
The season 2 finale was gutting so I'm taking these two ineffable idiots and patching things up between them. Slowly. With angst. And Muriel. And ultimately, a happy ending.
This kicks off from the end of season 2. First fanfic so hopefully someone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
-Mod AB
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Their obsession, their prime passion, is also “human” although it is utterly destructive of the values signified by that word: the passion to lose the self in some “otherness”, whether in complete identification with another person (an identification for which “mating” is a surrogate only of a temporary and lapsing kind), or by absorption into “nature”—but it is a passion that is tabooed for the socialized adult, disguised, held in check by the complex cutlutral economies, safely stabled in the unconscious, at best put to work in that darkness to turn the mill of other objectives. This regressive passion is seen in uncompromised purity in Catherine and Heathcliff, and it opens the prospect of disintegration—disintegration into the unconsciousness of childhood and the molecular fluidity of death—in a word, into anonymous natural energy.
DOROTHY VAN GHENT, ‘On Wuthering Heights’ from The English Novel: Form and Fiction
#civilised autobiography.#wuthering heights#as they kiss consume.#too wise to woo peaceably.#i Need to reread spielrein immediately#txt.
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One last reminder! I’m going to sleep soon and when I wake up I’m going to close the pre-orders for comics. If you want a print copy of With Bated Breath or Too Wise to Woo Peaceably this is your last chance to be sure you can get one. ❤️⌛️
https://mielpetiteart.gumroad.com/
#good omens#good omens fan art#aziraphale#crowley#ineffable husbands#good omens comic#with bated breath#too wise to woo peaceably
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Too Wise to Peaceably Woo Chapter 32
“Ah, Torfrith,” Ordlac cries above the din, grinning widely, “I knew you would come around to the princess’s idea!"
That sets off an even louder round of outbursts until a red-faced Torfrith and a smug Ordlac explain: before her departure, sweet, generous Princess Lothiriel had spoken to them--informally, of course, never overstepping her bounds as a diplomatic guest, Prince Imrahil had raised at least one conscientious, practical child--about such a trade arrangement. A line of communication and trade between Rohan, the Dunlendings, Gondor, and Umbar--even far away Dale, though that was an addition from Ordlac himself--so that each represented country could turn to the others for wanted or needed resources not found within their own borders. Terms would have to be agreed upon by representatives from all involved, of course, but should such a solution come to pass, imagine the benefits!
Bema, help him. Eomer had not thought it possible to be more smitten with her, and yet here he stands, bowled over by her kindness, her cleverness. Again.
“You had better marry her quickly, sire,” Eothred says, smirking even as Eomer turns a fierce look on him, “or half the council might petition for her hand themselves if only to have unlimited access to that mind of hers, let alone everything else--”
“It is a queen who would suggest such a thing in the first place,” interrupts Erkenbrand, correctly reading Eomer’s murderous expression at the mention of Lothiriel’s everything else , “and a queen I suspect she will be, ere long.”
If only Eomer had some way of knowing when Imrahil and Lady Dejah will read his letter!
But that is a worry for a later time, once he has marshaled his eored and apologized for the hundredth time to Eowyn, for giving her cause to worry for him this close to her wedding.
Yes, after that, he can contemplate the idea of Lothiriel Queen with something approaching cautious optimism. He will need something hopeful to think about during his long ride to the West Mark.
Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net
#*taps mic* this thing still on?#sorry this has taken literally 2 years but I live y'all!!!!#too wise to peaceably woo#LOTR fic#eomer x lothiriel#eothiriel#my writing
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The 1941 flashback in @feralbutfluffy ‘s fic has climbed inside my brain and will never leave. Such a huge rec!
There’s also a part 2/ the “after” to this “before” that’s in the sketch stages.
#my art#holy shit I think this is done#and I don’t hate it??#good omens#fanart#aziraphale#crowley#anthony j crowley#1941#procreate#ineffable husbands
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Just finished watching “Much Ado About Nothing” (2011, Globe Theatre) and I knew it was objectively an excellent play, but I was not prepared to love it so much. The comedy is conveyed so well, both with body language and dialogue, and some of the lines are still running through my brain so I’m not forgetting them any time soon (I do love nothing in the world so well as you, is not that strange?/ Peace! I will stop your mouth/ I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest/ Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably / I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes. And moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s).
Obviously, the only logical next step is to watch the David Tennant and Catherine Tate one (I have been waiting for this!).
#much ado about nothing#I do love nothing in the world as much as you#david tennant#catherine tate#seriously that play had forever changed me#I'm realising how much I like funny plays
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