Eddie squeaked at first, trying to keep himself standing, but Richie’s arms kept him keeping his footing and soon he was landing into his lap with a giggling laugh. “Let—let me go, Richie,” Though his fighting hands at trying to break free don’t really suggest he actually wants to be let go. It’s all for show and it’s always been for show since Richie first took him beneath his arm and gave him a nookie. 

     He pulls back to glance up, studying Richie’s face. Not for the first time he wonders what it’d be like to kiss him, and he has to brush the thought away before it starts to hurt. Instead his face scrunches up in mock annoyance, “Plus, maybe I’ll finally get a chance to sleep without listening to your fucking chainsaw snores the whole night.” Something to deflect his feelings, the both know he doesn’t mind the snoring, that it’s the silence of his own room that bothers him more than anything else. 

@oncetornasunder​

 I don’t make art :( you must’ve sent this to the wrong person. I’m sorry! 

“ For God’s sake! Stop it! ”

“you’re a spellman, and spellman’s look after one another. as long as you’re in this household, we will do what we can to protect you, dear cousin.” granted he hasn’t known the young witch for that long. however, she is still family. he knows how narrow-minded the coven can be when it comes to their laws and their values. holding onto time-old traditions because it is all they know. and while the warlock does value their religion and beliefs, he is far more open-minded about the ever-changing world around them. he places a gentle hand on top of the other’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “that much i can promise you--whatever else may happen. well, we will do our utmost best, alright?” he offers a grin.

“Where are we?” he asked, voice barely making it above a whisper. He felt drunk, and extremely tired. It didn’t make for a good combination, but it was probably the pain killers.

Stumbling back to the Town House had been loud and ridiculous, and maybe ten minutes after everyone had settled into their rooms (Ben and Bev were now in one), Eddie was knocking on Richie’s door. He was thirty-nine, months away from forty, and here he was, like a teenager, having swiped a bottle from the downstairs bar after coming back from a lone walk.