He don't take a day off for nobody
She said Revelator you can't shoot me
She said yes and you dare to try
He said the only reason I don't shoot you little woman
My double barrel shotgun, it just won't fire
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Wait a minute. Lucifer was god's favorite angel until his betrayal, when he was banished to hell and became a monster. The Creature was Victor's precious creation until he came to life and was horrifying, and he was banished to the wilderness to become a monster. Hold on a minute-
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sydrichie are really so folie à deux. like the fact that they're the two that affected each other so primally + drove each other to a point of wounding the other primally.
syd was a key catalyst in richie losing purpose and richie in syd quitting.
and unintentional or not, i love how their biggest slights are so symbolic. richie butts in on syd's prep, reinforcing the inability and condescension he'd not only levied against her, but also represented - encapsulating syd's fear of never self-actualizing or being up to standard.
he defiled the sanctity of her craft, soiled the food in imperfection — an imperfection reflected more to her than in him, a revelation twofold in evidencing how imperfection is tied to sydrichie both, and why exactly richie knifed at syd so sharply.
displaying their symbolizing of each other's biggest vulnerabilities, but despite, and even bc of that - their complementary nature.
mentioning pointed projectiles, syd literally jabbed one into richie's back (his bum, but ok its not like anyone's keeping note, definitely not of the nigh pʜɑllic implications of it all, but you didnt hear it from me), representing syd's encapsulation of not only the inescapability of change and newness, but a devaluing of tradition, of safety. she intimidated him.
she was familiarity and history and control immutably subverted, desecrated, the manifestation of a basal betrayal. and in all her superiority, all her unattainability, its no wonder he took the abeyance she made him feel to heart.
allowed her to peel back the layers.
syd may have pierced into his body, but he peeled back her layers too, brought out the animalistic nature of syd's drive, her passion, pride, obsession, in vocalizing the question of her place at The Beef, as opposed to Richie's almost unspoken ineffectual contributions instead.
they tore into each other.
richie into syd's craft, her food, and syd into richie's sentimentalities, his lifeblood.
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i've come to a conclusion. i think the reason the young bucks get so much hate despite being objectively good individuals and creating jobs for hundreds of employees and being best friends with dozens of beloved wrestlers across multiple promotions is this. they've never truly been underdogs (an identity that can get literally anyone over with an audience), because they have never been, at any point in their televised career, alone. they've always been a part of the deadliest factions wherever they are - elite or bullet club - and they have ALWAYS had backup, but most importantly nick and matt have always had each other. that's a unique privilege and security that few can relate to and it seems to make the most lonely among us angry and hateful for this reason
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btw
CHANGING STATES
Lately, something has taken hold / of me—not hunger, not shame. It is like a flower / blooming in the injury. —Richie Hofmann
On the evening Jeremiah decides he’ll drive thirty hours to Maryland, the other half of his mattress is cold and Madonna’s on the radio. In his bedroom, he taps his cigarette on the windowsill, the ash scattering into rainy blue hour, and listens. Time goes by so slowly, she goes, her voice singed through his boombox’s broken speakers. He’s meant to replace it, though he’s meant to do a lot of things: check the mail, make a quiche, buy lightbulbs, call his sister, take up cross-stitch, recycle an olive jar, move his bed to the opposite side of his room. But time goes by so slowly, and Jeremiah would know—he’s twenty-one, yet feels he’s been alive for much, much longer.
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