I’m Noticing Something Absolutely Fascinating About The Early Part Of Spock And Kirk’s Relationship.

I think the most endearing thing about Jean is that he just cares. So fucking much. Not to say that Neil doesn't but Neil had to learn to care and I think it's widely accepted that he cares about a select few people and cares about them fiercely; to the point of kill or be killed.

Jean though? He cares for almost everyone regardless of what they have done to him. He cared for Zane, the man who betrayed him in the most horrifying way for a number, for something Jean had no control over. He cared enough to save his life. He cared for Lucas who brought Jean's abuser right to his gate where he had believed himself to be safe. Not once did he lash out at him because he understood that his actions came from a desperation to know his brother again, the ache of having him near again but not having him at all. He cared for Cody, someone he doesn't even really know; cared enough to ensure they were safe and not being forced into something.

After being beaten down every day, holding on to life out of sheer desperation and perhaps a promise made to a once? friend, Jean still hasn't had his ability to care beaten out of him and it's such a beautiful miracle. He's a little like Andrew in this I think, in that he pretends so desperately to not care under the guise of barbed words and cold shoulders because that's a weakness, a chink in his already dented armour that the monsters can and will exploit with glee. He knows that yet he can't choke that tenderness out of himself.

I do think that Coryo fell in love with Lucy Gray, but i also fully believe that such love would never have been possible had he not be given the near-total control over her fate in the games, and by extension, her fate in the Capitol.

Listen. Here is a boy who has nothing but his last name, posing around pretending like he owned everything while scrambling for a scrap of something. Here is a boy who had to share everything he had ever owned, who was never fully in control of anything except for his words.  Here is a boy, who, due to the lie he's been controlling, can never let anyone in -- not even his pseudo-older sister and not even his most affectionate classmate -- for it poses the risk of being perceived, and potentially punished for his lack of ownership.

And then suddenly this boy -- who's so desperate to own something -- is granted the ownership of another person  a full-pass to control everything about her; her words, her image, her story. And sure, she wasn't his first pick, but the thought of having something gave him a sense of relief and dignity his lies could never give him, and that dignity, that slight restoration of confidence, gave way for that first crack on his chest after being guarded for so long.

And then the person he "owned" showed up, and she was the most interesting person of the pick. She gave the people a show and she made a song on top of it, turning his confidence to pride. I truly believe that had he been assigned to another person, he would not have showed up to the train station, simply due the fact that they were not interesting enough to warrant his  visit -- or his grandma'am's roses. Him showing up to the train wasn't just done in goodwill; it was also a stake of ownership -- it was him, acknowledging to himself that this was something worth owning, and like other things worth owning, it could be taken away from him if he lets his guard slips.

And that becomes the initial foundation to their interaction; the talking, the bringing up food... sure, Lucy Gray was interesting, but he was detached of her charm in those first meeting, seeing her in the lens of how others might measure her and her worth. his main focus was "taking care of her"; making sure his precious thing survived, making sure his ownership of her -- and thus his pride -- will not dissipate.

And then the tributes started plotting to kill him, only to be stopped by Lucy Gray. Sure, for her, he might seem as if he was doing something a kind -- even if useless -- meeting her in this run-down train station, and that perhaps was part of the reason why she defended him, and part of the reason why she stood by him in that Zoo cage. But for Coryo, his visit was calculated, his rose a chip of bargain, his zoo visit a byproduct of refusing to be caught slipping. For him, Lucy Gray stepping up for him was uncalled for, a surprising kindness.

He tried to rationalize it best as he could, but he was stumped. And I think this was when he started to really listen to Lucy Gray, to stop being detached from her. He was his father's son, and he believed in knowing the things he owned in order to properly maintain it. And it was this desire to know that melted his walls, that made him vulnerable, because to understand her fully he opened himself up to be understood, which had never happened before.

I think Coryo did love Lucy Gray, however tainted and terrible that love was. I think it was the first time of him making the effort to perceive someone and be reciprocated back -- fully, thoroughly, and wholeheartedly. It helped (or didn't help?) That Lucy Gray was a poet, that she fed him with pretty words; the only things that -- up until she showed up -- he'd ever truly owned for himself. For him, that connection -- added over the fact that he had "owned her", as everyone else kept saying -- must have felt like a drug. It must have felt intoxicating, to own something so lovely, something that adored him. It must have been a new, exhilarating feeling for Coryo, who never owned anything but worthless scraps and his pretty, pretty words. And yes, that was such a terrible way to put it, but love is many things; it can be terrible too.

I think Coryo loved Lucy Gray, and had they stayed in Capitol, he would have been able to continue to "love her". Billy Taupe was just some name, the Covey some story. What for Lucy Gray was history, was only pretty words for him. For all he chose to believe in, they could be the same pretty words he said; mostly lie, some exaggeration. In the Capitol, she is his, fully. And Coryo can love only what he owns.

But they didn't stay at Capitol, they moved to twelve. Suddenly, all her pretty words were honest and real, something he couldn't ignore, much less control. Suddenly, there was the Covey, and Billy Taupe, and Mayor Lipp, and even if her eyes were for him only he still had to share the rest of her -- her voice, her charm, her poise -- with other people. Twelve highlighted that he'd never truly owned her, we all know that. But here's another thing that twelve highlighted; it was him who chose to be the soldier in a rundown district, him who chose to follow her. If there was any ownership to be had here, it was her that owned him.

And Coryo? He doesn't share, yes, but worse than anything, he despises being owned.

This is where TBOSAS shone its brilliance; president Snow is the way he was not because he is an unfeeling sadist the was Volumnia Gaul is. He was the way he was because of love. Because of the vulnerability that comes with that love, and the refusal to surrender to it. President Snow would not be as ruthless and despicable had he been desensitized, and it was his feelings, his capability to love, that led him to employ some of the most gruesome tactics to win the games.

Here's the heartbreaking thing; once upon a time, Coryo loves Lucy Gray, and that love was true. Here's another heartbreaking thing; that love was built on poison, and its toxic vines ruined him so completely, decimated him so thoroughly, he was reborn anew evil; president Snow would not have happened without Lucy Gray, without Coryo's time in Twelve.

President Snow said, "it's the thing we love most that destroys us," and he said this as a warning to Katniss, yes, but he also said it to Coryo's shadow, standing behind her, who was looking at the back of the Girl on Fire, thinking the wavy black hair and the whispered songs were that of someone else's.

That moment when you ponder loneliness and your first impulse is to give your first officer a yearning stare, making him extremely flustered.

Same vibes

it's always so fascinating and heartbreaking when a character in a story is simultaneously idolized and abused. a chosen prophet destined for martyrdom. a child prodigy forced to grow up too fast. a powerful warrior raised as nothing but a weapon. there's just something so uniquely messed up about singing someone's praises whilst destroying them.

big fan of airing order putting these right next to each other. i think that sad little drone is in itself a tragic romance more compelling than a lot of the plots intended to be read as such in this series

It's so interesting how Kirk's idea of paradise is so different from most other people's idea of paradise. And that's partly because he's not under the influence of the spores, but Spock indicating "belonging" being a true Eden is extremely in character for him, so I don't think it's just that.

So for Kirk, it is unthinkable to stagnate - to not take life by the fists and refuse to let go until he gets everything out of it that he can. And it's a characterization that continues all through the movies - when he's promoted to admiral and begins stagnating, that's the closest to hell that he's ever been. It makes him feel old, worn out, like he's got one foot in the grave.

To Kirk, the idea of paradise isn't about mere contentment; for him it's about constantly reaching out for something more, because if you do that you will find paradise in all of the different things you can find

McCoy: Well, that's the second time man's been thrown out of paradise.

Kirk: No, no, Bones. This time we walked out on our own. Maybe we weren't meant for paradise. Maybe we were meant to fight our way through. Struggle, claw our way up, scratch for every inch of the way. Maybe we can't stroll to the music of the lute. We must march to the sound of drums.

Spock: Poetry, Captain. Non-regulation.

Kirk: We haven't heard much from you about Omicron Ceti Three, Mister Spock.

Spock: I have little to say about it, Captain, except that for the first time in my life I was happy.

---

This might legitimately thee most beautiful ending of any episode of Star Trek ever made. The dialogue, as per usual from Dorothy Fontana, is exquisitely written, and it's performed perfectly by all three.

But I find it especially interesting that Ralph Seninsky chose to cut to Spock while Kirk is talking about how "we must march to the sound of drums", because while it's a philosophy that Kirk wholeheartedly agrees with, this episode seems to show that it's one that Spock has taken onto himself - his self-made purgatory. To Kirk, marching to the sound of drums is the only way to find true happiness. To Spock, marching to the sound of drums is the life that he has chosen, and for it he must sacrifice happiness.

But I also find it additionally interesting, as Spock plays a Vulcan harp/lyre/lute. It's almost as if Kirk's poetical philosophizing is speaking directly to various parts of who Spock is as a person. Perhaps he cannot stroll to the music of the lute, but that does not mean he cannot embrace that music all while marching to the beat of the drum.

Like I said earlier, I feel like Spock genuinely did grow after this episode because he does seem to embrace an appreciation for beauty after this more than he had before, and this is the final moment showing that. In his own way, Kirk is telling Spock that he does not have to give up the former in order to achieve the latter. And in his own way, in response, Spock gently denies that.

And it's heartbreaking, and beautiful, and amazing in every way

Okay yes we know that Andrew sprinted, dashed, HURTLED even, when he saw Neil on his knees even after blocking 150 + attempts on his goal because he loves that man. But also-

It had been Andrew’s idea to put Neil against Riko in the first place.

For Andrew it was reach Riko or die. (Die knowing that his contributing to exy ended Neil’s life.)

can Hozier release the new album plz. it would fix me