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Archive for the ‘Hurt/Comfort’ Category

milo-ventimiglia-no-shirtSo, I fell off the face of the planet. Can’t promise not to do it again. I’m still struggling with this stuff, and still can’t face going out to try and actually interact with it. It’s not even the thing itself that worries me at this point, it’s the thought of The Scene. I actually now feel like I want to move towards this, to explore, but I just have no clue how to do it.

So instead, I’ll just keep trawling the mainstream media in the safety of my own home, getting far too excited about everything which looks even a little bit like something which might be my thing.

Anyway, I’ve been meaning to post about Heroes for a while. Flawed as it is, here’s a lot to like in it, and I heartily approve of their equal opportunity approach to lechery. Season 2 was pretty much the season of half-naked Milo Ventimiglia, and Season 3 the season of half-naked Zachary Quinto. Thanks, Heroes producers.

In fact, though, Ventimiglia’s character, Peter, didn’t do for me at all in season 1. I might have loved him when I was 12, but as an adult, he was just a bit twee for my taste.

But then season 2 opened…

It’s the contrast as much as anything, so I’ll give you the back story. Peter was a sweet, soft, decent, floppy-haired pretty boy in a family of manipulative political near-mobsters. He was caring, gentle, emotional and perhaps a little fragile, and worked as a palliative care nurse. Then he turned out to have the ability to absorb other people’s superhero powers by empathising with them, making him potentially the most powerful ‘hero’ of the lot. He tried so hard to use his powers for good, but eventually he picked up some radioactive power that he couldn’t control at all, and at the end of season 1 his brother had to fly (like Superman, not like aeroplane) him out of New York in the nick of time to stop him accidentally blowing up the whole city.

So season 2 opens four months later, and Peter’s still missing. Noone really knows what happened when he, um, exploded. Through the whole first episode everyone’s wondering what happened to him. And then, far away, in Cork, some petty criminals with incredibly unconvincing Irish accents (really, rarely have I heard worse) go to a dockyard looking for some stolen merchandise, and open the crate to find not the ipods they were after, but a very confused, shirtless Peter, handcuffed to the wall. All cropped hair, dirt, and muscles. And with no idea who he is or how he got there.

I think my friends were a little confused by how excited I was about it. But I’m sure you can see it. Gentle Peter, suddenly turning up all dirty and muscular and bewildered, like someone picked up that soft, delicate creature, shaved his head, and brutalised him for four months. And then chained him up in a crate, and left him there. What did they have him doing all that time? Was he digging holes? Being forced to use his powers for evil? On a chain gang? Being experimented on? So many fun places the mind goes to.

And then, the not-Irish guys tie him to a chair and work him over. Still half-naked, so you can see all the muscles and sinews stretching. Splendid.

Video of Peter all dirty and bewildered and being beaten up in Cork (YouTube continues to be too smart for me, so you’ll have to watch it on Vimeo instead.)

By the way, it turns out that where he’s been is indeed a ‘research’ facility, where he’s spent four months being the plaything of the boss’s sadistic, lightning-wielding daughter. Awesome. And at first he’s all, ‘These people know best, I should be locked up because I’m a danger to myself and others,’ all docile and quietly taking the pills, but later (persuaded by the ‘English’ guy next door – another truly atrocious accent) he starts plotting to escape, and then he starts smooching up to her and letting her zap him, to distract her from the fact that he’s stopped taking the drugs. Which of course pleases my ‘men offering up their body when out of other options’ thing no end. And wow, I wish I could shoot electricity from my lips. How much fun?

Video of Peter being toyed with by sadistic daddy’s girl in a research facility

The following season, the lightning-wielding sadist, Elle, ends up in a facility herself, where she’s visited by series big bad, serial killer Sylar (Quinto), who killed her father to take his powers. He’s got a sudden case of the warm and fuzzies, having had a taste of unconditional love from his long lost (not really, but he thought so) ‘real’ mother. And so now his long lost (not really, but he thought so) ‘real’ father thinks he can change his ways, and learn empathy to take people’s powers without killing them, by learning empathy.

So Sylar lets Elle take her revenge on him. Which she does by lightninging him up (yes, I said lightninging) to the point where she’s literally flaying the flesh from his bones. I mean, sure, he regenerates, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt (hello, Wolverine, my old friend). And he just keeps getting up and letting her hurt him more, taking it all for her. And really, they could hardly have found a better body to rip the clothes off with lightning.

Video of lightning vengeance

And then, the next season, the government decided everyone with powers should be rounded up and killed/locked up/experimented on -so all the heroes had to go on the run. I love men on the run. The desperation, the fear, the loneliness, the physical hardship, the sheer unrelentingness of it. Yum yum yum.

So, yeah, a lot to love.

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You know, h/c is such a popular genre of fanfic (and not just the slashy variety) that perhaps we can conclude that mild sadism is actually very common in women. H/c is the socially acceptable face of sadism: the variety where we’re not the ones doing the hurting. Is that social rule the only thing standing between society’s ideas of ‘normal’ and ‘sadistic’?

Imagine we could for a moment wave away that deeply ingrained instinct that we (us, personally) shouldn’t hurt people. All those teenage girls who suddenly developed mad crushes on Neville Longbottom when he fought on through injury during Deathly Hallows (spawning a million h/c fanfics – and let’s not forget the emotional pain of his tortured parents); all those middle-aged women reading romance novels where the hero fights his way through his enemies to arrive bruised and bleeding at his true love’s door; all those who loathe corporal punishment but still thrill to remember that Sharpe is a flogged man; would they all suddenly discover themselves to be fully-fledged sadists? Is there a difference, and if so, is it one of quality or of degree? Does it matter whether we’re the ones wielding the whip? Does it matter why he’s being hurt? And if so, how much does it matter?

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As YouTube stymied my naked-bloody-Wolverine plans (we’ll see if Yahoo video are less fussy), today I present for your delectation pretty men getting it on in a puddle.

The plot, if you care, is that pretty man A is an assassin and was hired to grab pretty man B and bring him back to be killed. But when he got him back to his boss, A discovered that B wasn’t a wrong’un, but was being killed because he had helped the police. A promptly had a fit of conscience, and helped B escape instead, getting shot in the process. The two went into hiding, and B has been nursing A back to health (that’s right, Ranat, hurt and healing), despite A’s attempts to drive him away. Many longing glances have been cast surreptitiously by both parties. I’ve included a few at the start for mood. Or something.

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Beyond the Hills

I just had to pause to pimp up this blog. Ranat seems to be wrestling with similar stuff to me, only has reached the point of actually physically experimenting with it.

Plus, pretty pictures.

Ranat, I think I love you.

And oh! The hurting and the healing. Yes! As a child I always loved those movies and shows where the guy is flinching as the girl tends his wounds because it all hurts, but it’s also so tender. I want a big tough guy, and I want to make him cry. And then I want to kiss away the tears. And I thought perhaps then the kink police would come along and take away my dom card for that (except of course I don’t have a card because I’m only a baby wannabe dom), but clearly I’m not the only one who feels that way. And besides, screw the kink police. Stupid bastards. I’m not going to be judged by anyone who voluntarily wears rubber. And besides, isn’t the point of this stuff that we don’t judge our responses? (Yes, including the rubber. I apologise, rubber fans.) And besides, I’ve talked before about the power of interspersing cruelty with kindness.

OK, I’m waffling. I’m going to go off and look for that Wolverine clip instead.

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