ext_36659 (
tatkreiswok.livejournal.com) wrote in
crack_van2006-06-22 01:23 am
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Entry tags:
Grey Areas by Wax Jism (NC-17)
Point One: Blair Sandburg is a magnet for trouble. That’s both canon and fanon. If there’s a psycho villain out there, Blair’s the one to whom he’ll gravitate.
Point Two: Blair Sandburg is an obfuscator extraordinaire. He can verbally tap dance his way out of any situation, or persuade anyone of just about anything.
Point Three: Wax Jism can take these two canon and fanon conventions and play with them like a tiger does with a piece of bloody sirloin.
Fandom: THE SENTINEL
Pairing: Jim/Blair, slight Blair/OMC (which precipitates the Jim/Blair)
Author on LJ:
wax_jism
Author Website: Wax Jism, go to “Pickled Slash” and click on “stories.”
Why this must be read:
Blair gets the “neo-hippie witchdoctor punk” treatment most of the time in fic. He’s New Age. He’s sensitive. He’s Mr. “Can’t-we-all-just-get-along?” It's often forgotten in fic that he’s also the guy who knocked over a vending machine onto a militia member, taunted a serial killer while chained up, and defused a bomb on a rig when he could have just saved himself.
Knowing all of that, Wax Jism asks -- and answers -- the question: just what is Blair Sandburg capable of?
"Man, you don't really want to kill me," Sandburg tried. Becker rediscovered both his balance and his smug grin.
"Sure I do. Sure I do." He raised the gun, and Simon saw Sandburg turn a whiter shade of pale, but refuse to break eye-contact or back down an inch. And then, unexpectedly, there was a shift in his stance, a subtle rearrangement of muscle and bone, and the kid was no longer steeling himself for the inevitable. Gone was the stoic acceptance of imminent death. It had been replaced with ... with something very different - promise? The barest traces of a smile flitted across his mobile, open face, the stiff posture relaxed into the loose-limbed, cocky slouch of the completely at ease. Simon looked, fascinated, for a crack in the perfect act, but found none. Uncanny - and inexplicable. What the hell was the kid up to?
"No, you don't," Sandburg said, and the voice was different as well. There was no defiance there, only muted, suggestive confidence. The smile grew just a fraction, and now Simon could swear he saw an almost seductive gleam in the kid's eyes.
Grey Areas
Point Two: Blair Sandburg is an obfuscator extraordinaire. He can verbally tap dance his way out of any situation, or persuade anyone of just about anything.
Point Three: Wax Jism can take these two canon and fanon conventions and play with them like a tiger does with a piece of bloody sirloin.
Fandom: THE SENTINEL
Pairing: Jim/Blair, slight Blair/OMC (which precipitates the Jim/Blair)
Author on LJ:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Author Website: Wax Jism, go to “Pickled Slash” and click on “stories.”
Why this must be read:
Blair gets the “neo-hippie witchdoctor punk” treatment most of the time in fic. He’s New Age. He’s sensitive. He’s Mr. “Can’t-we-all-just-get-along?” It's often forgotten in fic that he’s also the guy who knocked over a vending machine onto a militia member, taunted a serial killer while chained up, and defused a bomb on a rig when he could have just saved himself.
Knowing all of that, Wax Jism asks -- and answers -- the question: just what is Blair Sandburg capable of?
"Man, you don't really want to kill me," Sandburg tried. Becker rediscovered both his balance and his smug grin.
"Sure I do. Sure I do." He raised the gun, and Simon saw Sandburg turn a whiter shade of pale, but refuse to break eye-contact or back down an inch. And then, unexpectedly, there was a shift in his stance, a subtle rearrangement of muscle and bone, and the kid was no longer steeling himself for the inevitable. Gone was the stoic acceptance of imminent death. It had been replaced with ... with something very different - promise? The barest traces of a smile flitted across his mobile, open face, the stiff posture relaxed into the loose-limbed, cocky slouch of the completely at ease. Simon looked, fascinated, for a crack in the perfect act, but found none. Uncanny - and inexplicable. What the hell was the kid up to?
"No, you don't," Sandburg said, and the voice was different as well. There was no defiance there, only muted, suggestive confidence. The smile grew just a fraction, and now Simon could swear he saw an almost seductive gleam in the kid's eyes.
Grey Areas
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