Feygan's Drowning Pool

Dude, if you follow my writing on AO3 or TTH, I'm about to start spamming the hell out of you with updates. Sorry?

Stories I'm working on:
-Little Bit Strange, But Still Special [BtVS/Anita Blake] Spike/Xander
-Journey to Another Hell IV [BtVS/Anita Blake] Xander/Jean-Claude/Asher
-Off to See the Wizard [BtVS/Anita Blake] Oz/Jason

I'm going to try for updates every day so I can get these stories all wrapped up and finished.

Title: Off to See the Wizard
Author: Feygan
Fandom: BtVS/Anita Blake

Oz didn't see any reason to lie. Practically everyone in the room would be able to smell it on him. "Yes," he said. "These are my friends."

"I see. And are many more of your acquaintances going to make an appearance in my city?" Jean-Claude asked.

Oz shrugged. "I didn't even know these ones would be here."( Read more... )

Working on "Off to See the Wizard." There should be an update in the next couple of days, though I'm sorry to say that writing fanfic is currently not one of my top priorities right now. Still, I made a very serious promise to myself that I would wrap up all current long fics.

After it's all done, I'm probably just going to do short one-shots if I keep writing.
---------------------

She'd been pretty much riding his last nerve and had finally crossed that invisible line where he wasn't about to give her anymore second chances.

Being shot really hurt and he figured he was going to be having a bad time of it later. But at least she hadn't used silver, so he was able to get back up again. Just BLAM! and through the explosive agony in his chest, he got to experience the weird star burst pain of the back of his head bouncing against the floor. He was pretty sure he might even have a concussion, though he wasn't letting the double-vision get one up on him.

He lay on the floor and let the Rage fill him until that was all there was, and through the darkness, his Beast burst out of his skin in a thunderous rush of claws, fur, and ripping TEETH.

Sometimes Changing was the worst kind of pain. It was like having all of the skin torn off his body in one swift jerk while someone pulverized all his bones and remade him as a slavering monster. And other times—this time—it was like he'd been released from some terrible prison.

The world had fallen into shades of monochrome, but scents wavered in the air as bursts of bright "color," or what his brain interpreted as color. He leapt to his feet and opened his mouth and roared as hard as he could, saliva spraying freely against her cringing face.

She made to turn and run, but he was already in motion, his powerful legs sending him hurtling at her. She shot him a couple of times—painful stings against his broad hairy chest—but he was in such a state that he barely noticed them as anything more than annoyances. He was in the kind of dark headspace when all he could hear was the snarl of his Beast reverberating through his chest and more than anything he wanted to cause lasting pain.