i hope to have the entirety of this project done sometime soon

Of Wistful Dreams (Feysand)

In which Rhys dreams of his mother and sister and Feyre decides to do something about it. Angst with a healthy coating of fluff.

She saw them sometimes in his dreams, when the unbreakable bond between them wasn’t quite so easy to block. Feyre always knew that Rhys’ mother and sister must have been beautiful, but nothing in her imagination could have compared to what she saw in his mind. Where his father always seemed to be shrouded in menacing shadow (so different from Azriel’s, Feyre noted), the women of his family always seemed to bring light and laughter. In the best of Rhys’ dreams, his mother wore a wide, wicked grin so like his own that Feyre sometimes had to do a double take. His sister’s smile, on the other hand, was a much softer thing, but still no less bright. She followed devotedly after her brother, half-running until a younger Rhys would swoop down and lift her onto his shoulders. Their mother was never far behind, laughing with them both, the sound as clear to Feyre as if she had been there herself.

The dreams were wistful, wishful things that Feyre felt honored to share. But she also saw how they haunted her mate in his waking hours. He had grieved for his blood family for many years… but he also had never had the chance to truly heal from their deaths, their murders. How could he have? He was known as the most powerful High Lord in history, but too often did his subjects, did the entirety of Prythian, forget that there was a soul as fragile as any other hiding underneath all that power.

And then there were the nights where the dreams became twisted, the light turning red as blood began to fill both Rhys’ and Feyre’s visions. The bodies of his mother, of his little sister, were almost unrecognizable by the time Rhys had found them, torn apart, matching midnight hair utterly soaked with the sheer amount of blood spilled. 

Often, it was the last thing Rhys saw before he woke, pulling Feyre out of sleep with him.

Once, after a particularly grueling night, when Feyre had Rhys wrapped tightly in her arms – a vain attempt to protect him from the dreams that would do him harm – he had admitted to her that he was terrified that one day that image of their wrecked bodies would be the only thing he would remember of them both. That all those beautiful images, all those memories that kept them alive in his mind, would fade with time, leaving only blood and death and loneliness. 

Feyre hadn’t been able to find anything to say in response back then. The only thing she’d been able to do was hold him tighter and run her fingers through his midnight hair.

After weeks more of the dreams and nightmares both, however, an idea popped into her head in the form of a painting. Feyre knew what Rhys’ mother and sister looked like so well that she almost forgotten that there were no more physical reminders left of them – Rhys’ father had gone on a rampage at the loss of his mate, destroying all of her and their daughter’s possessions. Including what few images existed of them.

That very night, she began to put her plan in motion, wandering into the Rainbow to get what she needed. She spent the next few days gathering supplies, taking her time. Of all her past projects, none mattered so much as this one; she needed the perfect colors, she needed to do this right. 

Finally, she started. The process was painstakingly slow as she strived for perfection, but Feyre still found herself getting lost in the painting, in the vision of these women she wished she’d had the chance to meet.

The hardest part of the whole thing was keeping it from Rhys of course. Normally, he was such a big part of her art, always encouraging her, always ready to listen to her ramble on about it. But this time she would keep it secret.

“So what are you working on, my beautiful, wonderfully talented mate?” Rhys asked her, two weeks into her project. He rested warm hands on her waist, pressing his face into the bare skin of her neck. Thank the Cauldron Feyre had quick reflexes; she just barely managed to cover the painting in the darkness she’d received from him, blocking it completely from his view. An ironic twist of fate, that.

“You know flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere this time,” Feyre replied dryly. “You’ll find out soon enough. Patience.” 

Rhys nipped at her neck, sending very specific images through their bond. “Or perhaps I can convince you into giving up your little secret?”

“Scoundrel,” Feyre scoffed, even as she leaned back into his solid warmth.

His voice was a pleased rumble. “Always.” 

Needless to say she hadn’t got much more work done that day. But she also managed to keep the project from him a little longer, so she considered it a win regardless. (Though Rhys also won that round in a way, considering how much he enjoyed his convincing.)

And now… Now it was finally finished. And she could finally show him what had so occupied her time this past month. Feyre thought she should be happier about it, but she was only nervous, the feeling curdling in her stomach. For all that Rhys loved her paintings, she’d never done something like this for him before. What if the painting only made the grief worse for him? What if it became nothing more than another painful reminder?

It was too late to change course now, however. Not with Rhys already waiting by her side, staring at the cloth covered canvas in front of them. Feyre briefly considered leaving it covered up, but then Rhys put an encouraging hand on her elbow, his eyes gleaming at her knowingly. And so Feyre used her newfound courage to quickly pull the cloth away, before the temptation to run could not longer be pushed aside.

The revealed painting was met with nothing but all encompassing silence. The mating bond, normally so open between them, remained suspiciously cut off.

Feyre wondered what Rhys was thinking as he stared so intently at her latest creation. She knew what he was seeing – or hoped he was seeing. The painting depicted two utterly stunning women, standing hand-in-hand. The older and more striking of the two had her gorgeous, membranous wings spread out wide, a wild grin pulling at her lips, midnight hair spilling around her shoulders in glorious waves. Hazel eyes sparkled with mirth and love as she peered out of the painting, as if she was greeting a loved one finally coming home. By her side, her daughter looked gentler in comparison, standing perhaps half a head shorter than her mother despite being fully grown. Her own midnight hair had been meticulously braided – no doubt by her older brother – violet and pink and white flowers carefully woven in. She was meticulously dressed, but there was an undeniable hint of mischievousness in her purple-hued eyes. The hand that wasn’t intertwined with her mother’s was held out in front of her, reaching out – an invitation for the viewer to join them. The painting seemed to be backlit as well, as if the two women had just walked inside from a sunny day, giving the whole thing a bright and yet ethereal feel. Or so Feyre hoped.

Eventually, she dared to glance up at Rhys, finding an expression of pained wonder on his face. He looked infinitely sad… and yet there was a quality of peace about him as well, as if it healed something in him, to have this reminder of what he’d lost so long ago. Feyre felt her heart crack at the sight and couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to him, tangling their hands together until they almost mirrored the painting in front of them.

“I know you’re afraid you’ll forget about them one day, forget what they look like,” Feyre finally said, breaking the heavy silence. Her stomach still curdled with her nerves and she fiddled with the cloth of her dress as she looked at her mate. “I thought perhaps this might help.” 

Rhys said nothing for a long moment, though his fingers tightened around hers. He lifted his free hand to the painting, first tracing the strong curve of his mother’s wings and then trailing his thumb down the length of his sister’s braid.

“They were so beautiful,” he whispered, the bond once again opening between them until he was showering her with image after image of the family he lost.

Feyre leaned into his side. “They were. They didn’t deserve their ending”

“No, they didn’t.” The grief that came with those simple words was immense and ancient.

Feyre ached for Rhys, ached for his pain. She regretted the painting for a brief moment (had she only caused him more pain?), but Rhys could not tear his eyes from it. He stared at it almost hungrily, memorizing each stroke, each color, each detail until Feyre was sure he could recreate the picture perfectly in his mind. The peace that she had sensed before seemed to settle once more, blanketing over his pain, giving him the kind of comfort he’d craved for centuries. And Feyre knew, without a doubt, that she’d done the right thing.

I didn’t want your last image of them to be of their broken bodies, she whispered in his mind as he continued to stare at her work.

Rhys swallowed roughly, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. He lifted his head up to the sky first, overcome with emotion, before he finally turned his gaze to Feyre, the depth of it pinning her in place.

“You are a wonder, Feyre darling,” he told her, quietly serious. 

“I knew that already,” she said with a teasing little smile, before allowing it to fade into something gentler. She touched the edge of his jaw. “But so are you, Rhys. And they would think so too. They would proud of what you accomplished here, but most of all of you are. Of that I have no doubt.” 

Rhys turned fully to her then, leaning his forehead against hers, his eyes still shining with emotion even as he looked at their linked hands. “Thank you,” he said. 

“You’re welcome,” Feyre replied, really meaning it. 

Rhys smiled at her, a small smile that reminded her not of his mother but rather of the little sister that had loved him so. Feyre smiled back at him with all the love in her, before rising to the tips of her toes and softly kissing the edge of his mouth. Her mate buried his head in her shoulder and crushed her to him, his arms steel bands around her waist. But Feyre hardly noticed as she ran soothing fingers through his hair, holding him just as tight. 

“I think we should find them a place of honor, don’t you?” Rhys said as he finally pulled away from her embrace, minutes or hours later.

“I know just the place.”

They hung the painting in the sitting room, where it could be bathed in the light of the garden beyond. It was lovely, peaceful spot that so many of their friends – their new family – passed by on their visits to the town house.

And underneath it, they later added a tiny silver placard, with only two words engraved in Rhys’ elegant script. 

Never forgotten.

It was laughable how easily Glanni coerced Ithro into a complete and total makeover, and he had a feeling that it had something to do with how he was under the impression this was his attempt at establishing a stronger bond. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but at any superficial rate, it’d be fun to see the elf all done up.
That was, if he could actually keep still for more than a minute at a time.

“The better you cooperate, the faster it’ll be over,” Glanni scolded, squinting as he held the other man’s jaw in one hand, and a mascara brush in the other. Truthfully, he was a beautiful subject, like a model one might see designers practice on, or even be their final product, but that was besides the point.

“Sorry, but it’s not like I’ve ever done this before!” Despite having been chastised throughout the entire process by an easily frustrated Glanni Glæpur, Ithro’s grin never faltered. He wanted to believe that things were becoming more steady between them and that he would no longer be considered a tentative choice in Glanni’s times of emotional instability. Maybe Ithro could go so far as to hope to be a permanent asset, but,

 "Fucking hell, just let me finish this one eye, okay? That’s all there is left to do.“ Glanni’s hostility might have been more meaningful if it weren’t for what he was doing and how painstakingly so. Sometimes, Ithro began to wonder if some of the nasty things he said were habitual rather than intentional. The sudden, triumphant clap of Glanni’s hands burst into his thoughts, along with the sight of his brilliantly toothy smile. 

“Would you take a look at this!” And it most definitely wasn’t a request, because Glanni all but shoved a handheld mirror into Ithro’s lap, eagerly peering over his shoulder to check his reaction. He, personally, believed he’d done superbly, however, he also wanted outside confirmation. “So?” Glanni asked impatiently, tracing his fingers up and down Ithro’s arms. 

“You did great!” Was his chiming response, and Glanni couldn’t help but get excited over the enthusiasm in his voice. After all, it wasn’t every day he did something anybody approved of, or any day. 

“Let me look at you again,” he insisted as he took back the mirror. Ithro obliged peacefully even though Glanni was unnecessarily close now for the sake of proper inspection. He didn’t have much of a chance to take in his project as a whole whilst he had been working, choosing to focus on the details, the parts, the pieces. Now that Glanni was able to take Ithro’s face in its entirety, he understood just how well it had turned out. “Fuck,” Glanni muttered, still keeping his eyes on Ithro. He said it again, though it was almost a whisper. 

 Ithro’s lashes were elongated through the power of strenuous mascara use, and the lids of his eyes glowed a gentle golden yellow, as Glanni had figured it would suit his usual, albeit hideous pallette. There was also a light dusting of blush on the apples of his cheeks as well as on the tip of his nose, accompanied by the shadowy appearance of a contoured jawline. And lastly, he had delicately applied a muted, but opaque shade of pink on his lips. It truly brought it all together, though it completely undid Glanni. 

“Something off?” Ithro questioned, feeling a bit uncomfortable sitting in silence for as long as he had. Glanni seemed as if he was formulating an answer, yet the concentrated expression soon dissolved. Without warning, Glanni had taken ahold of Ithro’s shoulders, an anchoring tool to steady himself as he furiously pushed their lips together. The desperate overtones of his impulsive actions were not lost, and Ithro acted accordingly, allowing Glanni to climb onto his lap and grasping onto his waist. It was warm, what they were doing, burning even, and both parties dearly hoped for it to mean something. It felt like it did, what with Glanni’s hot breath on the elf’s skin and how Ithro couldn’t take his hands off of him. 

Glanni was the first to pull away, and he took in a sharp inhale after he did. So breathing was important after all? It just seemed so secondary. “Your makeup,” he said, a leering grin creeping up on his features. “I ruined it.“ 

“Did you?” Ithro’s tone was weary, unfocused. Glanni laughed at that, gesturing towards the paint smeared on his chin. 

“Really bad." 

"Well, I don’t feel ruined,” he mused lightly. “Do it again?" 

"Happily.”

To all of our lovely Witches, Wizards, and Non-Magic folk,

   Hello! How are you? I sincerely hope this message finds you well. It’s been quite a while since you last heard from any of us, so I suppose that is where I will start.

   First of all, on behalf of all the cast and crew of The Gathering Storm: A Marauders Fan Film I would like to apologize for how long it has taken to bring this film to life and to make this dream a reality. We realize that you have been waiting a long time for this film, and we are truly sorry about that. I think that should be first and foremost. Believe me when I tell you, we all want the film to be finished just as badly as you do. And we absolutely hear you every single time one of you asks us “When is the film coming out?” Whether we like it or not, it is always a fair question. So again, we sincerely apologize for the wait and thank you from the bottom of our hearts for supporting us, for sticking with us, and for maintaining your enthusiasm for this project. We are working very hard to make it the film that you deserve.

   That brings me to a brief (ish) explanation of what the past year or so of post-production has looked like and why it has taken this long. The first thing to admit is that this project was an enormous undertaking. When this film was dreamed up and our team was assembled, the majority of us were still students, with a few exceptions who were recent graduates. As you may or may not know, it is very rare for student-run projects to reach feature-film-length. It is equally rare for fan films to do this. The simple fact is that without a professional team already assembled and behind you (as well as a professional budget), it is incredibly difficult to bring together enough resources and people – and to carve out enough time – to shoot and produce anything longer than 25-40 minutes long. Even projects of that length are incredibly challenging undertakings. Admittedly, we probably unknowingly bit off a bit more than we could chew at the time. However, that is not in any way to say that the quality of The Gathering Storm suffered as a result. It just slowed the process a bit, because we were all basically learning on the fly. As you know, it took us almost the entirety of that first year (May 2014 – March 2015) to finish shooting all the footage we felt we needed in order to put together a high-quality film and a fully-realized story. Yes, our inexperience hindered us in a few places along the way, as it does with any student or fan project.  While we may not be a Hollywood Blockbuster level production, I have no doubt that you will love getting to see the Marauders story we have all wanted for so long.

   Since the completion of shooting, post production has been a sometimes fast, sometimes slow process. Approximately the first six months after we wrapped shooting (March 2015 – August 2015) were completely lost, as a result of some unexpected turnover in the editing department. To put it somewhat more bluntly, our original editors were unable to continue with the project. In addition to that, the editor that we initially brought on to replace them also, after a few weeks, determined that they would be unable to follow through with this project. So searching for a qualified editor willing to commit to the entirety of the project was step number one, and that took much longer than we had hoped. After that, our post-production team evolved significantly. Members of our team, myself included, who were not originally going to be part of post-production, were brought on in order to shoulder more of the workload and in order to get things moving in a productive direction.

    The first few months were spent in intensive meetings between Aaron (our director), Danielle (our producer), Jenni (our new editor), and myself, where we recalibrated and reconfigured many of the creative aspects of the film. In short, we felt like some of the moments of our story were not as “earned” as they should be, so we spent a significant amount of time on fixing that (and we believe we were successful, by the way). Those meetings illustrate a larger point about the tediousness of this process though: We have kept you guys waiting for so long now, that at this point we absolutely refuse to give you anything less than the very best possible version of this film. Yes, we could have accelerated the editing process   We could have not bothered to adjust story elements, and we could be taking much simpler and more-direct routes through finishing the final aspects of post-production… but we as a team cannot and will not in good conscience do that. You guys deserve the very best, both for your support of us during the campaign, and for your continued support and patience now. In every single conceivable sense of the phrase, we would not have been able to make this movie without you. And we will never probably be able to fully express our gratitude. The least we can do is make sure that every aspect of this film is done in the best possible way it can be.

    That is why post-production has taken so long, along with a number of extenuating circumstances. We have had other crew members have to leave the project due to personal conflicts (as mentioned before, plus others), our lead editor and our VFX artist both have to work over 60 hours a week at their real jobs, some of us lost friends and family members over the past year, and a member of our post team lost their home in the Louisiana Floods this past August. It’s been a year, you guys. As 2016 has been for many people, it has been. a. freaking. year. And to be clear, these aren’t meant as excuses. We are not asking you guys to stop begging for this film or to “get off of our backs.” We want you on our backs. Stay there. You’ve earned it. These are simply being offered to you as explanations for part of why we have so dearly needed your incredible patience and support.

    We have been going back and forth amongst ourselves for a few weeks now, trying to decide whether to send out a new update. For a while we were thinking we wanted to hold off, not release any more updates until we were ready to release a new trailer. But we have decided, that with things moving as slowly as they have, we didn’t want to continue to maintain radio silence. We realize that updates have been few and far between for both supporters of our Kickstarter and of our Indiegogo, and we’ve pledged to be more vigilant about that. If you are one of our backers, please check the Indiegogo or Kickstarter Pages. We’ve posted an update for you regarding backer rewards, as well.

    So that’s where we’re at. We’re still here, we’re still hard at work, we still love each and every one of you for your support, and we have not forgotten about you or this project. We’re into the home stretch now. What remains is finishing the original score, visual effects, sound mixing, color correction, and a few other finishing touches. As I mentioned before, because all of us have now entered “professional” life, we all have a lot less time on our hands to get these things done. So I cannot honestly say how long those remaining tasks will take. But what I can promise is that we will do the best job that we can, and we will not be cutting any corners. You all have waited this long for The Gathering Storm. We will not be delivering the 75%-of-what-it-could-have-been version. When it is finally done, it will be the 100% version of this film. And I promise, as soon as we know when we’ll have it done, you will too.

    We get just a little bit closer every single day.

    This project has been a huge part of our lives for the past couple years and it has been amazing to share the journey with all of you. We’ll all be able to say “Mischief Managed” together soon, I promise. ^_~

    So, finally, from all of us on the TGS post-team, and from everyone who worked on the film during production as well: Thank you again, from the bottom of our hearts, for your continued patience and support for The Gathering Storm. You’ll be hearing from us again soon.

Warmest regards,

Benjamin Wessels
Co-writer, Actor, and Associate Producer 

When it Started

Author:  Twilightprince102 (tumblr: @twilightprince102)

Artist:  stevetwisp (tumblr: @stevetwisp)

Summary:
Jude and Meena’s friendship is complicated; that is known to many. Jude may try to help their friend with their stage fright, but there are times when the jaguar can get too overprotective of their friend. Yes, Jude supports Meena throughout her life when hardships come, but the elephant doesn’t know anything about her friend’s life! But there was a time when this friendship was normal; a time when there were no mysteries, no harm done, no stage fright and when the friendship seemed like any other. So what happened? When did everything change? How did the hardships begin? The only way to know is to go back to when it started.

(Additional notes: Jude is my OC, and they are a jaguar who goes by they/them pronouns; prequel to the ongoing fic Some Moral Support.)


The school day had once again begun for everyone at Catselar Elementary school. Whether they eagerly woke up to their alarm clocks or tried to act sick, the students all made their way to school for the day. It didn’t matter if they came by bus, car, bike or foot; animals of all shapes and sizes arrived for another day of learning, whether they wanted to or not! And for the young calf Meena, she couldn’t be any happier! Because another day at school meant another day with her best friend Jude! School was already fun for her, but “Jude makes it even funner!” as she would say. She scarfed down her breakfast, grabbed her backpack and raced out the door to her bus stop after saying her daily goodbyes and love you’s to her family.

Meena hummed a happy tune as she waited for her bus while other students looked at her with a skeptic expression. But as a cool gust of spring air swept by, they shrugged it off and went back to waiting, thinking that she was only in a good mood that day. But to Meena, it felt like it was going to be the perfect day! Usually every day at recess, the two always sat together while they ate their lunch. They would talk about events that have happened recently-such as a surprise trip to a waterpark-while they ate. Afterwards they would play together,  have their laughs, and on occasion Meena would sing or hum a song. Whenever she did, the jaguar always listened to her and applauded, complimenting her voice. Then on cue, the recess bell would ring and they would go back inside for the day.

But yesterday as Jude listened to their friend hum a song, an idea popped into their head, and the cub thought aloud. “Maybe I could sing you a song.” The jaguar mumbled, unintentionally interrupting Meena’s humming. She turned her head to face her whiskered friend, having to do a double take at her friend’s offer.

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