Note: Inspired by Spartacus, which I looove, and Game of Thrones, which I honestly have never seen but am curious about thanks to Caryn (carolinemykhaleesi) and Ifi (redandprongs). I've read the season summaries and the full transcripts for the first four episodes and was drawn to Daenery's and Drogo's storyline, but I couldn't imagine Klaus as a Dothraki so I brought in the regal Romans of Spartacus. :)
-o-
that i give you not my hand but my heart
Your wife was the heart that beats beneath your chest. (Claudius Glaber, Spartacus)
The sage-roast veal sat heavily inside his stomach, sweet libation burning an acrid line as it ran down the column of his bitter throat.
All around the splendidly decorated hall he found himself seated in, towering pillars of opulent marble were draped in cloths of threaded gold and jewel tones, standing in silent herald to fountains flowing with wine and oaken tables filled to abundance with the freshest of breads and season fruits. Sumptuous smells of slow-roasted meats lingered fragrantly in the air as servants of the household brought in tray after tray of choice beef, lamb and poultry, broiled and brushed to piquant perfection, gladly indulged upon by the three hundred patrician guests gathered in festivity to exalt but one high-held name. Weddings were affairs met with lavish celebration in the noble city of Rome - and all the more so when hosted under the roof of the honoured House of Mikaelson.
It was a feast indeed, on that fateful day when sun and storm shared the same sky. Yet Damon Salvatore sat in his chair quiet, his face absent the slightest trace of joy for the union which he came to bear witness.
"The lucky bastard," he heard a finely-robed man from the next table remark in stunned captivation to the rest of his company. "Tell me, Marcel, which end of the earth did your Legatus find such a stunning wife?"
"And fittingly paid for with a price as stunning." replied the war-brawned tribune with a rich laugh. "Ten thousand Roman soldiers, armed and armoured, bought from the coin of Senator Mikael himself."
"Ten thousand Roman soldiers!"
"I kid you not, Magistrate Lockwood. The bride is Caroline of the House of Salvatore, lone daughter to Giuseppe the Mad King, thrown from his throne by Silas Shadowself the Usurper, who has seized the isle of Corsica for himself."
The Roman official paused. "…Salvatore… but Stefan Dragonlord was felled by Silas the year past, and with him perished the Salvatores' last hold on power. What remains of the family's members were exiled from Corsica, were they not? Why would Senator Mikael wish to ally himself with a family whose reign has come to pass?"
The other man, Marcel, smiled politely as he shrugged. Perhaps he knew not of the senator's true plans, or perhaps he did but was wise enough not to reveal them. Richard Lockwood, Magistrate of Rome, would never really know.
But Damon Salvatore did. Three fortnights ago Mikael Mikaelson himself came to see him at Sinuessa, a small island southeast of Sicilia, the last terrain to remain under the rule of the Salvatore name. He brought with him an offer for a bargain that Damon taxed himself to refuse.
"An army of ten thousand soldiers." The senator declared, thin lips curling into the ghost of a smile as he brought his hands together on the table. "Ten thousand of the finest fighters of Rome, armed and armoured, awaiting only your command."
"And what would I do with ten thousand men?" was Damon's uninterested reply.
"Do not think me a fool, boy. I know you raised the price of grain and produce from your city the month past, and only this week you raised the toll for ships mooring in Sinuessa's port. You can blather of your excuse that crops were destroyed and the dock damaged by storm, but I see clearly through your pretext – you want to get hold of as much coinage as you can."
"The old man is abreast with economic news, how impressive."
"And I wish I could say the same about your effort to secretly raise currency for war, but I can't."
"I, raising currency for war – do you realize how ridiculous you sound?"
"Do you realize how even more ridiculous your plan is? Scraping coin after coin, like a slave saving for freedom - I reckon it'll take fifty years at least. Think you'll still be able to hold a sword at eighty?"
"You don't get it, do you?" The sable-haired prince exiled from his own kingdom replied with a bitter laugh. "Sinuessa is nothing. It's the smallest, the least prosperous, the most unimportant of all my father's lands. That bastard Silas has not even bothered to go after me in this city because the git knows it will never give me enough wealth to challenge him for Corsica. Look around you. This is the best dwelling in Sinuessa, and there's barely any gold or marble in the fucking house. Is it so hard to believe that I would raise the price of goddamned corn to slap slabs of marble onto this god-awful stone floor?"
Mikael snorted, reclining back on his seat. "It would not be so hard, had you actually bought any marble. But as I have it on good authority that slaves and iron are the only things you have been buying plenteously…"
Color drained from Damon's face at the mention of 'slaves and iron'
"Oh, you thought that just because you bought your wares from Gaul and shipped them through the routes of Sardania, Rome would not hear of it?"
"How did you…"
"I have eyes everywhere. Fortunately for you, I don't care about your feud with Silas Shadowself. I will stay neutral, and so will the Senate… or I can take your side, if you want me to."
"What do you want from me," the Salvatore hissed, his firsts clenching at his sides.
The senator sneered. "A simple, mutually beneficial agreement between two honourable men. I will give you rule over ten thousand Roman soldiers, as I said – and in return, you are to hand me control of the ports of Sinuessa."
"What?"
"You need men to fight for you, and I need a port from which I can launch warships to control the routes to Carthagia. My eldest son Finn [see A/N] will lead the Roman conquest of John Gilbert's kingdom three months from the morrow, and I intend to make sure that he brings glory to the Mikaelson name."
"But you'll kill the city's trade -"
"And what would you need merchant trade for, if you already have your army? Listen to me, Damon Ravenflame, the last standing son of the House of Salvatore. You can go on with your plan – I assume you'll hand swords to slaves and make them raid smaller villages, turn more slaves out of the captured men, do it again and again until you have an army large enough to go after Silas? Yet even if you were willing to wait the fifty years it would take, you know that slaves will never make true soldiers. They'll either be too weak to fight or too strong to follow orders."
Damon clenched his fists even harder, his anger and anxiety corked by cold silence. He loathed to admit it, but everything Mikael said was true. His own father had said it countless times before. Arm a slave with a weapon, and he will fail you or he will turn on you.
"On the other hand, you can take my offer, and by this hour of the day three months from now, you could attack Corsica with an army that Silas will toil to defeat. If you play your cards right, you can have the crown of Corsica on your head in a few months." The Roman senator tempted.
A flame of leaden hatred blazed gray in the young man's blue eyes. No, let the gods know that he didn't care about getting Corsica or the crown back, not even reclaiming the wealth that Silas seized from his family – the only thing he cared about was avenging Stefan's death.
Stefan, his younger brother, his dear only brother who died by Damon's side, defending the throne that once bore the Salvatore name, the duty of any honourable son who loved his father.
As was Damon's duty now to reclaim his father's stolen crown.
"The ports of Sinuessa… that's all it would take?" Damon slowly conceded, voice almost breaking.
The Senator tilted his head shrewdly. "Well, there is one more thing…"
Of course. That was how it was with the Romans, there was always one more thing.
"As you know, my investment in your cause is not a cheap one. And though I do want badly to believe that your word is enough, I'm certain you cannot fault me for wanting additional assurance."
"That being?"
"A pact that would ensure the House of Salvatore and the House of Mikaelson are truly bound to each other in this agreement."
Damon let out a sharp, soundless breath.
"I want a pact of living blood."
"Living blood..."
"I heard you have a sister."
Mikael Mikaelson asked for Caroline Salvatore.
-o-
"Like your bride?"
Legatus Niklaus Mikaelson grunted, slowly shifting his gaze away from the guests in the hall whom he had silently been observing, in favor of turning to his father, who smirked as he took a seat left of his son. The bride in discussion, Caroline - formerly of the House of Salvatore and now bearing the name Mikaelson - was currently with her mother-in-law, who was giving her introduction to the aristocratic women of Rome, the company of which she would now belong to as the wife of a Mikaelson son.
"Beautiful, isn't she." Mikael said with a thoroughly pleased expression, as though the man were applauding himself for bringing in a prize of a woman into the family.
He wasn't particularly interested in the conversation his father began, but nevertheless, Klaus nodded idly. He had to admit, Caroline of Corsica was beautiful - with her eyes of sea blue and hair of summer wheat, frame as daint as an elf of the woods - she was a sight to behold. Even more so now, wrapped in a most luxurious silk dress of ice blue, a clasp of sapphire and diamonds crowning the back of her head. The girl carried herself with a grace and dignity that commanded regard, if not respect, from any proper man or woman she was acquainted with, that even though she no longer had a kingdom, nor power, nor wealth, there was not a guest in the hall who could deny her worth as a daughter of a noble family.
And like almost all the daughters of the noblest of families in Rome, Klaus thought detachedly, Caroline Mikaelson was a whore.
A beautiful, refined, expensive whore.
Twenty five years of being son to Mikael Mikaelson had taught Klaus to see things for what they really were, not for what they appeared to be. His wife was no different from the tavern wenches who were pedaled and sold to any man who cared to pay their price of a silver coin; she was merely paid more, one hundred gold bars worth of soldiers to be exact.
"Do you know why I had her married to you?"
"So you'd have something to hold over Damon Salvatore's head if for some foolish reason he goes back on his word and refuses you Sinuessa after you hand him his army." Klaus replied, not even bothering to veil both the indifference in his voice and the nonchalance in his features.
Mikael nodded. "Precisely. Which is why we must ascertain that she stays in our hold here in Rome."
"And why must you use the word 'we'?" The Legatus drawled testily. "I am leaving for Capua to quell the Thracian rebellion a week from now. How you'll keep the girl confined here is none of my concern."
The older Mikaelson fixed his sight upon his new daughter-in-law, who was politely, albeit wordlessly, smiling at the women her mother-in-law was introducing her to. He looked at her fondly for a moment, before his cobalt blue eyes narrowed into slits of serpentine cunning.
"Had she been a Forbes, I would have been more at ease; that house always pays its debts. But she is a Salvatore, descent from the lineage of the tamers of the dragons - one can never restrain a dragon, and so can you restrain its master. If Damon Ravenflame goes back on his word and Caroline decides to leave, she will find a way to leave."
"Then chain her to your bed by her two feet, for all I care."
"Listen to me, Niklaus. Your wife must stay in this house, and she must stay in this house on her own accord, if we are to keep her in Rome."
Klaus scoffed irritably – again with his father's use of the word 'we'. He couldn't care less about anything irrelevant to the rebellion in Capua at the moment, and keeping his so-called 'wife' in the Mikaelson house was the least of his concerns.
"And what would you have me do, Father? Make her fall in love with me within the next week, so she might strap herself to my bed when I tell her to await my return from Capua?"
He was surprised when the sarcastic comment earned a fit of amused laughter from the family patriarch.
"My fool of a son." Mikael said, shaking his head. "Remember these words and let them serve you well. A woman's love for a man is fickle, and you should never depend on it for anything of significance. A mother's love for her child, however… that is the only thing constant."
Klaus' brow furrowed, jaw suddenly tightening into a hardened expression of warring anger and disbelief. He knew precisely what his father was insinuating, but to ask such a thing, from a Roman warrior of title and noble birth-
"I want you to sire me a grandchild."
A grandchild.
"Are you fucking kidding me."
"A duty of all men to their forefathers' name, to sire sons and provide heirs." The senator asserted sharply, clearly not in jest. "Conveniently for me, it also happens to be a most excellent insurance. Caroline would never leave Rome without the child, and it's much easier to detain a helpless infant than a grown woman, and one with the Dragonlord's blood at that. In the unlikely occurrence that she does abandon her child, I could go after Sinuessa as the birthright of my grandson."
The merriment of the wedding feast continued around the two men, and yet the sounds of gay laughter and eager chatter from the guests of the hall could barely fill the void of tense silence between them. On one hand, the father – cool and composed, assured that in this household, his word was the law. On the other, the son – outraged but bound by patrician conduct to comport himself, filling the air amid them with more tension than there is among an army poised for assault.
For the simple truth was, Niklaus Mikaelson had never been an obedient son, and Mikael Mikaelson had never been a compliant father.
"I am a Legatus of the Army of Rome," Klaus defied, gritting out his words as mutedly as he could as he raised his own blue eyes to level with the Senator's. "And you ask me the service of standing stud to this woman, like a goddamned boar for hire, that she may bear a child for you to take?"
"You are also my son, and for as long as my coin and the coin I secure for you through the Senate of Rome pays for your campaigns, you will do as I tell you. You've already married her on my orders, I don't suppose it's that much worse to fuck her on my orders as well." Mikael replied in all bluntness.
The legatus was seething with rage – oh, that his own father would ask him the same service that a lanista might ask of his gladiator, or a dominus of his slave, when he was a soldier of rank and bearing the name of a patrician Roman family – by god, he'd give anything to tell the old man to fuck off or else fuck the woman himself if he wanted an infant hostage so badly.
And yet… he knew in himself there was nothing that he could really say. War was an affair driven by wealth as much as it was driven by power, and even the almighty Senate of Rome paid keen attention to the wealth it allocated to warfare. What Rome would not pay for Niklaus Mikaelson's campaigns, Senator Mikael Mikaelson paid for with coin from his own pockets. The son was indebted to his father, as a gladiator to his lanista, and a slave to his dominus.
The patriarch smirked in satisfaction at his son's strained silence, knowing fully well that he would have the upper hand no matter what end of the earth Klaus took the argument to. He turned to motion at one of his servants with a wave of his hand, and Sophie Deveraux, slave of third generation born to servitude of the Mikaelson household, bowed at her master before quickly taking leave. She returned a few moments later with a silver goblet clasped in her hands.
"Drink it," Mikael instructed his son.
"This is not wine."
"It's a brew from Orlinia. Rouses a man's desire."
"Is it not enough that you ask me to fuck your whore of a collateral?" Klaus spat angrily, no longer caring if any of the guests heard him. "Do you have to insult me further by thinking that I am not man enough?"
This time, from their seats in the guest banquet, two guests had finally taken wordless notice of the tension-filled exchange between the senator and his son. Marcel Gerard, tribune to Klaus Mikaelson, reached for his own glass of wine and promptly looked away without as much as another glance. But the other man, Damon Salvatore, brother to Caroline Mikaelson, narrowed his eyes and gripped his dining knife harder.
"Choose your words carefully, Legatus, you have run my patience thin." Mikael warned, forcefully setting the goblet on the table in front of the younger man. "You think I'm not aware that every woman who's been sent to your tent as a prize of war has been banished without a second look to your tribune's waiting lap? How long has it been since you were last with a woman?"
"What I do to the women sent to me is none of your concern, whether it's sending them to my tribune or slitting their throats with a bread knife."
"And you are right, I don't care if you give them to Marcel or to any of your men or to all of your men for that matter." Mikael declared coldly. "I don't even care if you never get over that wretched Petrova girl and swear off women for the rest of your life. But you will sire me a grandson and you will not see a grain of sand from Capua if you do not do as I say, do you understand?"
He was too far in distance to hear what his brother-in-law and the man's senator father were in argument about; and try as he might, Damon Ravenflame could only watch in silence as Niklaus Mikaelson suddenly took hold of the wine cup laid in front of him and deliberately poured to waste its amethyst-coloured content into the bowl of fruit on the principal table. The Legatus mouthed a string of sharp words at his father, to which Mikael Mikaelson replied only with a raise of his aristocratic brow.
Anxiety gnawed at the Corsican's guilt-ripped chest. The thought that it could be something about his sister Caroline –
"It's too late to change your mind now, Damon." Beside him, his counselor and confidante, Alaric Saltzman, quietly said.
The Salvatore swallowed, closing his eyes before hanging his head low.
For the want of ten thousand soldiers.
-o-
A woman's worth, she'd been told countless times, was measured by how much wealth she brought into her family through her marriage.
Caroline Salvatore – now Mikaelson – exhaled slowly, silently watching her reflection in the exquisitely crafted Roman mirrors she sat in front of as one of the maiden servants slowly unclasped the barrette of sapphire and diamond crowning the hind of her head. Wheat blonde hair flowed freely down her back, curling into feathery waves of flax before being soothed to a seductive smoothness by the porcelain comb her servant girl brushed her tresses with, a halo of gold framing her tired blue eyes. The wedding celebration was over, and now here she was, in her chambers in the house of her father-in-law while being prepared for her first night as wife to Niklaus Mikaelson.
She would have been lying if she said that she was fine. The truth was that she felt a muddled haze of disbelief, anxiety and helpless resignation; an agonizing daze that she could do none about save to quietly bear.
The former Princess of Corsica had always known that one day she would marry - it was just what children of royalty did, always for the opportunity of gaining wealth or consolidating power – and as any dutiful child would do, she was prepared to wed the man her father chose. Yet had she been left to decide for herself, Caroline Salvatore would have married for love.
Perhaps she read too many of the books that Damon Ravenflame bought for her in his travels, or perhaps she listened to too many of the tales that Stefan Dragonlord told her of. But Caroline believed in love - the kind that poets wrote sonnets of, the kind that men crossed oceans for, the kind that the gods made stars in the heavens to last until eternity for. She'd read of Hector and Andromache, their love pure and selfless; of Odysseus and Penelope, who remained each other's despite the hindrance of time and distance; of Ceyx and Alcyone, whose love transcended even death. And that love was what she sought and dreamt of having in her life.
How easy it was to wish for love back then. She bore the Salvatore name and with it a claim to both wealth and power. Numerous men came to Corsica seeking her hand in marriage if not for her beauty then for the opportunity to ally themselves with her father, and many times when receiving a mighty warrior, a wealthy merchant or a ruling king or prince as guest in the royal palace, Caroline would wonder if the man in front of her was the man she would come to love with all of her heart. She had two brothers who looked after her and fiercely protected her, ascertaining that the men whose intent to marry her rose from selfish cause would never even see a glimpse of her.
But then Silas Shadowself betrayed Giuseppe, killing the Mad King to seize the crown of Corsica for himself. And in the blink of an eye, everything changed.
Stefan fell trying to defend their father's throne. Silas installed himself King of Corsica, and Damon and Caroline were exiled from the land they once called home.
The princess who was once worth everything was now worth nothing.
And thus when a month ago when Mikael Mikaelson offered ten thousand soldiers for her hand, she took it without second thought.
Now here she was, married to a man she knew nothing of much less felt anything for, about to give herself to him for the taking. Caroline was Niklaus Mikaelson's property now; his word was her law, and his will was her directive.
A knock on the large alder doors held off the lone tear that threatened to roll down the Salvatore's pale cheek. Caroline turned to the chamber's entrance and immediately she was filled with a faint sense of relief at the unexpected sight of her older brother.
"Can you leave us for a moment?" she asked the maidservant, who bowed in submission and quickly took leave from the room.
Damon Salvatore entered the chamber with heavy steps, the beating thing in his chest weighing even heavier. His sister turned to face him, her lips curved into an innocent smile, yet she could not hide the sorrow that Damon could see all too clearly in her glazed blue eyes.
It sickened him to no end, the fact that she was here because of him – and even with ten thousand soldiers now under his command, he was not certain that he could ever forgive himself for allowing this to happen to his only sister.
"I have to leave soon…" he told her quietly. He lifted a calloused hand to tuck stray strands of hair at the back of her ear, and Caroline tilted her head meekly to lean into her brother's touch.
"How long will you stay here in Rome?"
"Two more days. After that I have to return to Sinuessa…"
Caroline nodded, smiling at her brother again. Damon was the only thing she had now… she had to be strong for both of them.
"Caroline…" The raven-haired prince looked at his sister, the silvered hue of pain set deep in his obsidian eyes. "There's still time. This marriage means nothing. I can go to Mikael right this moment, return the army he gave –"
"Don't say that. What's done is done, and all that matters now is that you have your army. You have to fight for Corsica. For Father. For Stefan." Caroline reminded him.
"At the cost of losing my own sister –"
"You will never lose me, Damon. You and I are family, they can never take that away."
"Will they never? You're lost to the Salvatore name now, Caroline Mikaelson. And tonight when your husband takes you – Jupiter's own hand strike me to my death! I should have never let you hand yourself over to Mikael -"
Caroline shook her head firmly, a wordless plea for her brother to say no more.
When Mikael told him that he would have his sister marry one of Mikael's sons as a pact of living blood, Damon Salvatore replied that the Senator could take his army and offer it to someone else with a port to trade, he was not selling Caroline for all the soldiers in the face of the earth. What he did not know was that his sister had been listening to the conversation from the chamber's doorway, and it took no more than a moment of hesitation before she stepped out and told the Senator that she would marry his son and give him control of Sinuessa - for ten thousand soldiers, as he promised, and his word for five thousand more if they were ever needed. The bargain was agreed upon and no protest from Damon could rescind it.
"You have always been a good brother to me." Caroline said, gently taking Damon's hands and holding them in her own. "Do you remember that day, after Father died, when Silas advanced to spare our lives and let us remain in Corsica provided you swore allegiance to him and allowed him to take me in marriage if only to legitimize his taking of Father's throne? You and Stefan chose to fight, and you said he'd never touch me as long as you were alive. Or that day, after Stefan fell, when we were driven from home and had not a single coin in our hands? You sold your dagger, the one Mother gave you, and the first thing you bought was a robe of fur for me to wear because the journey to Sinuessa was one of wind and snow, and you did not want me to be cold. Or that day, three months after we arrived to Sinuessa, when coin from the first harvest of summer fell into your hands? You bought me a quilt of eiderdown, when you yourself had none and slept on a mattress of straw."
"Because I am your brother. It's my duty to take care of you." Damon told her simply, his lips curling into a bittersweet smile.
"And you have done so all your life." Caroline replied. "Now it's my turn. Let me be a good sister to you."
"Not like this, Caroline -"
"You must understand, Damon. This marriage – it's a small price to pay for what I can give you. Don't worry about me. Mikael will not do anything so long as we keep our end of the bargain."
"You don't know that."
"He has a name to protect. He will not mar the Mikaelson repute with words of bad faith."
"And your husband?"
"I've met him once... only briefly, before we were wed. He was forced into this as much as I was, and he holds no interest in me whatsoever."
"And yet here you are, bathed and brushed, being prepared for his taking."
Caroline tried to laugh, but the sound came out wrought and broken. "I will sleep with ten thousand soldiers and their horses if that's what it takes to give you an army. Let us count ourselves lucky that I have to sleep with only one man."
"Is this all a joke to you?" Damon answered indignantly, and his sister could almost taste the anguish in his voice. "Caroline, you wed a man you feel no love for and who feels no love for you. Because he is your lord he will be free to take as many women to his bed as he pleases and you won't have the right to say anything. But you? One day when you meet the man you will truly love, you will kill yourself with the grief of knowing that you can never be with him because another man has taken you -"
Knock knock.
The doors of the chamber slowly creaked open, and a servant of the household entered quietly, interrupting the word between brother and sister. Damon Salvatore would have told her to leave them be until he left the room on his own accord, but Sophie Deveraux paid him not a single glance and spoke addressing only her mistress.
"Lady Caroline… Lord Niklaus wishes to see you now."
The blonde swallowed again. With a deep, soundless breath of air, she slowly turned her head to look at the lithe blue garment laid on her bed, a beautiful robe of gossamer and silk which she was supposed to wear tonight as she presented herself to her husband. The delicate fabric was almost translucent, revealing much more than what it hid; it was meant to entice, meant to seduce.
Her heart raced and her mind was slowly filled with a dizzying sense of lightheadedness. She knew what was expected of her tonight, and she knew that she had to do it. She didn't want to – but she had to.
This is your life now, she told herself, summoning every ounce of courage left in her limp body. When Niklaus Mikaelson called, she would have to come. What he asked of her, she would have to give. And anything he told her, she would have to follow.
She willed herself to hide all the fears she felt as she faced her brother once again. Damon Ravenflame never took his eyes off his sister, and in Caroline's mind she could hear him say all the things he wanted to but could not tell her now.
Say the word, Caroline. Say the word and I'll take you home.
"If you will excuse me, brother… my husband calls."
-o-
A/N:
1. If you want to review but don't know what to say, please just copy and paste the following statement:
Dear Erica,
You finally post something after four freakin' months and you don't even post the whole thing? How dare you! I demand to know what happens during their wedding night! Is this fic finally the first story where you let Klaus get off?
Love,
(Insert your name here)
2. Teehee so yeah there is a part 2 to this fic which I will post on Wednesday, that beautiful Klaroline day after TO Tuesday as we know on tumblr. (Crossing my fingers for lots of Klaroline mentions this week. It's time Klaus remembers the girl he promised 'however long it takes' to, duh!)
Anyway, so what 'one word' do you think earns Caroline Klaus' respect? If your answer is correct you get a free gif. For real. :)
3. I know that in GoT Viserys was abusive to Daenerys, and Damon was horribly abusive to Caroline in canon so the bad brother is a perfect role for him, but I couldn't write abusive Daroline because they're my favourite fanon brotp. :( I hope you guys don't mind.
4. As always I am erica-dreams-in-colour at tumblr for gifs, rants and other attempts at social relevance. My multi-chapter fics are posted here in FFN in my she. dreams. in. colour account, feel free to check them out, links are in my profile page. :)