𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓛𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 - 𝓹𝓽. 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮
Adam Frankenstein x f!reader
Word count: 4.9k
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘼𝙙𝙖𝙢 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚, 𝙨𝙤 𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙨. 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙧𝙜𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙧 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚.
𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚!𝘼𝙙𝙖𝙢, 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘, 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 *𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨*
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘼𝙙𝙖𝙢 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤 𝙝𝙤𝙩, 𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝘼𝙙𝙖𝙢 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛
pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4
Even as he listened to the sounds of the night, Adam felt his eyes lingering on your sleeping form. The chair creaked under his weight as he yet again shifted back toward the door. He silently chastised himself. But minutes would pass, and he would find his eyes tracing the lines of your face once more. Sleep was evading him as cruelly as it always did, but now the time passing felt torturous. He was torn between apprehension at each little noise that pierced through the falling snow and reverence at each breath that left your parted lips. And you were the picture of peace that night. He let himself wonder what you dreamt of. His own mind was plagued by the sounds of war as he slept—canonfire, cries of pain, the sound of flesh popping as it burned, all muddled together in a vague diorama of memories not his own. Then there were the vivid dreams. The ones where Victor’s face twisted from fear to anger, and he inflicted pain, and then ones where Victor’s face aged and painted an image of understanding and recognition when Adam finally began to dream of his maker’s death. All of them nightmares. He prayed you saw gentler things as you slept. Maybe of warm beds and books, soft fabrics and fresh rye bread. He let himself wish you pictured him there.
You stirred suddenly with a small frown that dissipated as quickly as it came, and the stone you grasped fell from your hand to the wood floor. Warmth flooded his chest at the realization you had been holding it as you slept. He scooped it from the floor and laid it gently on the beside table where he had placed it hours before. He had found it on the banks of a nearly frozen creek, and though he’d fallen into an easy habit over the years of collecting beautiful things for his own enjoyment, he immediately thought of you. A gift—a perplexingly lovely remnant of nature for someone of the same mold.
He watched your fingers twitch, your palm still open and empty, unprotected by the blankets. Something inside him twisted. He hung his head, screwing his eyes shut. He didn’t deserve to look upon you like this, let alone touch you, to crave you—but he so desperately wanted to feel your fingertips on his skin again. Before he could stop himself, he plucked the stone up and moved his hand over your open palm. Ever so gently, as if you were made of glass, he pressed it into your flesh. He folded your fingers over it, and your grip tightened like you had been missing it. He let his hand rest on yours against his better judgement. He didn’t dare move—he simply allowed his palm to coax warmth into your cold fingers.
He remained that way until the cold, muted morning light penetrated the frosted windows, and you began to stir more frequently. He reluctantly tucked your hand against your chest before pulling the blankets tightly around your shoulders.
He looked to the window. Snow still fell outside; it drew him into a false comfort, which he pulled himself from in a moment of sharp panic. They could still find you. They would. It was only a matter of time before that man came to steal you away from this safe haven. From him.
Adam took a shuddering breath and stood, attempting futilely to shake off the fear. He moved toward the bow hanging on its hook. He reached for it, but dropped his hand before it could curl around the leather grip. What was he to do? There was nothing more to provide. Nothing he could do to better protect. The small cellar in the floor was stocked full of venison, the door was barred—you, covered in blankets, the fire stoked.
He fought the sense of ease creeping into him with every step he took back to your bedside. He lowered himself into the creaky chair. Folding his arms on the bed beside you, he dropped his forehead to them, and finally let himself rest.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The day passed quickly. You had awoken that morning to him so near your bedside your heart leapt when you came to; he smelled of cedar and linen and kept the space around you warm with only his presence. You spent the day in tandem with him, fixing things and cleaning the cabin in such harmony you felt as though you were working with another set of hands. You asked him questions throughout the day, like where he had lived and who he had met. You learned of Elizabeth, a gentle but strong woman who taught him love and kindness, and more of the old man, who had assured Adam of his own identity. He asked you the same questions in turn, and you answered so easily the words felt strange rolling off your tongue.
You remarked to him that afternoon that to your memory, it would be the winter solstice. “It will be Christmas in a few short days,” You added, sweeping some dust into the corner by the fire. He looked at you curiously, his brows furrowed over his deep eyes.
“What is… Christmas?”
You laughed in amazement, overjoyed that you had the pleasure of telling him.
“It is a holiday we celebrate in the winter,” you explained excitedly, hurriedly propping your broom in the corner. “The church dedicated it to the birth of God into flesh—though many others celebrate.” You recounted how your family, when all together for the last time, decorated with dried fruits and spices and gave gifts to one another. “You’ve really never heard someone speak of it?”
“I know that story... the birth of Christ.” He nodded, a small smile on his lips. “But the Bible does not tell of fruits and spices.”
You laughed again, the sound like honey to him. “No—it does not… but you seem to know of gift giving.” You cast a glance at your bedside table where you had left the hag stone that morning.
To your surprise, worry flashed across his face. His eyes searched your own for something, strangely, as if he sought forgiveness.
“Why do you worry so?” You reached for his hand, pulling it between you. You ran your thumb over the back of it, tracing a seam, though barely covering half the distance of his massive palm. He trembled under your touch.
“I feared you might think it too forward,” he murmured, his voice like a thread pulled too tight.
“I adore it,” you whispered. A reassurance. A promise.
“Perhaps I will find you more… Christmas gifts.”
You smiled, noting the way his fingers twitched as he slotted them between yours, like he did not command the motion of his hand. “Shall I find one for you, then?”
He frowned, mulling it over as if he was trying to decide if it was acceptable to receive rather than give. “I would—I would like that.”
Thus, you began to recreate the Christmas you remembered so fondly. The cabin was swept, and drafts were fixed with moss and bark, and the wood shed was no longer leaning thanks to Adam’s sheer strength and a few logs driven into the ground to keep it standing proud. There was nothing left to do, you told Adam, but to turn the cabin into a backdrop worthy of the holiday.
You could not stop the ache in your cheeks from the near-constant smile as you and Adam gathered red berries and greenery from the surrounding woods. He was terribly serious about the tasks, treating them as duty, and never leaving the woods behind your backs unguarded. Though when you pointed at bushes laden with deep red berries with a cry of triumph, his face broke into a smile that softly lingered there until you left the clearing to return to the cabin.
And slowly, hour after hour, the cabin became a home. The mantle was graced by woven evergreen branches that had so willingly yielded to Adam’s hands as he worked to create the garland. You hastened your own decorating just so you could sit nearby watch his hands work. You had strung berries on precious thread to hang in the windows, noting to yourself that the red color now staining the length of it would be a nice touch to stitches in Adam’s clothes.
A memory had resurfaced while you watched his hands twist the branches into each other. Your father, using a pair of bronze scissors to cut delicate shapes into folded paper—his hands then unfurling the paper to reveal the silhouette of a snowflake.
Adam watched as you stood from your chair and made for your leather satchel that hung unceremoniously from the bedpost. From the satchel, you pulled your field medicine textbook that was full to the brim with pages of notes you had taken on various medical articles. The oldest of them had lost their importance to you. You selected a few pages, softened by time and use, and folded them into the triangles you remembered your father making. You retrieved the old scissors you had found in the kitchen; they rounded the edges just fine, but the detail work you wanted proved too delicate for the rusting blades. You cut a few simple shapes, then unfolded the paper. You held your accomplishment against the firelight, proud to have managed it in spite of your scissors. Your faded notes scrawled across the paper added a uniqueness you didn’t mind. Adam, who had been watching over your shoulder, brought his hand up to delicately trace the edges of your creation with his fingers.
“It is like me.”
You regarded him for a moment, and felt your heart swell. “Yes. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He nodded, agreeing reluctantly.
“Would you like to try?”
His eyes flicked to yours, a doubtful expression on his patchwork face.
“It isn’t difficult, I promise you.” You paused before adding, “—though I doubt you have used scissors before.”
“Not once.”
You smothered a small laugh, and he cast a glare in your direction as retribution, though his lips twitching into a smile betrayed him.
“It will be just fine. I can show you.”
Adam pulled a chair to face yours, leaving far too much space between you for your liking; you pulled your own forward until your knees met if he moved even slightly. You gave him a piece of your note paper, and he folded it carefully on his knee, following your murmured instructions and gestures.
When it was time to use the scissors, he looked at them like he was afraid they would spring to life with a mind of their own. You reached for his left hand—you noticed he used it far more than his right for finer movements. He let you guide his fingers into the correct position, his eyes never leaving your face. Your features, illuminated by firelight, were twisted in careful concentration. His breath caught in his throat. He swore he had never seen anything so beautiful.
“Now, you must open and close your palm to move the blades, this way—,” When he didn’t move, you lifted your gaze to meet his. His face was close, his eyes already searching yours—his jaw working, breath coming in unsteady pulls.
He tilted his head and a flicker of what looked like pain crossed his face. Reverence. Achingly slowly, he brought his right hand up, and allowed the ghost of his touch to brush against your cheek. The air left your lungs. You were grateful the chair was beneath you, for your knees might have failed you.
You remained like that for a mere moment, basking in the heat of him, before his face changed. The reverence melted into fear.
Suddenly, he was standing, the scissors clattering gracelessly to the floor. He clenched his offending hand so forcefully his knuckles turned from their blue pallor to stark white.
“I am… I am sorry–,”
You blinked. “You’re… sorry?” It was all you could manage as your heart plummeted.
“I should not have—I’m sorry.” He backed away from you as if you had burned him. “I should leave.” Then softly, pleadingly, as if praying you would understand, “My presence only promises the end of your peace.”
“Please–,” You didn’t know for what you begged. Words failed you as tears sprung to your eyes.
He turned his back to you, heading swiftly toward the door. He wrenched it open, the door groaning on its hinges, without so much as a glance back at you as he disappeared out into the fading light.
The sun was still casting its glow over the snow from behind its cloudy prison though the snow had stopped, and cold light spilled over the threshold. You stared at the open door as tears began to stream down your face.
What had you done?
The cold eventually became unbearable as you sat in your chair, choking down sobs. You stood, trembling, to close the door. You left it unbarred, hoping he would return after a moment and explain that he was simply startled.
Time passed, and the sun set, plunging your cabin into darkness. The fire was reduced to coals. There were a few small branches remaining on the hearth that allowed you to coax the fire back to life, but it did not warm you.
You tucked yourself into bed. Numbness settled in your chest as you denied yourself rest.
What if he didn’t come back? The backs of your eyes burned. You cursed yourself for not going after him the moment he crossed the threshold. His constancy in keeping you safe had seeped through the cracks of your walls—whatever the nature of his devotion, you prayed he still held it.
Before you could have any rational thoughts, you were pushing off the blankets and pulling on your coat.
Furtively, careful not to hope, you made your way into the darkness illuminated only by the subtle moonlight peering through passing clouds. His large, deep tracks led into the woods. You steadied yourself and stepped into them, snow coming to your knee. You pulled your coat tighter.
Besides the marking of each footfall, The forest said nothing of his presence, and every sound you made was dampened by the snow. The quiet unnerved you. You tried to call out to him, but your voice stuck in your throat, as if it was irreverent to make such a sound in the heavy blanket of silence. You drew your fingertips over the rounded edge of the hagstone in your pocket until they ached.
As you deepened his tracks with your own footfalls for what felt like miles, you realized with a prick at the base of your neck that the numbness seated in your chest had begun to seep into your limbs. The shivers that wracked your body then had little to do with the cold as shadows began to move in your periphery. You peered through the trees in front of you, seeing no sign of his tracks’ end. Cold panic gripped you. Adam’s name tumbled from your lips in a choked cry. You remained there—utterly still, if not for your trembling—as the world seemed to swallow you up. A single tear froze on your eyelashes. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest; you needed him to come back. After a few long moments, you began to feel foolish. There was nothing lurking in the shadows but your own fear, and the cabin was only a short distance away... and Adam wouldn’t have left you forever… would he?
You sucked in a breath and nearly stepped into the next track in the snow when movement ahead of you caught your eye. Your heart nearly beat from your chest as you struggled to discern the quickly approaching form. It made so little noise it frightened you. A scream crawled up your throat, but it died moments later on your tongue when you noticed the familiar gait.
“Adam!” Your voice tumbled from you in a breathless cry. In a few strides, he reached you, and to your surprise you collided with his solid form. His arms wove around you, cradling you with such gentleness you felt faint, his chin resting on the crown of your head.
“I thought you had left me for good,” you whispered into the warmth of his chest.
He only tightened his arms around you in answer. You let him hold you until the need to understand became suffocating; you felt as if you had been holding your breath until the moment the question made its way from your mouth, ever so faint and almost lost in the fur of his coat.
“Why did you leave?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, and you felt his arms tense. You swore you could hear his heart stuttering in his chest. When he finally answered, it was impossibly low.
“I wanted… I needed you. I was overcome with it.”
Warmth coursed through your veins at his words. You lifted your head from his chest and searched his face, looking for more of the truth. You could not easily make out his features in the low light, but you could feel his eyes tracing the planes of your face. The hunger in them was palpable.
“I wanted to kiss you,” he murmured. The words seeped into you with searing heat, emboldening you.
“Oh, Adam, why didn’t you?”
It was honey dripping from your lips. Just as he had before, he brought his hand to your cheek, but this time he allowed himself to trace the skin all the way to the base of your neck, his fingers weaving into your hair. You seemed to melt into his hand. The sound that left your lips stirred something deep within him, like a long forgotten memory.
“Because I am what I am. Merely pieces of man. Nothing you might regard as whole.”
You shook your head, brows creasing in distress. “You are whole, Adam,” you promised, bringing your hand up to trace a seam of his forearm exposed by the shortness of his coat sleeves. “Even if you weren’t, I would still want every piece of you, for it is you.”
It was as if a string coming from his chest was suddenly pulled taught. He resisted for only a moment before allowing it to pull him into you.
When his lips finally met yours, you broke. The warmth of him was impossible against the cold. He was unsure but for a moment until you moved against him—it was the confirmation he needed to press into you fully, stealing the breath from your lungs. You whimpered into his mouth. The unpracticed, innocent perfection of it was replaced quickly by instinct. His other hand pressed flat against your spine brought you closer as he whispered against your skin between trailing kisses from your jaw, to your pulse, your neck, “… forgive me.”
He worked his mouth over every inch of skin he could reach without compromising the carefully wrapped collar of your coat. When he finally broke away from you, you realised he was holding you up entirely, your knees having failed you.
“Your hands are cold,” he muttered. and slowly released his hold on you. You were trembling, but your body was warmer than it should have been in the biting air. You allowed him to gently urge you in the direction of the cabin.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Though your heart wouldn’t settle as you followed your tracks, the journey back was far better—between being in his presence again and his steadying hand hovering near your waist, your peace had finally returned to you. The silence that fell between you was natural. Your skin burned for his touch, but it no longer felt wrong. He wanted you. The thought caused warmth to pool at the base of your spine.
The cabin looked incredibly inviting in the dull moonlight. You nearly ran to it, but Adam stopped you. You looked up at him, a question dying on your tongue when you saw the alarmed look on his face.
“Something’s not right.” His voice was quiet, laced with unease.
You followed his eyeline, squinting to make out the cabin door. “I must have left it open, Adam. I was not in my right mind—,” you began, but your voice was drowned out by the eruption of gunfire. You ducked instinctively, but the onslaught wasn’t aimed at you. You understood in a moment of horrible clarity—
He was always going to find you.
It was only a matter of time. Your husband’s pride, his unrelenting anger, his desire to own, to possess—and you had let yourself quietly, foolishly hope he would let you go. Anger washed over you as you unfurled yourself, stepping in front of your bloodied Creature.
“Damn you!” The scream tore from your throat, ragged and laying your rage bare. You searched the trees, seething. Adam’s heaving breaths came from behind you in pained growls. The sharp crack of shots no longer rang through the darkness, though you knew they had their guns trained on him, just waiting for you to leave their line of fire. You didn’t budge. Before you could register the sound, another bullet lodged itself in Adam. His roar vibrated your bones as he pulled you behind him, shielding you. It had come far too close to you. Anger roiled in his chest.
In the bleak stillness, someone shouted.
“Hold your fire!”
Movement caught your eye, and as it drew closer, you identified it. Your husband pushed through the snow toward you. He called your name, beckoning you.
Adam shifted back toward you, bracing an arm in your husband’s path. His snarl was guttural, so animal in nature that it caused your husband to falter, fear flashing across his face. It dissipated quickly. What replaced it was a wry smile as he straightened his shoulders.
“Call off your dog,” he commanded. A large syringe flashed against his palm, hidden halfway by his coat sleeve. Adam’s lip curled.
“Listen, Adam, just let me—,”
“No,” he growled. “He will not come any closer to you.”
You reached out, placing a hand on his taught arm. He looked back at you. His face was twisted into something unrecognizable as his eyes flashed, scared and angry all at once, but when they met yours, everything seemed to soften. You pleaded wordlessly, putting a gentle pressure on his forearm. He fought against himself for a moment—you could see the battle in his eyes. Then slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his arm. You gave a small smile of reassurance, and stepped toward your husband. Any semblance of warmth in your countenance dissolved as you faced him.
“I see you’ve kept your promise,” you leveled.
He shook his head, chuckling lowly. “You made your choice, dear.”
You suddenly felt exasperated. No longer fearful, just hot and pure anger. “What is your game, then? To hunt him across these lands until you feel I’ve been sufficiently punished?”
He merely smiled, cocking his head in subtle agreement. “You could stop this, you know. You need simply return home. Leave this… thing to nature’s will.”
Adam splayed his fingers, only to clench them back into a tight fist, shocking himself with the sudden urge to choke the life out of the man.
“Home?” You laughed incredulously. “You would have it made my prison.” You shook your head. “No. I am never stepping foot in that place again. I would sooner live in squalor than spend another moment under your thumb.”
Something dangerous flickered behind your husband’s eyes. You recognised it, and cowered instinctively. His hand shot out, taking rough hold of your wrist to drag you away from Adam. You understood something in that moment; he never truly intended to give you a choice. Whether you ran it out of your system and returned on your own, or he hunted you down to drag you back—he intended to have you back in his clutches.
You tried in vain to pull your wrist from his grasp. Your skin stung harshly as it stretched against his tightening grip. You cried out, and that was all it took for Adam to lose his restraint.
You could see him move in the corner of your eye as your husband continued to pull you away. His roar shook your bones. Your husband turned toward Adam in shock, only to be met with a large hand clamping tightly around his neck. You stumbled back, shaken, as Adam raised him until his flailing feet could barely brush the snow. Adam’s voice became chillingly low.
“You do not get to take things that are no longer yours,” he growled. Adam could see fear like nothing he’d witnessed before dancing in the man’s eyes. He had killed before, yes… but not once had he held such a conscious desire to do so. The man whose pulse beat pleadingly against his fingers knew it too. His panicked clawing at Adam’s arm had begun to draw blood.
As you stared on, action became impossible to you. You had a choice, concise and clear: to become free, or keep your humanity. His humanity.
The men shifted anxiously, readjusting their weapons and glancing to one another. Not one moved to save your husband.
“Adam!” You could not conjure the words to convey it—you only implored that he look to you.
For just a moment, Adam watched you fight your desire, then all at once he saw you relinquish that control. You had silently given him the choice. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
In a single, fluid movement, he brought his unoccupied hand to the man’s head, and snapped his neck. Some of the men flinched; others exclaimed in terror.
Years of subdued feelings spilled from you as the object of your anguish crumpled into the snow before your Creature. A sob escaped, and Adam’s head instantly snapped to you. Concern overwhelmed him, and he soon was cradling your face in his hands, silently searching for your confirmation. You nodded once. He had done the right thing. As much as it confounded you, the relief was there. There was now nothing beside your own knowledge that tethered to the world you knew; the sense of freedom that now flooded you made the turmoil bearable. You gingerly pulled his warm hands from your face and stepped from the cover of his broad shadow to face the hunters.
You saw them begin to falter, staggering backward as you merely looked at them. They had quickly realized the futility of their circumstances, utterly powerless without the syringe that now lay somewhere deep in the snow. Now you held all the power.
You fixed your eyes on a lingering hunter with a hard look. You recognized him—an old guard with a gnarled scar across his neck. Courage, or perhaps stupidity, caused him to step forward and screw a single eye shut to level the other with the sights of his weapon.
In the low light, he saw your silhouette shrouded by that of a far larger, far more terrifying creature. One that had killed so easily to protect you. After a tired moment of deliberation, he lowered his weapon. The look he gave you was not one of understanding, but a threat. A threat that there would be more coming. Something so terrible, so powerful, would not be permitted to live so freely—there would be consequences to its existence. There would be no peace. Just as you understood this, Adam did too, though he did not pursue the men. Instead, he took your hand in his, and guided you back into the cabin.
He stood before you in front of the smoldering embers of the fireplace as you warmed yourself, choking back tears every few moments with the struggle to understand the feeling of loss that mingled indiscriminately in the relief. His hands fidgeted, indecisive. You stepped into his chest suddenly, wrapping your arms around his middle. He froze. Slowly, gently, as if you might disappear, he wove his arms around you until you were encased in them. One large hand spanned your ribcage, and his other cradled your head, mussing your hair in a way that made you feel longed for. He bowed his head so that his face pressed into the joining of your shoulder and neck. He breathed you in.
“You are safe,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your skin. You shivered.
“I know.”
a/n: Holy shit balls, I finally finished this part. This is my second rewrite. I like it much better now, so it's worth. I'm thrilled to have you lovely folks on my tag list :3 Thanks *so much* for reading! xoxo ~Sue 🤍
tag list: @the-kestrels-feather, @emoloser2001, @wiseyouthinfluencer, @delicious-collection, @chickenandsheep-blog
