#ambreeskyewriting

[ink-ghoul]

Hello! Question put forth here bc of your wonderful template: which hermit do you think uses the least redstone? In general.

uuuuhhhhhhhh I think Scar ? other non-redstoners like Grian for example at least use some redstone for farms, but with Scar we rarely even see farm-related content even less redstone-content, that's why it was a big deal when he made the item sorter of Scarland

[elsewhereuniversity]

Can Jimothy tell if its given a bead or bead necklace that has Significance to the giver? If it can how does that affect his reaction if at all?

Jimothy’s assessment to beads is pretty much always along the neat binary of Plastic Jewel Beads/Anything Else; personal significance seems to affect that as little as anything else.

[thebibliosphere]

Thank you so much for that polyamorous explanation! I didnt realize there was a term for the partners partner thing! Def saving this as a ref for when I work on my stories!

You are very welcome! Happy writing.

[reedraws]

Hewwo, c2 for the snipperclips expression meme? That looks like a Kaz face to me. <3

Snipperclips expression meme || Accepting !

Kaz is.... big gay? 💛

[isa-ah]

Omg there was supposed to be more after the happy saying I love your work and your ocs!

hehe well thank you! i appreciate it a lot, yall are really nice about my original content and it rlly does keep me level in cranking it out

[kornyo]

My dumbass didnt realize you have an art blog. 😵 followed it now so that's fixed!!

[punk-rock-pixie]

Hello! if you could make a candle that smelt like anything, what would you pick?

I’m between a lavender chamomile candle or a candle that smelled like the way I feel doing music.

[sidhewrites]

Coriander makes Jasper a sweater but its a new pattern or something and it comes out ugly as sin. Jasper loves it to death and wears it all the time.

Is this a prompt? I’m interpreting it as a prompt. You’re getting some hijinks.

Winter was coming on. Gaelgallah’s harvest season was short, and frost hung on the edge of pine boughs in the morning already. Coriander had been working on it for weeks, not that she’d admit it if asked. She’d answer, “Just a little while,” and never more than that. But Coriander’s hands weren’t fast, and never had been. Knitting took ages, sewing doubly so. Embroidery was almost impossible, but she had learned it all the same. Better to patch up a torn apron with a lovely little bird than a mismatched square of fabric, or so her mother said.

So she did her best. She put flowers here, and leaves there. Little birds for the sleeves and butterflies for the cuffs. And a J over the pocket she’d sew onto the front. Once the embroidery was done, only then did she start cutting the wool -- nearly all of it dyed green -- to make the sweater.

It wasn’t halfway finished before she realized how hopeless it was. But she tried -- one sleeve then another, buttons all the way down. A pocket, for his things. Too deep and lopsided and nearly useless with how it’d been sewn up. The hole for the head was large enough to fit a watermelon.

She ought to toss it, really. It’s not fit to be worn. Knowing Jasper he’d probably take it with a smile, and wear it for weeks to come, but he didn’t deserve something like this. Not something that could be made by a child’s hand -- and that’s being unkind to the child.

Yes, she ought to toss it. Coriander set her needle aside and crumpled the sweater up into a ball so no-one could see it as she slipped down the stairs, eyes on the ground, headed for the rubbish bin out behind the inn.

But Jasper caught sight of her first. He’d been in the front of the inn while she worked, sandwich in hand, performing a dramatic retelling of a children’s fairy tale for the inn’s guests. “Annie?” He trotted up to her, ignoring the protests, brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, couldn’t quite meet his eyes as shame burned her ears. “I just needed to ... d-dispose of...?”

“Oh, but isn’t that the thing you’ve been working on all day?”  

Her ears burned redder. He’d been so busy all day entertaining, she’d have assumed he wouldn’t for a moment notice. But nothing escaped his eyes, she supposed, and, unable to lie, Coriander found herself nodding.

“Let see it, then,” he said, and held a hand out. She hesitated long enough for him to worry, and he reached for her hand instead -- something that was slowly becoming more and more natural to them both. “Come now, I’m sure it’s not half as bad as you think it is. You’re far too hard on yourself.”

“No, it’s...it’s really terrible. I’d rather just...”

“If you for one second think it’s better off as a goat’s mid-afternoon snack, Annie, I’ll be forced to hug you until you change your mind.”

She made a face, something between a grimace and a smirk at his antics, and gave in. Reluctantly, she held the lump of fabric out to him, and Jasper used his free hand to hold it up. With some frustration, he gave in to the fact that he’d need both hands for this job, but when he had the sweater on display, there was no hiding the shameless delight glittering in his eyes.

“Well, well, look at this!” He always had liked gaudy outfits, which was why she’d chosen that bright green fabric in the first place. But this went beyond gaudy. He shouldn’t have been admiring it so shamelessly in front of her, nor sounded so genuinely eager when he asked, “Can I put it on?” Then he stopped, smile dropping for a moment. “That is -- it isn’t for someone else, is it? Is it selfish of me to assume?”

The corners of her mouth tugged into a small smile, then a larger one at the sight of his sad attempts to get it on without help -- partially because the shoulder in one sleeve was far too wide, and the other almost too narrow -- and partially from his own overexcitement making his movements careless and clumsy.

But once he got it on, he beamed, and waved a hand to summon up a cold breeze for just a few seconds. “It’s so warm. I don’t feel the cold at all.”

Her smile grew when he looked up at her, and stepped forward, arms open -- a silent request for a hug. 

The sweater looked somehow worse now that it was on him. But he was right about the warmth, at least. Coriander could content herself with knowing it was practical, even if the sight of it filled her with dread.

And, she reminded herself, he liked it. Because she made it, and because it was exactly the sort of thing he liked. Homespun, gaudy, sure to catch the eye of everyone they passed. He would wear it until it was nothing but a scrap of faded fabric, useless even as a handkerchief. That was what mattered most.

She fell into the hug gratefully, and didn’t even argue when he thanked her -- fifteen times at least.

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