#prickets

[seases]

the agents 4 and 3² i never post about.... old af ref i never posted + new doodles

[spottednova]

Pricket

[My Commission Info]   It's Pricket!  He's a bottlekin, a dream-walker, and an all around pretty rad dude honestly. I think he enjoys showing off with the smoke manipulation stuff.  

[idontthinkimokaymentally]

Hello there Rosetti Pricket fans.

[saiyef]

[forsworned]

a thought i couldn't get out of my head about kyle because of this image

cw: religious themes, sexual themes, sacrilege, religious guilt, temptation, power dynamics, Kyle being a delicious temptation.

Penitent!Kyle is beaten, battered, and bruised seeking salvation when he has a terrible run-in with God’s Judgement. He’s the biggest talk around your small, docile, God-fearing town, caught stealing apples with pockets full with of hardtacks. He begs the Minister to let him go, he was running from his “demons”, he says. And that single-handedly saves him from losing his head. Poor, wretched soul, tortured by the voices in his head.

You spot him in the dim sanctuary, a lone figure at the witching hour, talking to the altar, begging for forgiveness in the form of penance. To be gentle, graceful, and the utmost serene. And you, the town beauty, who has been spying on him for the past half hour or so, step out. There’s a creak in the wooden floorboards that captures his attention. And then he sees you, face illuminated by the candle you carry with both hands. It casts a warm, angelic glow over your dulcet features, and his amber, dewy eyes team at the sight. An angel.

He curses himself for the lack of restraint his cock is practicing, but he holds himself still as you approach him. Hands interwoven on the prayer rail, kneeling before God, tears cascading down his smooth golden brown face—looking like an angel himself.

“You’re seeking salvation,” you take him in once more, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings in your rib cage. “I see your struggle, I can help guide you,” you murmur, each word a tender caress, “help you find the forgiveness you seek.”

God has heard him. The pathetic sinner he is, He has heard him.

“You’d do that for me?” His whisper is faint, but you hear him clearly in the still night.

You don’t even skip a beat, “Yes.”

And his honey eyes analyze your every move, from the beat you gentle place your pricket candleholder atop of the prayer bench to the way you gracefully glide to the ewer, pouring out holy water into the a bowl. His heart beats louder with every stride you take toward him and you stand tall, poised and maternally before him. Like Mother Mary in the flesh, the light cascades a heavenly glow upon your skin. It’s as if the voices in his head grow silent with every word you utter.

Your voice echoes along the church walls as you begin the ritual, he’s hardly paying attention to the declarations that fall from your mouth. Only imagining how your lips would look puckered around his twitching, rock hard length, “…and renew your soul, granting you the redemption you seek.”

The candlelight dances, outlining your visage, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He’s no longer obstinate in the path God creates for him. He is more than willing to embrace humility, show remorse, and let go of his pride. His eyes quiver, body spasming from the long hours he's spent in these four walls to subdue his demons, to strive for the quiet, serene life of man and wife, and to give up his incubus-like ways. The route to redemption lies right there in front of him, right between your bosom. So soft, so sweet, so willing to bring him to the light, coax him through your expressions of adoration toward the Lord.

“I accept.” He bows his head in acknowledgement, before you tip the bowl to have his sweet, supple lips touch the rim. His knees touch the wooden floor and he looks so sweet, so submissive and willing to give anything to have his sins wiped clean.

Your core throbs with heat, envisioning him hiking up your wool skirt to lap you up. But you allow him to drink, holding the bowl steady as he takes his first tentative sip, water dribbles down his chin and wets his breeches as he sups it up with a haste that makes the desire coil tight within your belly. It’s hard to ignore the large bulging between his thighs, the clamminess in his hands as he puts them over yours. He hears the sudden shudder in your breath, stumbling over as you lose your composure, water spilling into his lap, and apologizing profusely for your clumsiness.

His hardened length presses against his breeches and your innocent eyes broaden at the profane and luscious sight. You’re quick to pull on the discarded surplice that lies on the prie-dieu to blanket his sodden form. Temptation still lies heavy in the air, but you swiftly turn your back to him, rushing out of the chapel. Heart on your sleeve for the man that showed up on your town's doorstep for deliverance as you rush back to your home. You creep back through your window you leave ajar, un-wedging the fork and softly placing it on your nightstand as you catch your breath.

Fingers trembling at your sides with desire and adrenaline, and the memory of his hardened length outlined through the thin fabric of his breeches, tear stained bronzed cheeks, plump lips, woolen hair and taut chest that peeked through the loosened placket of his cotton shirt. And how can you forget his eyes? Eyes the color of golden, everlasting hearth, of polished amber in the first rays of dawn.

With clammy fingers, interlaced at the edge of your bed, you pray to God to let your provocations dissipate into the zephyr of the cool Autumn wind. Part of you doesn’t even want the enticement to leave you, to give into human nature. After all, man was weak.

This deserves a part two, yess???😇

[metmuseum]

Pricket Candlestick. ca. 1300. Credit line: Gift of George Blumenthal, 1941 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/467703

[buradeeznuts]

this is Pricket spamton

this is Pricket spamton

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Pricket candlestick, mid 1400s, France.

[quillpokebiology]

Greavard Facts

-The scientific name for Greavard is "Spiritus canis" which translates to "Spirit dog"

-While similar to Litwick, there is no evidence of these pokemon being related. Even with that however, some Paldean myths say that these two are connected

-A lot of trainers are worried about their Greavard stealing their life force and will keep away from it or keep them in their Pokeballs. But there is a way to play with it without your life force being drained. If the candle is small, they’re well-fed and will not take your life force. If large, keep away from them, as that’s when the candle is taking your life force

-While a lot of people assume that the Greavard hiding in the ground have sinister intentions, Greavard actually do this as a way to sleep and to say hello to trainers/pokemon that pass by

-Greavard have beady little eyes that can't see well

-Greavard have very good memory, and are able to remember anyone they play with, no matter how long ago it was

-Greavard were discovered 5,000 years ago when the first settlers of Paldea arrived

-In a lot of beliefs, Greavard are seen as partners with Houndstone, with both of them bringing people to the afterlife

-Greavard are very prone to separation anxiety

-A nickname for Greavard in Paldea and a region south of Unova is "el cadejo." The nickname implies something more sinister, however, since there are myths of Greavard purposely stealing people's souls, and the people who wrote those myths would refer to them in that term

-Greavard fur is very prone to getting dirty, and it should be cleaned regularly

-While nothing can prove this, many beliefs state that Greavard evolve at night from the energy of the moon. While this might not be true, a cool fact is that the moon phases were named after different stages of greaving (an old name for making candles) is neat, considering that Greavard is a candle dog

-Their mouths are strong and sharp enough to break bone with ease

-Greavard puppies are called prickets

(Art by Kuroi Susumu on Zerochan)

Houndstone Facts

[autumnmobile12]

“You’ll want to keep the stitches and bandages clean and dry,”  she instructed as she led the way into the greenhouse.  “And if you do get your injuries wet, be sure to…”

Lisa trailed off, noticing the boy’s blue eyes were darting around the room.  Not with his by now customary suspicion but rather in undisguised awe at her collection of raised plant beds containing a boundless variety of herbs, vegetables, and flowers.  It must’ve been a startling sight compared to the dry, cold world of autumn outside, but it wasn’t enough to distract him entirely.  He was quick to notice she’d stopped talking and snapped his attention back to her, not unlike a young pricket watching for wolves.

“The sun keeps the room warm,”  she explained cheerily.  “And the water from the plants provides humidity."  She almost said like a rainforest before catching herself.  A simple ‘peasant woman’ like herself wouldn’t know what that word was, even if she’d had the chance to visit an ecosystem like that.  Matter of fact, Lisa wasn’t even certain if a regional nobleman’s son would know that word, although she imagined the Belmonts could have easily traveled through Europe's rainforests, and possibly Africa and Asia’s as well.  Clearing her throat, she resumed her instructions about keeping the wounds dry as she handed her patient a towel, a cake of soap, and a clean tunic.  “Any questions?”

....

[seases]

Your neo agent 3 design is very cute!

aw thank you here's a doodle of them lol they have 2 brain cells and theyre dedicated to fight or flight response

[periodoakantiques]

NEW STOCK - THIS FINE PRICKET STICK HAS A TRIANGULAR STEPPED BASE WITH LION PAW FEET, THE TURNED COLUMN WITH DRIP PAN AND PRICKET.

[mutant-distraction]

The smiling deer. A Fallow pricket poses for the photographer during a snow shower.

Photograph thanks to Max Ellis

[frogenthusiastt]

16 and/or 12 for the ask game 🫶🤍💖🌸💐‼️

Tysm!!

12. Candles + 16. In dreams

One of the things that set Vash apart from humans is how he always knows when he's dreaming. It was a comfort, when he was a child and the monsters under his bed came to haunt his sleep. It had been a comfort when he'd been laying on the cold floor of ship 3, being able to run away into memories of him and Nai sharing birthday cakes or fighting for their mother's attention.

Now, he wasn't so sure. The cathedral was vast, infinitely detailed and grandiose like the Catholic churches he'd only seen drawn in picture books or sketched in Wolfwood's thoughts. His memories had always been like that, rough drawn ink on paper, like he couldn't bear the reality of them. Vash had never told him he could see them sometimes, when he was pushing his mind against the heavy weight of sleep and the blessed darkness that came with it.

There where marble angels carved against the two pillars on either side of the altar, hands curled in supplication. In between them was a huge silver organ, pipes curving viciously upwards as if those, too, were designed with prayer in mind. To the right, next to the sanctuary, was a rounded metal pricket-like structure, carrying at least 20 lit candles. And in front of them, broad figure sharply backlit by their light, he was waiting.

Wolfwood looked as he had on his best days, proud aquiline nose reddened by sunlight, clever mouth holding a cigarette. Vash knew that he was dreaming, because he'd never seen Wolfwood look this relaxed in a church.

"I've been waiting, y'know?" he said, words blowing a puff of smoke swirling in the warm illumination.

Vash's troat felt infinitely dry. "I know. I know, Wolfwood. I'm so sorry I'm keeping you waiting."

Wolfwood just grinned, linking their hands together. "I don't blame ya. You should keep me waiting a hundred years more, if y'know what's good for you."

The image of him blurred as tears formed against Vash's lashline. He desperately blinked them away. He'd take as much as he was given, burn this blessed image into his mind for as long as he could.

Wolfwood laughed, so terribly gently. "You were always such a crybaby. Save it for when we see each other again.

Vash could only manage a broken sound, sob fracturing out of his body. "Nicholas. Fuck. Nicholas. Please just come back to me, I can't– I c–"

He felt a warm hand press against his hip, smoke blowing against his cheek. And then he was nothing, and Vash stood alone in the church. The marble angels looked down at him in divine disinterest.

Vash didn't believe in prayers, but he did believe in promises.

"I'll find you. Wait for me in the next life, in the next death, in whatever eternity you're in.

I'll find you."

[saiyef]