#fertility gods

[kdmatheson]

"SOL" kd matheson

[wolfie-wolfgang]

Hern the hunter (3)

[omegalerc]

SERVING PREGNANT OMEGA. there’s no other words really

[midnottart]

Nature God Thor ⚡️

Uncensored version and a sketch page of his devoted priest Loki are on my Patreon for all members now 😌

[thoodleoo]

hey sorry if im cranky today i've got that pms (pre-maenad syndrome)

[breelandwalker]

[serpentface]

This was going to be a panel of a little comic but I got too invested in drawing minute background details so, here.

[the-cricket-chirps]

The Venus of Willendorf

Estimated 29,500 years old

From a Paleolithic site near Willendorf, Lower Austria.

[little-demy]

Dad

Some personal design rkgk also my own hc I guess. Idk why I think drawing him with wrinkles(?) looks interesting even if it doesn't make any sense. I just want to make sure he looks Old™ and Tired™ as he should be

[cath-lic]

*gritting my teeth* god’s love is transformative, god’s love is transformative, god’s love is transformative

[wolf-tail]

I've been writing some fic wherein Mortarion gets de-plagued by Isha, and I keep having some THOUGHTS about the whole concept

The saturniids, the silkmoth species like luna moths and others, are often large, in both wingspan and body. As Mortarion's body heals and he becomes Isha's beloved champion, he takes on more sarturniid moth features.

His tattered wings becoming whole, growing spots as if to mimic a giant predator. A fluffy coat and collar of setae scales grows around his neck and chest. A pair of big, silly antennae sprout from his head, which he hides under his hood so he doesn't feel embarrassed about them. (Isha thinks they're cute.)

Saturniid moths are inclined to be fat, their bodies needing the energy to survive long enough to reproduce. Mortarion, being the bastion of eternal endurance, is no different. This doesn't make it any less strange for him to watch his body change

He had always been little more than skin and bone, under Nurgle, he was skin, bone, and mucus. He had always been hard, unyielding, sharp to the touch, his body a living hazard sign, as if his skeletal form served to warn others away from daring to come close to his toxicity. He'd never felt truly at home in this body, his frail, sickly form little more than a tool, a weapon to bash against his enemies until it broke. This softness was new, a little unnerving, but not unpleasant. It was an odd feeling, to watch an ample belly appear above his waist, for his hips to widen and curve, for his thighs to touch when he walked.

This new body of his felt...odd. It was a body others called beautiful, with it's skin devoid of puss and bleeding sores, and glossy, healthy silver hair that Isha and her servants liked to braid flowers into. He felt undeserving of it, like the illness and misery was all he should have. He didn't know who he was without it.

Extra Horny Thoughts under the cut:

Isha is a goddess of fertility, her champions embody that aspect of her as well. Flowers bloom when he walks past, gardens become more fruitful. But "fertility" has multiple meanings. He gets "in the mood" a lot more often than he used to. He needs to take "self-care" breaks a LOT until those hormones even out. There's no shortage of willing partners for 2-player games, but he's a bit shy. If he found the right person, however, Horus would have some competition in the Primarch With The Biggest Breeding Kink arena. Man can make some BABIES.

[hat-full-of-sky]

There is a PROPHET at the Bagel Shop!

[wolfie-wolfgang]

Hern the hunter (2)

[sukibenders]

Is it just me or does the way Hera is portrayed in the PJO/HOO series feel out of touch? By that I mean, while it plays into the idea of Hera's relationship with her husband's children and ideals of family, it seems like Rick just took that and ran with it without actually wanting to dive into those aspects and develop them more (ngl, his writing for his female characters, especially the goddesses, could use some work even if I do enjoy them). The reason Hera is the way she is with her husband's children is because she can't punish him [Zeus] directly due to him being more powerful (and the last time she turned against didn't he literally hang her from the sky)? And even while I'm not justifying her actions, there's a method to them, so why would she go after other random demigods like Percy and Annabeth? Or at least in a way that was written better than her falling into a trope (I enjoy this series with my heart, but the criticism about how the gods are written holds some value that shouldn't just be ignored either). Like, I don't know, it just feels like there was more that could've been done with her character instead of just immediately writing her off as the cruel, cold-hearted, evil stepmother (a trope that's overplayed, especially when not even bothering to give them any depth). I could write ideas, but then we'd be here all day.

[greenbergwrites]

Alpha Fertility God Bucky won the WIP Wednesday poll, so here we have it. Part two.

Part One is here for anyone who wants a refresher. Amazingly, there is still no porn here.

--

What I desire, little one, is a mate.

Steve shudders, his breath hitching. It isn’t just the words. It’s the low voice they’re spoken in–a sultry, seductive tone that burrows right into his belly, where heat blooms. It’s the warm breath on his neck, making him shiver, and the scent of the Alpha making his knees weak. 

The stranger straightens to his full height slowly, his gaze intent as it roams Steve’s face. Warm fingers brush along his jawline again.

“Y-you,” Steve stutters breathlessly. “That is–do you mean to say that your rut is upon you…a-and you have come for relief?”

To him, it seems the only explanation.

The Alpha’s ozone scent is heavy with pheromones, the spicy undercurrent of arousal steady and unwavering. Anyone who caught his scent would be able to tell that he was only hours away from a rut–a day, if one was being generous.

It isn’t exactly common for unmated Alphas to seek out a temple attendant for relief, but it isn’t unheard of, either. After all, theirs is a god of fertility. Sex isn’t forbidden, the way it might be under the service of certain other gods. It wouldn’t make sense if it were. 

Most Alphas just forget it’s an option, really, when there’s usually a peer there to lend a needed hand. Attendants are only ever used when no other option is available.

Steve has a hard time believing this Alpha has no other options. He’s so very handsome, but he’s also calm. Confident. There’s a certainty to him that makes something inside of Steve relax in his presence. He’s the kind of Alpha that others would flock toward for a sense of comfort and safety.

An Alpha like this would have a string of admirers just waiting to be invited into his mating bed, surely?

The Alpha smiles, stroking Steve’s jaw again.

“No,” he says. And then, so gently that the command feels like a request, he adds, “Tell me your name, little one.”

“Steve.”

The Alpha tilts his head, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

“Steve,” he repeats, his voice reshaping it into something new. Something lovely. “No, I do not seek a temporary mate, beautiful Steve. I seek companionship for all eternity. A mate to stay by my side until the stars die out and we are left to make love in the darkness left behind. Do you think that is something you could help me with?”

The galloping of Steve’s heart rivals that of the fastest steed living. Every shallow, unsteady breath brings with it a certainty that he’s about to shake right out of his skin.

“Per–perhaps,” he says faintly. “My lord Alpha, he is a god of fertility, not love. But…but the argument could be made that blossoming love is a kind of birth. We could–we could offer and see if a blessing is granted.”

The Alpha watches him, a fondness growing in his eyes that Steve has never had directed at him before.

“You,” the Alpha murmurs, “are a hidden treasure beyond all imagining. I have waited a long time to find you, little one, and what a delight you are. Just these scant minutes in your presence have been worth the millennia of loneliness.”

Steve’s first, instinctive response is a moment of heartbreak as he thinks, You have been lonely?

But then the rest of what the Alpha said catches up to him. It is his turn to tilt his head and regard the Alpha curiously.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

Before the Alpha can elaborate, the sound of sandals slapping against stone reaches them. Steve turns just as he hears an incensed voice hiss, “Boy.”

One of the senior priests strides toward them quickly, his face a mask of irritation that only deepens when he sees the basket still in Steve’s grip. They were quick to tattle in the kitchens.

“Sir,” Steve says, as the priest nears, “there was–”

“I will have none of your excuses,” the priests interrupts, keeping his voice low to as not to draw attention from those at the altar. He snatches the basket away so violently that Steve might have stumbled if not for the Alpha there to steady him. “Stealing from the kitchens? You may have gotten away with much, but this will not allow this to pass. I will be speaking with the High Priest, you must be punished–”

He got closer with each word, his finger dangerously close to poking Steve’s eye out. The fury in his eyes and in his scent could so easily translate to physical violence. No doubt, that would be the way he’d see Steve punished, if it were up to him.

The Alpha puts a hand on the priest’s shoulder and pushes him back. The ozone in his scent has deepened, the air around him crackling with his own anger. The priest’s tirade dies on his lips, the stench of fear leaking into the air.

He’s only a beta, and not a particularly strong one at that. It isn’t a surprise at all when he tilts his head to the side, baring his neck in submission.

“My apologies, esteemed Alpha,” he says haltingly, with a perfunctory bow. “I did not see you there. Allow me to fetch another attendant to aid you while I deal with this one.”

“No,” the Alpha says mildly. “I think not.”

The priest balks, opening and closing his mouth in a great likeness of a fish. He’s not a very nice priest, not to any of the attendants, and despite the trouble he’s in, Steve has to bite down on a smile at seeing him so flummoxed.

“A-Alpha–”

“I have traveled far,” the Alpha says over him, “and visited many temples dedicated to your god. There are many admirable attendants and priests among them, but none have worked so earnestly in service to your lord Alpha as this one. This village is modest compared to others. It could easily be overlooked by your god, if not for an attendant like this. You are lucky to have him for that reason alone and yet instead of showing gratitude…you would see him punished?”

The priest laughs nervously, glancing between the Alpha and Steve.

“I-I am sorry, esteemed Alpha, but surely you do not think one so great as he,” the priest throws his hand back, gesturing toward the great statue behind him, “would be swayed by a mere pup. If the god takes notice of us, it is because of the work of the priests and the monuments they have built in his honor.”

He preens a little at the mention of monuments. Steve remembers, with sudden clarity, that it was this priest who petitioned for a new statue all those years ago.

We should have one as grand as our lord, he had said, gleaming and immortal as he who watches over us.

The Alpha raises an eyebrow.

“What use is a statue to a god?”

The priest turns red, indignation rising within him. Before he can begin a rebuttal, the Alpha waves a hand.

“You may go,” he says, “we have no need of you.”

“Be that as it may,” the priest answers, snatching up Steve’s wrist and yanking him away from the Alpha with more bravado than his scent implies, “I have need of this one. I will find a new attendant for–”

The air truly does crackle this time, threads of pale lightning flickering in and out of existence around the Alpha. His bright hazel eyes become brighter until there is no color left in them save for glowing, ethereal white.

It is a sign of a living god.

That kind of power cannot be overlooked. All around the temple, parishioners drop to their knees in supplication. Inhaling sharply, the priest goes to the floor, inadvertently yanking Steve down with him. Steve stares up at the Alpha, watching in fascination as the glowing white fades back to hazel.

He looks from the Alpha to the statue and back. They don’t share a great resemblance, and yet somehow, Steve knows–

A millennia of loneliness, he’d said.

“You are him,” Steve whispers into the echoing silence of the temple. “You are my lord Alpha.”

The Alpha smiles again, that same sweet smile that Steve received when he worried about the burdened mother.

“Yes,” he says gently.

Perhaps it is the shock that makes him so bold, but Steve cannot help but ask, “What are you doing here?”

The Alpha laughs softly.

“You prayed for it,” he answers.

Steve blinks. 

“You can hear the prayers?” He whispers. “Truly?”

The Alpha shakes his head, squatting in front of Steve so that they’re eye-level.

“Not all of them,” he says. “Not always. To hear them all would bring madness. But when one is good and earnest, when you offer so selflessly, you are heard.”

He glances at the priest with a look of derision.

“His voice, it is unfamiliar to me,” the Alpha says, kindness bleeding back into his expression when he turns his gaze to Steve once more. Pressing a palm to Steve’s cheek, he continues, “But you, my little one…you are known to me. You have greeted the morning at my feet, you have unburdened your fears to me, you have fervently prayed on another’s behalf. You are the reason I am here. I followed your voice until it led me to your door.”

A ripple goes through the gathered crowd, though no one is brave enough to lift their heads and look upon the living god. It’s only when Steve glances at those gathered that he becomes aware of the fact that he is the only one with his face not pressed into the temple floor.

He is dishonoring his lord. Shame flooding him, Steve hastily tries to rectify this. He throws himself forward, but strong hands stop him.

The Alpha’s fingers skate down his arm, brushing away the priest’s hand from his wrist, and then guiding Steve to his feet.

“No,” he says. “You will not bow to me, little one. Not ever again. But these people, they will bow to you, for it is you that has saved them.”

Steve frowns, looking around once again before looking back to his lord.

“But I don’t want them to bow to me,” he says uncertainly.

“And that,” the Alpha replies, smiling, “is why you are perfect.”

[blogtib]