This would totally never happen...
Permanent Damage (Tyr)
Looking out the window revealed worlds he had never imagine. On the run from one mechanized destroyer after another, iron works of horror from another age, Shamash had never expected to see allies. All around they were there. Dragons, jaws agape, blazing past them with a mighty roar as they went to face the enemy. Give them a chance to escape. At his side in this flight, astride a dragon of their own - named Ember, in fact - was Tyr. The one-handed Norse god of justice who had a penchant for whiskey and black women. Shamash didn't know how they had come to be here, but here they were. Wait. No. He knew. Guarded by the pilots of those monstrosities who called themselves Po-Po. They were preparing to sacrifice both deities to the great and powerful Judge Ronald Thompson. Terrible creatures, those judges, with five mouths - each one letting slip a peal of flame born in hell when they roared their dominion over all creation. Shamash couldn't help but let loose a war whoop, and raise the saw high above his head.
( The dragons would end this once and for all. )
Home Sweet Home (tag: Moros)
Artemis looked up from the project she was working on, eyeing the clock on the wall. It was almost time. Soon he would be here and then the Huntress could give Moros exactly what he deserved. She gave an eager smile as the anticipated hour rapidly approached. She had worked long and hard to make this just right. She wanted to make sure he never forgot this night. She got back to work, knowing that all the preparations had to be completed or the entire evening would be shot.
Finishing the task at hand, Artemis made her way from room to room. ( Checking the results of each thing. )
Where All De White Wimmim At? [Sif]
It was one of those quiet afternoons when no one, not even a goddess wanted to change out of her pajamas into proper attire for greeting the day. It was also one of those afternoons when even the most elegant of goddesses wore scrubby torn sweat pants and a mismatched tank top, one in neon green with pink letters proclaiming 'PINK' on the bottom and the other in bright orange with silver letters that said 'GODDESS.' Goddess of dressing poorly was probably the only thing it proclaimed, but it was comfortable.
On the feet of such a goddess were lavender fuzzy slippers that were kicked up onto the perfect glass coffee table, next to a bowl of greasy potato chips and a box of wine. A box. Of wine. Her hair was not in any form other than atrocious, unbrushed and pulled back into a bright yellow scrunchy whose previous life was on the side of a head in the 1980's in one of those ponytails... on the side of the head.
Iris lounged there, glass of the Peter Vella winery's "Delicious Red" from the box that was sitting on the table.
It was the greatest way to spend an afternoon. Relaxing with her dearest of friends beside her, staring at the television while AMC played the best of Mel Brooks. Morning had started with the two of them, Iris and Sif, waking up and deciding that while they both had better things to do, nothing won out over a good showing of History of the World Part 1 and Young Frankenstein. Now, one box of box wine killed, that one a Blush, it was time for Blazing Saddles.
Minutes earlier, the two sat on the plush white sofa, wine glasses held high and singing, "I get no kick from champagne... mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all... so tell me why it should be true... that I get a belt, out of you." Hours earlier the joke was, "Roll, Roll... roll in zee hay!!" Hours before that, it was "We need a miracle."
Now, it was a very different moment. Now they were both giggling and acting far younger than either actually was.
What in god's name... (Moros)
It was a typical day. Nothing special really. Misery was tootling around the house, trying to find something to do. There wasn't a whole lot for a Goddess to do these days. Nobody actively worshiped. Oh sure, she still got power from all the people in the world. Which is why she was still around. But there weren't temples to visit, or boons to grant. Or anything at all really. Most of the world thought of the Greeks as a long ago thing. And she? Well, she'd never really been that big anyway. Not like those damnedable Olympians.
Mostly, Oizys spent her days working at a Walgreens, to cure the boredom. Or playing around on the fun and interesting thing called the internet. She had email. She went into chat rooms. She liked looking things up. She learned all kinds of new things through the internet.
Today, she was Googling herself.
She'd heard some of the girls at work talking about it. At first she'd thought it was something really dirty. But then they explained it to her. Now, on her day off, that's just what she was going to do.
Oizys typed in the url. WWW.google.com. Then after a moment of staring at the rather empty looking page, she typed in her own name. Oizys. The damned thing tried to correct her spelling! Like she wouldn't know how to spell her own name. But under that, there were links. One for some place called Theoi.com, for Wikipedia.com, for a journal on some livejournal site. That one was somebody calling themselves DJ Oizys. That was odd. She didn't know what she had to do with DJing, but that was okay, she supposed. Pantheon.org. Even a website called Oizys.com, but it didn't have anything on it besides some wanker calling himself SirNyx. She shook her head and continued. None of this really had anything to do with her, aside from the Greek info sites. It really did amaze her, though, how many people were using her name. And so wrongly, too.
Then she came upon something very curious. Very curious indeed.
More than a little confused, Oizys clicked the link that said asylums.insanejournal.com/deities_dot_com. What she saw made her heart stop. She read a little bit, then read a little more. This was insanity. What was going on here?!
"What the fuck!?"
Not everybody was represented here. But there were faces that she knew. Including herself. These people were pretending to be them! There was Philotes. There was Deimos. There was Aphrodite, and Ares. Morpheus. Nemesis. There were dozens. Dozens! Journals, and images. Images! She was reading about herself and her family.
How did these people know!? Where were they getting their information? And what the fuck gave them the right to pretend to be gods and goddesses?
There had to be cameras somewhere. Oizys whipped around in her seat, trying to find something glinting in the shelves behind her. Somebody was spying. They had to be. They were writing about her, and pretty accurately, too. Though there were some things wrong, of course. But too much of it was correct. Too much of it was....
It was all too much.
"Moros!" She called out. "Moros! You have to come see this shit!"
Like totally going shopping! (Deimos)
Aphrodite was spending the best. day. ever. With her favorite son of them all. Sweet little Deimos! What a dear heart. he knew exactly what to make mommy smile the most. Offering to go shopping with her! He knew the way to his mommy's heart, didn't he? Who was the cutest boy ever? Who was the best boy in the whole world?! Deimos was! Of course, little Deimos, would be leashed. He couldn't run around in public, heaven forbid the dear get out of her sight. Not that he ever would!
He definitely wouldn't now.
Aphrodite walked slowly down Rodeo drive, Deimos just a little ways in front of her, enough not to be too far away from his favorite mother in the entire world. Aphrodite was completely decked out for this. Everything about her was pink. Her shoes, dress, summery hat, even her sunglasses. Her purse was pink and had a small pink dyed toy poodle sticking it's head out of it. Deimos had picked it out. Cutest thing ever. Well, not cuter than little Deimos in his cute little suit and little bow tie.
She loved dressing her little Deimos up!
Aphrodite stopped in front of a window, looking in at the undergarments on display in the window. Beside the store there was a confectionist of some sort. Cakes and the like. Deimos was focused on that.
"Oh look Deimos! Isn't that the cutest little bra ever? It's only, like, 100 dollars. That's nothing, right my darling? Absolute perfect for mommy. Do you think daddy will like it? I think he totally will!" Her voice was a high pitched sweet little voice. Men were turning on the street to watch her. She tapped the little poodle on the nose. "Does Mr. Fluffy like the bra? Mr Fluffy totally loves that perfect bra, doesn't he? He doooooesss!" Aphrodite grinned.
Showcase Showdown (Susa-no-O / 2005)
Burbank, California. Land of television. Land of dreams. Though, as it turned out, not if those dreams involved anything other than getting drunk and staggering back to the Motel 6 at 4 a.m. The same three bars had been the scene of as much debauchery as you could summon in a run-down section of southern California. Gwydyon had thought there would be all manner of women, or 'bitches' as the vernacular of the day called them. Susa-no-O had been agreeable enough at first. Over the past three days Gwydyon had watched the Japanese god's mood steadily deteriorate. From bad to worse to almost homicidal. Burbank was officially a bust, much as Portland and Oklahoma City had been. If they didn't find something to do, they were going to descend into real apathy, and then Susa-no-O was going to murder something with his bare hands or a weapon so grotesque in nature that it did not bear description or use.
( That was when he found him. )