Deimos Quotes

Why would Acheron care about any of this? (M'Adoc) Not him, his mother. Remember her? Tall angry blond bitch who seriously spanked her whole family into oblivion over a hangnail? (Deimos)

Are we all ready? (Deimos) (Letting out a blood-chilling war cry, he and the rest of the Dolophoni ran through the caverns.) I hate their dramatics…and their decibel level. (M'Adoc)

I can’t believe you cheated! (Phobos) I can’t believe you didn’t know it. Man, what kind of god are you? I never knew stupidity had a divine representative. Guess I was wrong, huh? (Deimos)

I don’t play with cheaters and I don’t care if you are three seconds older than me, you don’t tell me what to do. I’m not your bitch, boy. Then stop acting like one. Whoever heard of Fear being a cry-baby. The same people who made Dread a cheater. (Phobos) Oh, go cry to mama, you nancy-boy. (Deimos)

Stay out of this, Zebulon. (Dolophoni) You guys come to my town, you don’t call. You don’t write. And you expect me to just let you run amok in front of the humans? Really, Deimos, don’t tread here unless you want to bleed. (ZT)

She’s special. We used to unleash her on ancient battlefields just to see soldiers chop their best friends into pieces before falling on their own swords. (Deimos)

I’m an executioner, Leta, hence my Demon nickname. They send me in to take the heads off people and gods who’ve stepped over the line, usually only because someone has PMS. You want justice, Themis’s office is down the hall on the left. You want death and dismemberment, I’m your man…or rather god. (Deimos)

Jealousy can’t sour someone to this extreme, can it? (Aiden) It can and it does. Believe me. I’ve seen a lot worse than this in my billion or so years of existence – the first murder man committed was one brother against the other for no other reason than that one petty emotion. Jealousy turns to hatred which then turns to poison. It infects and it destroys until it eats someone alive. (Deimos)

First of all, you don’t want me to get too hungry. Ever. I’m an ever worse bastard than normal and having starved for centuries, I’m not about to deprive myself again when I don’t have to. Second, let me tell you something about your ‘friends.’ Deimos held me down while I was branded and then took me to the human realm where I was left with nothing. No clothes, no money. Not a damn thing to call my own. Hence the aforementioned starvation. A hundred years later, M’Ordant dumped my inside a Spartan prison camp and told the commander I was a traitor to their people. You don’t really want to know what the Spartans did to people they thought betrayed them. D’Alerian had me put inside a Turkish prison in the fifteenth century where I was impaled after being tortured for three weeks. So you’ll have to excuse me if I have a hard time feeling too sorry for them right now. At least no one’s shoving a sharp spike up their asses. (Jericho)

Mars is not Earth. It doesn't have a thick atmosphere to bend light and carry particles that reflect light around corners. It's damn near a vacuum here. Once the sun isn't visible, I'm in the dark. Phobos gives me some moonlight, but not enough to work with. Deimos is a little piece of crap that's no good to anyone.

Phobos gives me some moonlight, but not enough to work with. Deimos is a little piece of crap that’s no good to anyone.

Deimos is a little piece of crap that’s no good to anyone.

This is wrong. Out of this world wrong. But then again, so am I.

No-one ever even came close to Deimos. It was the ginger stepchild of Martian moons.

A persons most valuable weapon is their body and how they use it.” Deimos

Once the sun isn't visible, I'm in the dark. Phobos gives me some moonlight, but not enough to work with. Deimos is a little piece of crap that's no good to anyone.

Then, having accomplished what he wanted to do, Eros decided to stop the futile battle. He recalled Phobos & Deimos from Mars & sent him Anteros & Himeros instead. And immediately, the God of Hate turned into the God of Passion.

Deimos och Fobos var där och den omättligt rasande Eris, hon som är syster och vän till mannadråparen Ares. Liten verkar hon först, men reser sig sedan tills hjässan stöter mot himlens valv, och likväl går hon på marken. Mitt bland dem sådde hon hat och fördelade tvedräkten lika där hon i vimlet skred fram för att öka krigarnas jämmer.

O amor era cheio de janelas abertas, correntes de ar, milhões de bactérias , fontes de medos, milhões de deimos, o amor podia destruir as paredes que erigíamos com tanto esmero, o amor podia até abraçar o estrangeiro, a distância, podia destruir toda a ética, deixar-nos à mercê do insólito, do inesperado, do horror da surpresa. A minha noção de amor, na juventude, era uma noção de propriedade. Se era algo que podia fazer parte da casa e da sua perpetuação, muito bem, poderia ser considerado. De outro modo, era uma fera, uma ferida, uma doença, tal como o meu pai me ensinara: o amor constrói-se, por isso a escolha deve ser racional e não passional, escolhemos uma pessoa adequada e depois vamos criando um edifício amoroso. O amor que nasce do ímpeto sentimental ou carnal é perigoso. É um ladrão de sobriedade e de objectividade. Barbarifica-nos. Temos de olhar para ele como quem olha para a porta e vê o que está do lado de fora. A passos, devagar e ponderadamente, vai arriscando, conquistando território selvagem e domesticando-o. A exaltação é para as galinhas. Os seres humanos decidem com ponderação, é tão simples quanto isso, não cacarejam nervosos.

Eros, who was awakened when the girdle was cast aside, thought it unfitting that the Goddess of Love should turn herself into a Goddess of War, since that post was already filled by Athena. On the other hand, a battle between the Goddess of Love with the God of War also did not make sense, as they should either make love or make war & indulge either in love-games or war-games. For how could one party make love whilst the other make war at the same time? For it took two parties to either make love or make war. And thus Eros decided to turn Mars into the God of Hate to see whether a battle between Love & Hate could produce Chaos, since Love & Chaos were one & so were Hate & Chaos. And thus Eros sent Phobos & Deimos to Mars, to turn the God of War into the God of Hate.

Nobody knew how it all began, neither Homer nor Hesiod. Nor Ovid nor Vergil. But it was said that at the beginning, there was Chaos, which meant confusion & disorder, & there was Eros, which meant love. And confusion & disorder were what all those who were smitten by love [Eros] felt at the beginning & what all lovers felt when they fell out of love. Thus, it appeared that confusion & disorder [Chaos] was the flip-side of love & that Eros was the other face of chaos. And, thus, Eros & Chaos were in fact one. And the poets saw other aspects of Eros, such as Himeros[Passion or Desire], Anteros[Reciprocal or Mutual Love] & Pothos[Longing]. And they also saw other aspects of Chaos, such as Phobos[Fear] & Deimos[Terror]. And that since Eros & Chaos were one,all these aspects of the two were the aspects of love.

Today it is considered bad manners to point to any Soviet source of American anti-Americanism. But throughout their history, Americans had never before been anti-American. They voluntarily came to the US. They were always a proud and independent people who loved their country. Ares is the Greek god of war. He was usually accompanied in battle by his sister Eris ( goddess of discord ) and by his 2 sons, Deimos ( fear ) and Phobos ( terror ). Khrushchev and Ceausescu. Both men rose to lead their countries without ever having earned a single penny in any productive job. Neither man had the slightest idea about what made an economy work and each passionately believed that stealing from the rich was the magic wand that would cure all his country's economic ills. Both were leading formerly free countries, transformed into Marxist dictatorships through massive wealth redistribution, which eventually made the government the mother and father of everything. Disinformation has become the bubonic plague of our contemporary life. Marx used disinformation to depict money as an odious instrument of capitalist exploitation. Lenin's disinformation brought Marx's utopian communism to life. Hitler resorted to disinformation to portray the Jews as an inferior and loathsome race so as to rationalize his Holocaust. Disinformation was the tool used by Stalin to dispossess a third of the world and to transform it into a string of gulags. Khrushchev's disinformation widened the gap between Christianity and Judaism. Andropov's disinformation turned the Islamic world against the US and ignited the international terrorism that threatens us today. Disinformation has also generated worldwide disrespect and even contempt for the US and its leaders.

She smiled and patted me on the head. “Congrats, Fly. You win the Nobel Prize. You don’t see a pressure dome up there, do you? But we’re still sucking air. I know we’re on Deimos; I recognize all the stuff that H. P. Lovecraft didn’t redecorate.” Who, I wanted to know, was H. P. Lovecraft? If he’d had anything to do with this, I wanted to punch his lights out.

And that leaves Deimos: the god of dread and terror. There has never, ever been a person so aptly named. Run from this place, now. And if you ever speak of any of this, I’ll destroy everything you love.

Deimos looks around the room nonchalantly, seemingly not caring that my world is crumbling around me.

A Martian Midsummer Night's Dream by Stewart Stafford On Mars's pristine ruddy hue, we tread, Above, stars as adamantine algae spread. Phobos and Deimos, twin moons fair, Primeval river beds form a spidery lair. Dust storms tower above dried-up seas, A vast red alien desert, shorn of trees. Oberon and Titania's gamesmanship spite, Quarrel deep in the Martian summer night. Puckish antics stir starry lovers' hearts true, As spells and dreams on tangled paths pursue. On Olympus Mons, Vulcan gods watch and scheme, Echoes of old wars fuelling plans extreme; A Wellsian tome of the tripod Martian foe, Of invasive seeds, spread to Earth to sow. In Valles Marineris, where canyons stretch away, Dead of night gives birth to coppery day. A frontier vision, both opaque and diamond clear, Magical flights of fancy on an untamed sphere. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

Phobos is the innermost moon of Mars, only 16.7 miles (26.9 kilometers) in diameter but the larger of the two moons. Diminutive Deimos is a little over 7 miles (11 kilometers) in breadth. Scientifically, both Martian moons are oddballs. There is continual dispute as to where they came from. Just how did they get there? Conjecture about them being captured asteroids or cogenerated with Mars is debatable. These two objects are a cosmic detective story, and we need more clues to sort out their true nature. Years ago I stirred up a little more than Phobos dust by calling attention to a strange feature spotted on that moon. I termed this oddity a monolith, a very unusual structure. While there are those who view it as a large, rectangular boulder, visiting Phobos can categorize this curious creation, put there by the universe, or God if you prefer.

Mars has two moons. The are named Phobos (fear) and Deimos (panic); appropriate companions for Mars, the God of War.

— Je ne veux pas remettre ça sur le tapis, mais Médée a vraiment dit « agape » cette fois-ci, déclare Deimos. Ella affiche un large sourire amusé. — Amour, on en a déjà discuté, Médée n’a que cinq mois. — Et alors ? Elle est en avance sur tout mortel de son âge, bien sûr. C’est notre fille. — Oui, tu es exceptionnelle ma puce, mais papa dit n’importe quoi. Médée, elle, gazouille, au comble du bonheur d’avoir ses deux parents penchés sur elle.

— T’es vraiment trop mignonne ! J’ai envie de te dévorer toute crue ! — Encore ? remarque Deimos en arrivant à notre niveau. Mais pourquoi tout le monde veut manger notre enfant ? — Mais parce qu’elle est beaucoup trop choupinette et potelée ! m’exclamé-je. Ça n’a pas l’air de convaincre Deimos qui grimace. — Cronos faisait ça avec les siens, ça n’avait rien d’adorable. Vu sous cet angle…

No, it’s because six years ago, I crossed paths with the very devil himself. And that devil happens to be her brother. Deimos Drakos. My terror. The prince of darkness who stalked my shadows and haunted my inkiest dreams back at Knightsblood, not to mention has continued to do so virtually ever since. Every story has a villain, and he’s the one in mine.

And that leaves Deimos: the god of dread and terror. There has never, ever been a person so aptly named.

Jeff’s quarters were small, but he’d done a lot with it over the last year and a half. The wall above his bed was covered with sheets of paper that he’d taped together, upon which he’d drawn an elaborate mural. Here was the Mars over which the Emperor had reigned: boat-like aircraft hovering above great domed cities, monstrous creatures prowling red wastelands, bare-chested heroes defending beautiful women with rapiers and radium pistols, all beneath twin moons that looked nothing like the Phobos and Deimos we knew. The mural was crude, yet it had been rendered with painstaking care, and was nothing like anything we’d ever seen before. That wasn’t all. On the desk next to the comp was the original Phoenix disk, yet Jeff hadn’t been satisfied just to leave it behind. A wire-frame bookcase had been built beside the desk, and neatly stacked upon its shelves were dozens of sheaves of paper, some thick and some thin, each carefully bound with hemp twine. Books, handwritten and handmade. I carefully pulled down one at random, gazed at its title page: EDISON’S CONQUEST OF MARS by Garrett P. Serviss. I put it back on the shelf, picked up another: OMNILINGUAL by H. Beam Piper. I placed it on the shelf, then pulled down yet another: THE MARTIAN CROWN JEWELS, by Poul Anderson. And more, dozens more… This was what Jeff had been

Well, it’s no secret that life at Arsia Base was rough. Always will be rough, or at least until someone gets around to terraforming Mars, which is wild-eyed fantasy if you ask me. But even if you disregard the sandstorms and scarcity of water, the extremes of heat and cold and… well, just the utter barrenness of that world, it’s still a hell of a place to live for any extended period of time. I guess the worst part was the isolation. When I was station manager we had about fifty men and women living in close quarters in a cluster of fifteen habitats, buried just under the ground. Most of these folks worked either for Skycorp or the Japanese firm Uchu-Hiko, manufacturing propellant from Martian hydrocarbons in the soil which was later boosted up to the Deimos fuel depot, or were conducting basic research for NASA or NASDA. The minority of us were support personnel, like myself, keeping the place operational. A lot of us had signed on for Mars work for the chance to explore another planet, but once you got there you found yourself spending most of your time doing stuff that was not so much different than if you had volunteered to live underground in Death Valley for two years. For the men working the electrolysis plant, it was a particularly hard, dirty job—working ten- or twelve-hour shifts, coming back to the base to eat and collapse, then getting up to do it all over again. The researchers didn’t have it much easier because their sponsoring companies or governments had gone to considerable expense to send them to Mars and they had to produce a lifetime’s worth of work during their two years or risk losing their jobs and reputations.

The guard heard it from his brother. His brother works in the mines with his cousin. The cousin cooks for the barracks on the weekends and overheard the horse poop cleaner talking about the temple. The horse poop cleaner found out from the pig butt wiper. The pig butt wiper heard about the temple while wiping the butt of General Deimos’s second favorite pig. He overheard General Deimos talking about how he was tasked with guarding the temple,

Nah, not God, Vixen. Just Alexander motherfucking Deimos.

Nope. Get those thoughts out of your head right now, Nikolas Daemon Deimos. You are the most incredible father, our children are so loved, and in turn, they will learn to love just as hard and fiercely as you do.

I want you to be mine. I want the world to know that one day soon you’re going to be Mrs. Evie Deimos.  “I don’t have a ring, and this is probably the most impulsive proposal ever. Not to mention we both smell like dog shit and are covered in bubbles. But… I love you, Evie. I never want to spend a day without you. You’re my everything.

I’m Evie Moore—hopefully one day Deimos—and I’m a part of this Family. A family who helped to save my own, who gives us a future, a purpose. A group of people who love each other so fiercely that it makes it hard to remember what it’s like to feel anything other than loved and cherished by those around you.

You really want to know what I think?" I ask him, my feet digging into the ground, standing at the ready, "Then you'd better prepare for it to sting, too!