sometimes i have to sit down and remind myself that mydeimos really, truly has died in so many ways that it legitimately doesn't faze him anymore. starvation. dehydration. drowning. strangulation. being crushed. being ripped apart. bleeding out. food poisoning. venom, probably — neurotoxins, hemotoxins, cytotoxins and all. hypothermia. getting devoured whole. having his innards gouged out, his throat torn, his head sliced clean off, being buried alive...
the list goes on and on and on and i could probably get even gorier with it, but this was really born more from the thought that mydeimos is such a great chef not only because he learned, from too much experience as a child, what starving to death felt like, or what was safe to eat or could kill you with a single mouthful -- but also because he learned first hand what love meant in the form of his very first fresh, cooked meal at the hands of the kremnoan detachment. a warm, hearty meal was his very first experience with love that he could remember, outside of his fitful dreams. of course it is the language that he uses to convey his care and affection. eat, please. he loves you. he's memorized your tastes and preferences. he cooked this just for you, so you can be happy, so you can be transported back to whatever memory made this dish your favorite. eat, and be healthy. he wants for nothing else than for you to be happy and healthy.