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Whenever Adam the First Man cooks, Heaven celebrates, their roaring applause creating the lightning and thunder shaking the earthen realm below.
It is well-known that, as the First Man who has ever walked the Earth with his lovely wife Eve and their children, he is more of a hunter rather than a cook. That is dedicated to the fair, nimble-fingered Eve, who crouches near a fireplace, waiting for the water to boil, or for the broth to be satisfactory before placing it on the dinner table with their family. They will pray, thanking God and the angels for their blessings for the day before turning in for the night.
He only learns to cook and tame the fires when it is now only him and Seth— Eve’s motherhood could not extend to the young infant, thus it is left to Adam to be both the mother, father, and house for his youngest son. He had made errors— who would not, when he only knows to skin a boar, to impale a deer, to take life and watch as Azrael takes their soul to Heaven, his solemn eyes never leaving Adam.
Sometimes, he may burn the hide of a mammoth too much, to the point it is charred and inedible. Other times, he will stop boiling water too early and give him and his beloved son a fever which will last for days.
When he ascended into Heaven, Adam supposes that he would never have to experience the egregious art of cooking again. He is the first man ascended, rife with luxury and an afterlife of doing things however the fuck he wants.
Although, in the years after his ascension, he is left lonelier than ever. Everything has become stagnant and a bore so fast, that he must be kept sane through doing something.
And, as much as he hates Samael, he cannot help but admit that the angel has inspired him to revive one of the things he did as a duty in his old life: cooking.
Back when he’d been naive, wanting to feel the love and affection he had lost with three people simultaneously, he refused to grow bitter, despite the gnawing loneliness of his heart threatening to explode into a supernova, he fell for Samael. He’d been beautiful and alluring all the same— only for Adam to find out he is just like his brother… a traitor, a manipulator, and the serpent.
Temptor that he is, he has given Adam the idea of cooking, because heavenborn angels do not see the need for such a meaningless skill, for they feel neither hungry nor full.
And so, he learns, only for his work and service to be swapped by rough kisses and undesired touching, with the darkness being his solace.
He is glad he gets to kill Samael during the war.
Adam has become accustomed to cooking, despite cooking for only one. He tries to follow humanity’s progress in the category of cooking, although he becomes disappointed that his descendants still cook, roast, and hunt for their food. He has developed a certain tiredness for meat, as it has become obsolete over the years. He too, has become sloppy with his cooking, but he wasn’t a critic— as long as it enters his mouth and lets him feel full, he has no such qualms.
That is until Azrael becomes a permanent figure in his life.
He and the Angel of Death weren’t close when he’d been a human; like a coward, he was scared of the concept of death and what Azrael represents, and the angel in turn hated humanity for tempting Helel to fall and become Lucifer. However, the war gave them a new chance to turn over a new leaf, a new chapter in their lives, and they both took it.
Adam is uncertain of how to describe their relationship. They are not mere coworkers, nor colleagues helping Heaven get back on its feet, but he is sure they aren’t… lovers either. Azrael never moved on from Beelzebub (that is her name now, from what Adam can remember), and Adam does not dare to pursue another relationship, now that he knows love is a beast he can never understand.
Yet he cooks for the angel, because, like Samael, Azrael cannot.
And Azrael loves it.
“My, how did you learn how to cook like this?” Azrael asks, stabbing the vegetables with his fork. Adam finally created a meal devoid of meat when the humans discovered how to farm, and now, they stay in one area to till the lands according to the environment. Adam smirks smugly at the sight of satisfaction on his fellow angel’s face. “This is simply incredible! Have the others tried it?”
“Ladies Gabriel and Uriel enjoyed my cooking during the war,” Adam replies, leaning on his chair as he watches Azrael finish his dinner at a lightning pace. “I cooked more for Seth and my descendants during the war since you angels don’t really eat.”
“I find it fortunate that I have to taste one of your experimental dishes,” Azrael replies, smiling with his mask. Oh, how Adam wishes he could see what is underneath. “Because this would mean that your next batch shall be heavenly. Pun intended.”
“Well, there’s more where that came from,” Adam states, chuckling a little. “Since the humans found out how to farm, they also started tending to the animals. I’m tryna figure out how to include milk to my dishes.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Azrael tells him encouragingly. “And I’ll be with you every step you take.”
Adam liked the sound of that.
When Lute had ascended into Heaven, a peasant girl fighting in those horrendous Crusades, she too, didn’t know how to cook. And, despite learning from the best teachers, she cannot. She is skilled in swords and battle, but she is not good at cooking. It is why she becomes Adam’s second-in-command in the Exorcist Army in no time, a recordbreaker from the last one who climbed the ranks so fast (Adam.)
When she joins Adam and Azrael, Adam mourns over the fact that he is the sole cook once more.
Seeing Lute’s golden eyes brighten like stars in the sky feels so special to Adam.
“This…” She picks up a roasted chicken leg as if she were amazed at the sheer size of it. She looks at Adam incredulously. “This is all mine?”
“Eh, whatever you fucking want,” Adam tells her, sitting beside Azrael, who eats the pomegranate, not minding the seeds inside of the fruit. “I made a meal for three, so enjoy it. Or don’t, and I’m gonna kick you out of the house.”
“But…” Lute looks toward the loaf of bread, covered in honey and butter. “Aren’t those supposed to be my share?”
Azrael and Adam glance at one another, and Adam shakes his head. “Fuck no, ya ain’t eatin’ that crap if you don’t want to. This is fucking Heaven, and starving to death ain’t one of our mottos. Eat, damn it. Your cheeks are all hollow.”
“So I don’t have to eat the bread?” She asks, sounding very relieved. Adam’s brother, just what had she been eating her whole life?
“If you don’t want to,” Adam answers, clipped but somewhat gentle. “After you finish eating, be sure to fucking wash your clothes, alright? How have I not noticed you’ve been wearing that fucking uniform in a week? It reeks Lute, holy shit! Don’t make me have to push you down the rivers of Neptune again, fuck!”
Lute ignores her commander’s complaints about her rather… unhygienic attire as the young woman takes a bite of the chicken leg. Immediately, her tastebuds buzz with savory taste, as her eyes shine brighter, oh so brighter than the starry skies.
She feels her lips curve upwards as she loses all her ‘ladylike’ posturing — which never once attracted any men to formulate a marriage alliance with her anyway — to dig into the meal Adam prepared for her, taking big bites and smearing sauce and ale all over her dress.
Adam and Azrael watch with faces of mild disgust and amusement.
“She’s pretty,” Azrael comments, looking at Adam pointedly.
“She’s a slob, that’s what the bitch is,” the other human angel in the room groans, crossing his arms. “The cunt’s smearing fucking sauce on her uniform! I’m not spending another dollar for dry cleaning!”
“But she’s cute,” Azrael sing-songs and Adam pushes him out of his chair in retaliation.
A few centuries afterward, he cooks for an even bigger family and ensemble than he could ever imagine in Heaven. While the Elders are receptive to the food he cooks, their angelic tastebuds never truly capture the euphoria and satisfaction Adam wishes to reap from them, except for Azrael— he, like Adam, does not care for the harrowingly frigid customs of the Elders. Ugh, Adam can’t believe he’s saying this, but maybe Lucifer is right about them being pompous assholes.
But Lilith’s little daughter and her innocuous hotel? Fuck, they’re very easy to please. This is just the second time he’s cooking for them and he already has these little cunts lapping at his feet for a taste. Even Venison over there with his creepy-ass attitude was looking forward to something more civilized to eat.
“Father, you guys are so fucking impatient,” Adam exasperatedly expresses as he sets the tray of food on the banquet table, much to the delight of everyone attending the dinner tonight. “It takes a whole ass day to get the right ingredients for the food I’m about to make, and what to cook them into. You all better finish this in one setting.”
“We will!” Charlie beams at him as Adam sits down between Emily and Lute, who were, respectively, taking portions of the sumaghiyyeh and manaeesh. Adam, too, digs into biryani whilst everyone studies the food given before taking a bite out of them.
“Holy Hell, is this fucking thareed?” Husk asks an impressed look on his face. “I haven’t eaten one of these since the war ended.”
“Fuck yes,” Adam replies as he takes a falafel from his pile. “I came from the area, after all.”
“You’re Middle Eastern?” Angel inquires, a surprised look on his face as he sips his glass of limonana. “I thought you were…”
“What? A pasty asshole?” Adam scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Eden ain’t in Europe. I think, in modern geography — yeah I touch up on that subject, fuck you Vajjie — it’s located near what’s now called Iran, or something. So, not white.”
“Eh, I just assumed you were, ‘cuz of those artists makin’ ya pale and shit,” Angel replies, smirking. “Glad ta know you ain’t. Ever kill one o’da guys that drew ya like you’re one of their English kings?”
“Oh fuck yes,” Adam laughs, and Charlie glares at him. He clears his throat and returns to eating. “But I don’t fucking mind anymore if that’s what they think of me, fine. But I really like depictions where my skin is darker, ya know?”
Emily smiles, “Well, you’re still the best cook ever! You should try… um… oh! What about South Asian dishes next time? I know you’re trying to connect with your heritage by cooking dishes like these, but I want to try some food from Asia too!”
Adam shrugs, not being able to say no to the little Seraphim. She and Charlie truly were partners in crime when it came to giving him a heart attack. At least Lute only looks at him with expectant eyes— he knows that if Azrael or Seth were here, they’d be joining in on the teasing with coercion and blackmail. “Eh, whatever, that’s next on my list anyway.” It was the fourth thing, but he didn’t care. Scandinavian dishes will wait for a moment. “Anything specific?”
Emily hums, before beaming. “Pakistani dishes?”
He clicks his tongue, making finger guns. “Got it, bitch.”
“I… miss your cooking,” Vaggie tells him, tentatively looking up from her kebab and offal. Her eyes are apprehensive and prepared as if waiting for Adam to strike with some comment cutting into her deep, but Father, how Adam missed a compliment from one of his top girls.
He doesn’t smile. He can’t, because acknowledging that he’s hurt her is something he could never take back. He gives a noncommittal hum. “And I miss how much you keep bitching about how I burned the empanadas.”
But… the fallen angel gets him, even after all those years apart. He hates it— having to be easily read by someone whom he used to know.
So, instead of stewing in all these rueful thoughts, he focuses on Lucifer Morningstar, infamously staring at the meal Adam prepared for him. The demon meets Adam’s eyes, and the angel raises a brow— Lucifer, perhaps giving into the peer pressure all around him, or finally surrendering to the warm, delicious, savory aroma of the dining hall, places a parcel of feteer and takes one cautious bite on it.
It’s not fucking poisonous, Father damn it.
Adam idly watches, pretending to eat as he sees Lucifer testily chewing on his chosen meal before his eyes light up in delight. He meets Adam’s eyes once more, and he sinks in his seat, lifting a middle finger as he tries, subtly, to reach for the kamounia. Adam quietly cackles at Lucifer’s pride making him unable to relent that he is absolute shit at cooking and that the Head Exorcist is a whole lot better than him.
He heard from Cain that Lucifer can only cook pancakes. He’s a whole lot better at cooking pancakes that peppermint twink over there.
“Hey, Luci,” he calls, the nickname giving him shivers of the good times, but now he has coated it with acridine resentment that Lucifer will never see through. The King of Hell looks at him with a raised eyebrow, almost like a challenge. Adam smirks behind his mask, his mask projecting the absolute smugness on his face right now. “You, me, pancake cooking competition, whoever wins gets… a million Heaven bucks?”
“You are so uncreative with your deals,” Lucifer replies, scoffing, but his eyes tell the opposite. “If I win, you cook for me and the Sins for a week. If you win… uh, I don’t fucking know, what do you want?” Adam doesn’t want to point out that his cooking for Lucifer and his loser siblings was an admittance that he is, by far, the better cook between the two of them, because they’ll just destroy the dining hall in the process.
“Eh, I don’t have anythin’ in my mind right now, but I’ll decide when we finish the damn thing.” He points his fork towards Lucifer, declaring, “I am going to fucking win.”
Lucifer laughs, “As if!”