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#hazbin hotel muse
a-f00ls-muse · 3 months
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Do what you will with this
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dark-lina · 2 months
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Lucy and her personalities plus ultimate demon/angel form ;) remind:
Lucy and her 3 personalities
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Lucy angel/demon ultimate form:
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guacamoleroll · 3 months
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𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 「𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯」 ೀ⋆。˚
content. f!reader. discussions of separation/divorce, friends to lovers, (name) is a fallen angel, sexual harassment, insecurities, discussions of mental health, spoilers for hazbin hotel season finale, implied/referenced not-safe for work. not proofread. 3.3k+ words.
author's note. i'm not sure if i'll be making a valentine's day post, but i haven't updated in a while, and i wanted to post something. so here's another hazbin hotel oneshot that's been in my drafts for a while! (sorry to all my bsd readers, i will be posting content soon!) i hope you guys enjoy ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!
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synopsis. two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.
OR someone comes in to try and ruin your relationship with lucifer, and he isn't happy about it.
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You remembered the sensation of an eternal inferno, the mark of damnation that scorched your fingertips, submerging your divine being within a cluster of flames. Exiled from the heavens—a fate worse than death to most became an accepted element of your newfound reality. You never belonged perched atop clouds, even with the virtue nestled in the recesses of your heart. A part of you feared the unknown as you descended through novas and clouds, but it felt like a pressure had lifted from your being as those imposing gates shrunk behind you.
As the first of a cluster of falling stars, your impact landed you on the steaming ground of a new, hellish landscape, your mind scattered from the force of the fall, limbs trembling with their aching joints. And that was when you saw him, a brand-new man who held out his hand, smile desperate yet reassuring. The Morning Star himself, brought upon the same fate, still shaken from the tragedy of his descent—it had been much more personal for him.
“It’ll be okay, (Name),” his familiar voice reassured, but it was impossible not to hear the waver in his tone as your hands intertwined. “It’ll all be okay.”
And with a single touch, traversing hand-in-hand through this foreign land, you knew that someday, he would be right.
But that happened many millennia ago, a tale for storybooks rather than a memory that should’ve constantly been on a loop in your mind, held onto during the dead of lonely, bitter nights. Despite your long-standing friendship, the both of you held very separate lives—him with his family, you with your industry. You worked in tandem in relation to the public and aristocratic duties but otherwise barely spoke past the occasional smile and wave. And no, you couldn’t help the desolation that had sprouted inside your heart, the muscle aching as you observed his radiant smile from across ballrooms, the king exchanging affectionate glances at his wife while coddling his sweet daughter. But you were happy for him all the same. He deserved to be surrounded by those he loved, deserved to be happy after years of heartbreak, even if you weren’t in the picture.
But you knew that you could depend on each other, even if you hadn’t spoken in months. It was an unspoken connection between you, a rule unbroken. Which was the reason you knew his midnight call one evening had been serious. His voice was flooded with anguish, sputtering out incomprehensible words as his breath caught with every beat. You dropped everything, the paperwork and meeting planning, flying over with speed so fast that the denizens of Hell whispered for days about the shooting star that had flown across the sky that evening. 
In your journey, there was one persistent question that kept bothering you—why wasn’t his wife the one to comfort him? It wasn’t that you minded, not at all, but the entire situation struck you as odd. However, your answer became clear as you cracked open the doors to his bed chambers; the room was frozen and still as if left abandoned. However, the knocked-over furniture and smashed artifacts only made it look like it was robbed, which you highly doubted. And there in the center of the chaos was the Morning Star himself—no, Lucifer. Simply Lucifer. His body crumpled to the ground, painful hiccups leaving his lips. You slipped inside with ease and were about to grab his attention, and then you spotted it, the large lettering of a familiar type of document—a divorce agreement.
You were aware that the relationship between Lucifer and Lilith wasn’t perfect, not by any means. When they had fallen in love, there wasn’t a guideline for navigating relationships and marriage. They had to play it entirely by ear, leading to rushed decisions and a shaky foundation. You had always believed that they were each other’s perfect half, but it was only because their punishment and subsequent banishment had tied them together and forced them to suffer the same fate. At least, that was their belief for a couple of millennia. It didn’t mean that the split that was bound to happen didn’t hurt.
His cries had been hard to hear, throaty and painful, his body trembling as he mourned on the floor. It took a culmination of your mental and physical strength to unravel him, forcing him away from those papers and into an embrace, slowly steadying his breath with yours as he clung to you as if you would leave if he let go. That night set the standard for weeks of a miserable routine, with the former king reduced to sobs and silence. It was unbearable, especially as he pulled away from those who cared for him—his fellow sins, his friends, and especially his daughter. But you continued to hold on, not leaving even with his harsh utterances and occasional outbursts. You wouldn’t let him be alone, couldn’t let him be alone, moving into the broken family’s manor to care for him full-time.
And he would always be thankful for that.
His mental health was climbing uptick for years, fluctuating back and forth until he had stabilized, at least in comparison to his state before. He became fantastic at masking his depression, brushing it underneath the rug as he delved into his own creations, pushing many of his relationships even further away as he stopped leaving home. You were the one to bring him food and clean the estate—his staff had drifted to other careers over the past few years. You were the one assuring that he wasn’t left hunched over a bench in the worst posture possible, toiling away with his latest obsession, no matter the cuteness of the ducks.
In his more conscious moments, you would listen as he ranted about his issues, even though you both were aware they were a product of his self-isolation. But in those instants, whispering quietly as if the heavens still held onto your every word, hiding from its light as if the touch of it would scorch your skin, an intimacy blossomed from the depths of your former friendship. It had remained idle for centuries, underlying the foundation of every interaction and word, leaving fleeting touches and shared laughter in your blissful youths for stern support and brief softness in your demonic adulthoods—neither of you ever noticed that you saw the other through heart-shaped lenses. Two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.
But that had been the norm for thousands of years.
And without knowing, you had fallen into a relationship stage humans had archaically dubbed as “courting,” traveling outside the estate for the chance to spend time with one another, exchanging personalized gifts whenever the opportunity arose, swapping words of encouragement and affection. It was only after you had kissed him on the cheek one night that you both realized your feelings, and it only spiraled on from there. There were scars from his past love—undoubtedly, you had nurtured them with care—but even despite those, you worked to establish a healthy, balanced relationship as you navigated this strange stage in your lives.
However, there was someone who had not been quite so fond of this new development. You had attended meetings with the Heaven Embassy for many years as a favor to Lucifer, his absence becoming common after his separation from Lilith, but you could still remember locking eyes with the first man as you entered the room, dropping the chicken drum in his hands as his mouth widen agape.
“Hot damn.”
His flirtatious and oftentimes self-centered advances didn’t fly past your head like you wished they would. It seemed despite having thousands of years under his belt, he was unable to learn any kind of manners, but he had been the original sexist prick. And for his status as a divine man, he fucked around a lot. You didn’t doubt that was due to his own insecurities about both of his wives preferring someone else’s dick over his.
Once you and Lucifer had started dating, you happened to make the mistake of slipping that information to Adam in the hopes that he would back off, but it only seemed to provide him a challenge as his flirtations increased tenfold. From then on, your meetings no longer consisted of the same old information surrounding the exterminations; rather, they were him pointing out the many sexual accolades that he had roped under his belt and the way that apparently made him better than Lucifer—his favorite line was always that “that snake must have a little snake.”
Your disdain was obvious, repeating over and over for him to shut his mouth, but he would only smirk, taking your response as a sign that he had struck a nerve and that it was an opportunity to dig deeper. You decided to take over all the meetings with the embassy, keeping Lucifer away from the lecherous banter of the man, no matter the discomfort that formed in your gut from his unabashed perverseness and the predatory stares at your body.
“Come onnnn, babe,” Adam whined, in the middle of biting the meat off a chicken bone.
You shot him a look. “I’m not your babe, Adam.”
“Babe.” If you were able to reach over and strangle him, you would’ve. That was probably the reason the coward used a hologram instead of coming here himself. “A guy like that couldn’t possibly please you the way I could.”
You massaged your nose bridge, pointedly ignoring the flicker of his eyes from your face to your chest, unable to maintain stable eye contact. “Can we just get on with the meeting?”
“You know I’m right, but I’ll let you off the hook for now.”
You groaned, slamming your head onto the table.
From years onward, his nerve only increased, but he had never shown his bloodlust to you before until the exorcist army descended from the heavens to wreak chaos and death upon the doorstep of Lucifer’s only child, Charlie. You and the ever-so-optimistic princess of Hell developed quite a soft spot for one another, which wasn’t difficult since you had already been considered family in centuries past. The title of your romantic relationship with her father initially came with questions and a couple of awkward moments, but it wouldn’t stop either of you from growing a deeper friendship and understanding, walking through the process together. And it definitely didn’t stop you from defending the girl you had seen for years as a pseudo-daughter, along with her noble ambitions.
“Charlie!” you yelled, knocking Adam away from her as he attempted to strangle her. Charlie sputtered, holding her throat with a pained cough, and you raised a steady hand to her back, helping her rise to her feet. You gave her a once-over, relieved to find that she had no substantial wounds besides a couple of cuts and bruises.
You sighed, cupping her rosy cheeks. “Thank goodness you’re alright. Sorry for being so late. Your father will be here any moment.”
Her formerly desolate expression quickly changed into a beaming smile, eyes glimmering with revitalized determination. “Good! We need all the help we can get.”
However, the moment was cut short by the overexaggerated breaths of a particular man, Adam wobbling to his feet as he cradled his bruised ribs, which you didn’t doubt had been cracked in the impact. It was hard not to smile as he struggled to stand, a wave of retribution twitching through your fingertips.
“You bitch,” he groaned between shallow gasps, though his voice drifted into a humorous lilt. “You know, I’m all for feisty women, but this shit’s a bit extreme, don’tcha think, babe?”
“I am not your babe, Adam.”
You cringed at the moan that left his lips, knowing it was not from the pain of his bruises. “God damn, I love it when you say my name.” He chuckled. “It’d be better if you screamed it.”
“You couldn’t have been that good if both your wives left you for someone else,” you muttered, swallowing your bodily urge to vomit as you rubbed the burgeoning headache coursing through your temples.
His expression drained of any warmth or humor, only leaving behind the rotted, sinful corpse of a man that he pretended not to be. “What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?”
“Hmmm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “Did I strike a nerve there?”
His mouth contorted into a snarl. “You know, the only reason that snake keeps your ass around is because he needs a couple of assets,” he barked, curving his hands to gesture toward your curves. “To distract him!”
“Hey! Don’t talk about him—”
He cut you off, his imposing figure towering over you. “You’re only a convenience. A pretty face and a hole to fuck.”
You gasped, but he didn’t let you speak, a smirk curling up on his disgusting face. “You don’t mean anything to him, hun,” he sneered, his voice sickeningly sweet as he grabbed your chin, craning your neck at a muscle-aching angle to stare into your eyes. “You had a chance at heaven, slut. A chance to be with me. And you fuckin’ blew it—!”
He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, a bone-crunching punch tunneling into his face, his body cast off the hotel, which rocked under the aftershock, before it started to crumble like a deck of cards. With no time to waste, you and Charlie haphazardly jumped from shrapnel piece to shrapnel piece, able to land on the ground with barely a tumble as it collapsed into your foundation. The moment would’ve been devastating if your focus hadn’t been pinpointed elsewhere, the screams of a dying man drawing everyone to the impact pit.
“You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve,” a low voice scowled, sweltering steam blocking everyone’s vision away from the pair until it evaporated into the air, and that was when you spotted him. His voice was barely recognizable. The duplicated tones and whispers surrounding each word made him unidentifiable. But you knew who it was; those familiar sets of wings and the eyes of his tailcoat were clues enough. You hadn’t seen him take this form in decades, centuries even—he had no use for it, and to go to such an extreme was unlike him. He was shaking more than ever before; his fists balled up Adam’s collar as he pinned him to the ground.
“Intruding on my fuckin’ realm. Hurting my daughter.” And with each offense, another blow was added to the first man’s face, which looked more like roadkill than a former human with each malefaction. “Harassing and insulting my future wife!”
“Don’t you mean your little whore?” Adam managed to utter, that cocky tone still persistent. 
But that was a terrible mistake.
Lucifer did not respond to his comment, not at all. Instead, he paused, finding himself unprepared for the sheer audacity of the man underneath him, a man only clinging to life through recesses of holy power and spite. To the unsuspecting bystander, it would seem the king had calmed himself down, but instead, an inferno blazed between his fingertips, his form threatening to tear with the amount of heavenly light that he balanced on his palms. The ire of his many eyes looked upon Adam, and they saw to it that his judgment day had come early.
“Die.”
“Dad!”
Luck seemed to have Adam’s back as Charlie intervened, one of the few people who could ever draw her father out of such an irate warpath. However, it was only after a moment of contemplation from Lucifer, whose eyes stared at Adam, his face unreadable as his fingers twitched before he cracked a wicked smirk.
“How’s mercy feel, bitch?”
The next moments were a blur, though those eyes had turned towards you instead, not with the anger they had towards Adam, but of sheer contemplation—not that you paid attention to them, watching Adam’s death unfold in an ironically anti-climatic sort of way. You would’ve felt bad if your mind didn’t remedy the guilt in your gut with memories of your several encounters, most of which were not PG-13. The rest of the staff and residents gathered their bearings, joining to work on rebuilding the hotel, but you did not have the strength to. Instead, you took a moment for yourself, thoughts toiling through your head as they often did, not understanding the icky, nauseous feeling pooling at the bottom of your stomach.
You flinched at the brush of a hand that rested on your shoulder, only to find that it had been Lucifer, his brow furrowed in that same contemplative expression. And much like those times alone in the estate decades prior, a patient silence persisted as he sat next to you, gauging each touch as he pulled you closer, allowing your limp body to lean into his.
“You know none of what that asshole said is true, right?”
Is that what you had been so concerned about? You couldn’t tell. Your thoughts surrounding your relationship, especially in the context of his former love, had always been indecipherable, even to yourself. His question brought a small beam of clarity into the shadowed pits of your darkest thoughts, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now, at least.
“Yeah, I know.” Your voice was more shaken than you wanted it to come out, but he understood the underlying message. He could tell it wasn’t the truth, not entirely, and that the roots of your insecurities weren’t something to be remedied through a singular conversation. But it was a start. He intertwined your fingers, caressing the bare area of your ring finger.
“I wish you would’ve told me,” he spoke, his voice soft. “I would never have let you go to those meetings.”
You stayed staring out into the distance. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
However, he believed differently, tilting your chin as he cupped your face, much more loving compared to the hands that had grabbed you prior. And his eyes, ones that had been filled with hatred, now glinted in sharp concern. “But it is a big deal. That’s sexual harassment.”
“You were going through so much,” you replied. “It was just one additional thing I didn’t want you to deal with. Another burden on your back.”
“(Name),” he said, voice stern.
The gruffness of his uncompromising tone drew your eyes to your hands. “Any insult to you is an insult to me. Always has been, always will be. People don’t get to talk to you like that. It doesn’t matter what shit I’m going through. That doesn’t mean you get to be thrown under the bus.” He cracked a smile. “And anyone who even thinks of treating you less than the perfection you are deserves to be roasted alive. You’re not a burden. You’re priceless.”
“You’re really into those cannibalism metaphors recently,” you quipped, a bit of your reprieve and humor returning back. He laughed, his heart falling into ease, though he recognized the nod towards his disdain for a certain radio demon, his expression contorting in disgust.
“I’m not gonna eat him! Think of how gross that thing would taste. Just awful, bleh—!”
You cut him off with a kiss, making his rosy cheeks redden more. “Thanks, Lu.”
You tried to stand. His arm braced underneath your back, a hand brushing across the sensitive skin of your waist as he hovered above, his lips locked onto yours. You sighed into his mouth as his fingers mapped every beauty mark of your face, only for him to split, panting. His eyes shone with recognizable desperation, but the smirk on his lips told you he was prepped to tease, brushing the stray baby hairs out of your face that had been ruffled in the fray.
“If someone ever bothers you like that again, you tell me. Got it?”
You only sighed. “Lucifer, I can handle my—”
He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, mouth upturned in a cheeky grin at the way it cut you off. “It’s not smart to fight without your shield, now, is it?’
You relented, unable to withhold your bashful grin. “Of course.”
A silence persisted.
“Your future wife, hm?”
“…shit.”
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ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @little-miss-chaoss
© ɢᴜᴀᴄᴍᴏʟᴇʀᴏʟʟ 2024 — ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇᴅ
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FUCK YES!! sorry but I absolutely called it! Lucifer is a silly guy!
Excessive ramble/theory tid bits ahead!~
How can you look at him and think he won't be a silly little guy? People saying he'd be a big intimidating scary king of hell? No way dude just look at him.
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And like the way he looks so upset in Ep1 when he lost his ability to create. That's not the face of a guy seeking revenge and filled with anger, that dude is just plain ol' depressed. The way he slowly just walks off screen...
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Lilith on the other hand? She is the definition of girlboss.
She's out here inspiring all the demons. Look at that power. She's in control. She's in charge.
While Lucifer's in his depressive state she's out here trying to lead all of hell. She's vengeful, (ik reds are quite a common colour in Hazbin Hotel) but the way it emanates in a glow behind her combined with her pose. It's just shows so much power and malice. You cannot convince me otherwise that she hasn't been pulling the strings since day 1.
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I'd even go as far as to say she was the one who had the idea to tell Lucifer to give Eve the apple. Just look at her stance as she stands back to see Lucifer going over to Eve, overlooking the plan. She knows what's up.
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(Also just a note but Eve looks so sad here. Girlie is trapped with Adam like she's in her own personal type of Hell. Btw I'd like to throw a theory out there that Eve and Lilith are sisters)
Ngl I do think Lucifer and Lilith split because of this whole power dynamic. Like Lucifer just couldn't keep up with Lilith's ideas or didn't believe in them. Like, Lucifer tells Charlie in Ep5 that Hell and it's people are terrible. This contradicts Lilith's whole thing of wanting to round up all the demons and potentially lead a fight. She THRIVES in Hell. For Lucifer, it's just constant punishment.
I feel like Charlie despite looking up to Lilith, is experiencing quite a bit of miscommunication. They both want to save the demons but in different ways. Charlie's way being through redemption but Lilith's maybe being through a war against Heaven.
Now it's just figuring out where the hell (pun not intended but enjoy) she's been for the past 7 years. (Honestly, I think she's just been off plotting with Eve.)
Another side note, but like the way Alastor just stares at this portrait in the pilot for such a weird prolonged amount of time is not helping my Lilith and Alastor theories calm down. Bro is the radio demon and is broadcasting everything back to Lilith.
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He 100% sold his soul to Lilith, tried breaking free, but couldn't.
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Angel is tactile. His many hands like to poke, hug, grab, pat. His long limbs entangle themselves in other people's personal space like pale branches. It used to drive him mad, it really did, when it came with jagged edges of aggressive, unwanted sexuality - made to attack, provoke, discomfort.
It's different now that they are friends.
Husk had thought that the constant touching would go away along with the relentless come-ons, but if anything it seemed to increase by the day: it was now rare not to have a long-fingered hand on his shoulder, a bony knee encroaching on his stool, or as of late the whole seven-feet fluffiness slumped gainst his side while bitching about another shit day at the studio. Husk would have put an end to it pretty quickly, nerves unused to familiarity and distrustful of it, If he hadn't seen Angel do the very same with Cherri. He thinks he understands at least the vague shape of Angel's want for touch that is free of… ties, obligations. Consequences. And Husk finds that he cannot deny him this, his own mild discomfort fading in the face of the reward. Especially when Angel is tipsy, happy, laughing in that loud and unfiltered way that shouldn't be as endearing as it is, talking about a million things at once. Never mind that the dancing fingers on his fur leave him with a strange buzzing under his skin. It's just him being a grumpy-ass old man that hasn't known any contact for decades, Husk can deal with that no problem. This kid deserves it, and Husk will gladly give it.
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catherine-sketches · 3 months
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So in my “will-i-won’t-i” with Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss (where I procrastinate and don’t watch the shows and only absorb the content through TikTok, Tumblr and sometimes Twitter) I came across Staticmoth/ VoxVal.
I saw the scene with Angel and Valentino. His abuse and disgusting behavior. I have an idea on how this moth asshole behaves.
And I have seen some people think that their relationship would be toxic, that Vox and Val, if the predictions are correct and become (or are revealed to be) a couple, would beat the shit (physically, mentally and emotionally) out of each other on the regular, but I think the idea that him and Vox having a healthy relationship could be such a punch to the gut plot wise.
Because that would mean Valentino IS capable of understanding consent. He KNOWS what working with someone else means without disrespect. He FULLY knows what sex is supposed to be like.
But that’s is between equals. Vox? His equal. Fellow overlord.
Angel? His property. Why would he give a shit about his thing?
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voxiiferous · 3 months
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"So the Radio Guy's back. I don't think you noticed, I didn't at first. I was too busy being a much more interesting and important person. But fuck it, news is slow today I guess. I'm totally not worried about this guy and neither should you be. I totally wrecked his shit."
the sidescrolling text of Vox's News Broadcast in Hazbin Hotel episode 2.
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spiritseeeker · 2 months
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This singular frame was all it took to undo my very extreme hatred of Adam, Vivienne Medrano how dare you make me feel sympathy for this man-
Like, Adam before this scene? A blatant misogynist and a hypocrite who unabashedly revels in sinners' suffering. A guy who has no regard for anyone else, and who pisses pretty much every viewer off with patronizing jabs like "sorry sweetie" and "try to chillax, babe." Ugh, disgusting.
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As the first man, it seems like he got an easy pass into Heaven. Maybe the angels were just saving face, given that their core pair of humans both took the fruit of knowledge of good and evil willingly, ordaining Adam on the technicality that "Eve did it first." But I think we can all agree that it was not on the merit of Adam's virtue.
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And then Charlie draws blood during their fight in Episode 8, and, for the first time, Adam genuinely realizes he can be hurt. Like, for the first time in the duration of the show, in his entire fucking existence, someone shows him that he is not, in fact, an all-powerful symbol of power and superiority. He's just a guy with privilege who is just as vulnerable, just as flawed, just as human as the rest of them.
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But once the mask is shattered, revealing the rather unexceptional man underneath, does Adam back down? Of course not—he doubles down. There's nothing worse than a narcissist who is virtually incapable of seeing the error of their ways, even when they're clearly backed into a corner. Bruised and bloody, he bellows that he's THE man; everybody should worship him.
For me, that pretty much hit the nail in the coffin. There was no redeeming a character like Adam (ironic, since he's one of the few characters in the show not in need of redemption).
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So isn't it fitting, then, that his death didn't happen in some grand display requiring all of Lucifer or Charlie's might? Isn't it fitting that Adam falls to Niffty—not Lucifer, not an overlord, but a common sinner, who sees him as nothing more than a foot soldier that needs to be eliminated, a pest as easily squashed as a roach? For someone as self-aggrandizing as Adam, this has to be one of the most humiliating ways to die. The perfect end for an insufferable antagonist.
But nooo, Vivziepop didn't end it there.
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Because INSTEAD, we hear Lute's heart-wrenching screams as she realizes that Adam has just been defeated; we see the look on her tear-streaked face when it registers just how badly he's been injured. The fear in her eyes at the prospect of living in a world without the angel she idolizes, the man she serves.
She's not concerned that she's just lost her arm, or that Vaggie is standing right there. In that moment, the only person in Hell is Adam, and all she wants is for him to stay with her.
Adam could have easily dismissed her feelings entirely. He could have spent his last breath hurling one last insult at Lucifer, getting the satisfaction of having the last word before his death. He could have thrown himself a pity party and cursed his fate.
Instead, this greedy, selfish, murderous fiend has the audacity to see Lute in his field of vision and flash her one last, tender smile.
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We don't know for sure what Adam was thinking in this shot, but personally, I think it was something along the lines of I lost. Proud of you, Lute. I'll miss you. Goodbye.
Whatever his final thoughts are, we can surmise from his expression alone that he's accepted his fate, and that he's grateful his last seconds alive are locking eyes with someone who's important to him. Someone he cares about.
And THAT—that was enough to crack through that thick shell of hatred I'd developed for Adam and shatter it like the mask he wore for seven and a half episodes of the show. THAT 8-second moment was enough to make me reconsider my stance on Adam as an irredeemable villain.
(CURSE YOU, VIVIENNE!!!)
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Does this scene cancel out all the heinous things Adam does throughout Season 1? All the lives he destroys, all the pain he causes to thousands upon thousands of souls? Absolutely not. But it does change my perception of Adam from "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness" to "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness that is a product of the flawed system he perpetuates."
And, I gotta wonder, what would Adam have been like if Heaven had been different?
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astermagne · 1 month
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Some warm up sketches for those who also don’t want to wait
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a-f00ls-muse · 3 months
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I was asked to make one for myself! So let’s see if I’ll find a bad boy!!
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dark-lina · 5 months
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3 personalities- 1 body
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What's it like to be half angel and half demon? Well, it would seem that it's great, you have the powers of an angel and a demon, you don't have to be afraid of the holy weapon that will kill you. But someone forgot to tell you that at some point you will have three discordant voices in your head. The main personality of Lucy, the demonic personality of Dark Lucy, and of course the one who was supposed to be good, Angel Lucy. Well, they rarely agreed on anything, when one boy liked by Lucy, the other two complained, when another boy liked by a demon Lucy but not by an angel side, sometimes there were Dantesque scenes.
The more the personalities mismatched, the more Lucy's head hurt. That's why after a certain point she stopped talking to anyone at all to avoid it. Well, it's worse when one of the sides took over the body, after that usually, Lucy woke up in strange places… and sometimes in strange company.
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WHAT is going on with Vaggie please i need to pry open her skull
girl stood out from the Exorcist with her single-stripe wings, they get torn off, she gets kicked out-
her hair was short like Lute's back then
probably another thing all Exorcists are supposed to be in lock step about- bloodlust, murder, looking almost identical in uniform (vaggie thought no one would know her out of uniform) (Wrong)
Charlie finds her. Charlie, who has long hair, and 3 years later Vaggie's grown her hair out too
and it's a sign of her new life with Charlie. as Carmilla kicks her butt Vaggie complains she's "not used to fighting with long hair-"
she hasn't had to fight in a long time
she's been CHOOSING not to, new life, new hair style, new her-
EXCECEPT not. Her long hair? Has the Exorcist double stripes that her old wings never did
her new clothes? oh yes she's got a skirt now, she's in red to match Charlie, she's dressed to manage a hotel not slaughter people- but the thigh highs and long gloves of the Exorcist uniform are still there too
it's there even when she gears up to FIGHT them
and when her wings come back- When her NEW wings grow in???- they still have just that ONE stripe. THEY didn't change. The hair thing, it isn't her aging into double stipes in three years- it's either natural and something the short hair hid, or deliberate and new, and which one would be more unsettling?
which one would be more fucked up- finding out you finally fit in when you can't anymore, or still trying to fit in when you absolutely don't want to?
it's like she grew out her hair to get away from her past, but also, it's a reminder of it? wings gone. long, twice-banded hair flowing down her back instead, filling in the space where her wings used to be
why the red X over her lost eye? a mirror of an Exorcist's mask-
(some have the right eye crossed out, some the left, one of their few small variations)
why not just a normal patch? Why not a hairstyle that'd cover it completely?? Why underline the reminder and MAKE it impossible to ignore- is she proud of it? The eye she lost for not doing something she knew was wrong? Why is she keeping so much of the Exorcist look- habit? nostalgia? homesickness? guilt????
Or is she retaking them for herself? Vaggie what are you thinking while you do all this- you HATE angels and heaven and the Exorcists and everything you were- Did you think it all meant something different, before realizing the truth? Something you could follow and be proud of?
are you trying to make all those things mean everything you once thought they did
or is being an exorcist still such a big part of you that you, shit liar that you are, can't cut it out of your life as easily as Lute did with your eye?
.... but your wings. They came back different.
they look even less like a proper Exorcists wings than before
(maybe because heaven didn't give them to you this time. you found them down here, in hell, with Charlie)
you AREN'T an exorcist! you don't kill sinners, you fight for them, you're trying to help save them, you're trying to redeem yourself right along side them, why why why WHY
why do you keep looking so much like the people you hate?-
oh. right. you hate yourself don't you. only... it's not ALL of yourself
i don't think your wings would have come back, if you hated the part of you that loves Charlie (it's the only thing you're clinging to, in fact. the hope that you won't fail her. that you can help her) (you hate yourself each time you fail- but you still try again) (you've never failed when it comes to that) (you've never given up on somehow being who she needs you to be)
do you REALIZE there's more to you now than the parts you hate?
hmm. i wonder
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fuccubi · 3 months
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finding a woman bleeding, in an an alley, propped up against a dumpster, half dead and mutilated, and then blushing and twirling her hair over it, is actually so girlfailure of charlie "wow this severely wounded dumpster lady is so pretty" charlie??? take a cold shower girl
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lilmcttens · 2 months
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creativitycache · 3 months
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...what it means is they're all drawn by the same studio
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ahli-stuff · 17 days
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Radioapple could be better
Back in the old days radioapple was my fan favorite crack ship . How the times change
Before we got our official depiction of Lucifer as we have now, I imagined him to be condescending, sly, manipulative character who would go on to be Alastor’s foil. Now, the only thing of that remains is that he is Alastor’s foil but the subversion of the sexy and powerful Lucifer of pop culture into sad-awkward dad Lucifer is amazing and I’ve grown really fond of it.
But for how popular it is now, there’s still a big itch that fan content for radioapple (or maybe just Lucifer) fails to scratch for me. This isn’t an issue I have that’s exclusive to Lucifer either, I nearly lost my mind about it in Tv series Lucifer(2016) too.
it’s the fact that there’s barely anyone seems to depict Lucifer’s sheer knowledge. If we are going by the finale, 10,000 years ago is when Lucifer first fell. He is at least 10,000 years old.
10,000 years to learn from the millions of stories (in passing and directly) who have fallen into hell. The wars, the disasters, the movements, the people!!! Age does not equate to wisdom, but you cannot live that long and fail to pick up a certain degree of separation from petty grievances of people who have lived only a fraction of the time you have. That’s doesn’t mean you’re immune to doing irrational things or having childish flaws, but those should coexist with the sheer weight of your knowledge. There should be a certain novelty that an immortal feels in being grounded around very young people who treat them like they are human. Because the knowledge and experience that comes with being immortal can be very dehumanizing, and that is especially so for a figure who has been maybe the most demonized in myth and religion ever.
Give me a Lucifer who knows thousands of different writings, religions, traditions, languages. Give me a Lucifer who contemplates the cruelty of some of the most infamous sinners in real life that have fallen into hell. Give me a Lucifer who becomes lost in ancient levels of nostalgia—his halcyon days with Lilith when humanity began to rear up and he was still hopeful.
Give me an Alastor who, beyond his resentment and ego, is deathly curious how Lucifer works. As a kid who likely went to church every Sunday and listened to pastors caution against the devil so many times his ears may fall off, to meet the guy himself? To meet the entity whom the entirety of the god fearing south wanted to scare him to sleep with? To finally meet the dealmaker of dealmakers?
Give me a late night conversation between the two where they discuss the what alastor has heard about Lucifer topside, Lucifer’s genuine curiosity of Alastor’s morality as a human, and the overall smallness of their existences in the largeness of their myths.
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