#abelute

Now, before we get into why Abel and Lute work as a couple, we need to do the unthinkable and actually understand who they are as people. Because let’s be real: simply putting two hot characters next to each other isn’t what makes a ship compelling (though sometimes, it IS just enough for simps, like me) it’s their personalities, their damage, and the way those messes collide.

So. Let’s talk about Lute.

For an angel, Season 1 Lute was astonishingly violent and crass, so much so that even Adam, patron saint of audacity, had to tell her to calm her tits down. And honestly? That tells you everything. Lute isn’t unhinged for fun; she’s devout. Her rage comes from belief. She hates sinners because she was raised to see them as irredeemable, and she didn’t just believe that doctrine, oh noooo, she embodied it.

She wasn’t some disposable grunt, either. Lute was a high-ranking Exorcist, Adam’s right-hand woman, a soldier who thrived in hierarchy, loyalty, and absolute certainty. She respected Adam deeply despite his many… uh...shortcomings, and she was willing to rip her own arm off and keep fighting in the finale. That’s not mindless brutality; that’s fanatic devotion.

And when Adam died? That was the first time we saw her cold, furious exterior completely crack. Lute isn’t a soulless killing machine. She’s a woman who loved deeply and lost catastrophically. At her core, she’s not a monster; she’s a maiden in mourning.

Season 2 then does the worst possible thing to someone like Lute: it challenges her entire worldview. Suddenly, the Heavenly Council is entertaining the idea that sinners might not be irredeemable after all. That Hell might not be eternal punishment. And to Lute, that isn’t just a disagreement. It’s existential betrayal.

Imagine being told your entire life that something is unquestionably evil, that you built your identity around fighting it, and then one day the people you trust turn around and say, “Actually? Not so bad.” Of course she refuses to accept it. Of course she’s furious. And that’s before you factor in her unresolved grief over losing her commander and lover.

The Gravity music video crystallizes this perfectly: Lute is rage, vengeance, and hatred, but all of it is born from pain. She’s drowning in survivor’s guilt and unresolved grief, and instead of being given space to heal (therapy? literally anything?), she’s repeatedly sent back to Hell, where Vox and the sinners conveniently reinforce her worst fears.

Then comes the hallucinations.

Adam doesn’t just haunt her memory, he appears to her, over and over again. By the final episodes of Season 2, she knows he isn’t real, but she can’t let him go. She’s caught in this brutal limbo between acceptance and denial, unable to move forward yet also, unable to stay still.

And then an insult to injury, Adam’s legacy is handed not to her, but to Abel.

Adam’s son.

Weak. Cowardly. Soft-spoken. Everything the Exorcists literally beat out of their soldiers.

To Lute, Abel is an affront. A walking reminder of what she lost, what she sacrificed, and what the system values over her. He represents everything she despises, and yet, she’s forced to become his right hand.

And here’s the thing about hatred: there’s a very thin line between it and something much more complicated.

Proximity, time, and forced intimacy have a way of cracking even the most rigid psyches. Especially when grief, guilt, and unresolved love are already doing most of the work...methinks. 😘

Next, let's move on to our lovely cute cinnamon roll, Abel.

When Hazbin Hotel first teased Abel for Season 2, I genuinely had no idea what to expect. All we knew was that he was the son of Adam, and visually he looked… a little goofy. Naturally my brain went, oh no. I assumed he’d basically be Adam 2.0 with the same ego, same chaos, yet somehow worse.

I’m very happy to say I was completely wrong.

Abel’s character is fascinating because everything about him screams insecurity mixed with genuine effort. From the way he looks to the way he carries himself, he feels like someone who has spent his entire existence trying to live up to a standard that was never built for him.

Let’s start with the design.

Physically, Abel has a similar build to Adam, which makes sense. But the similarities end pretty quickly. His features are softer, his hair less sharp, and those big goofy eyes make him look less like a militant angel and more like a slightly anxious puppy who wandered into the wrong department of Heaven’s military.

Even his halo is interesting. It’s not perfectly round, it’s crimped and slightly imperfect. That’s such a subtle but deliberate design choice because halos in Heaven are usually pristine. Abel’s looks handled. Bent. A little flawed. It almost feels like a visual nod to the biblical story of Abel’s tragic death, but it also works symbolically: he belongs in Heaven, yet he still feels slightly out of place within its rigid hierarchy.

Personality-wise, Abel almost feels like the mascot of Heaven 😂

Whenever we see him outside of conflict-heavy scenes, he’s cheerful, polite, and generally radiating good vibes. In music numbers and background moments he’s smiling, having a good time, clearly enjoying existence. And honestly, the way he addresses Lute as “Ms. Lute” is ridiculously adorable. The man is respectful to a fault.

He feels like exactly the kind of person you’d expect Heaven to produce: kind, optimistic, and genuinely happy to be there.

Which makes the emotional undercurrent of his character even more interesting.

Because despite all that sunshine energy, Abel is very clearly aware that he was never the favorite child. Adam’s personality made it pretty clear what he admired, which was: strength, ruthlessness, and dominance. Abel, meanwhile, is softer and more empathetic. He knows he doesn’t naturally fit the mold his father seemed to respect.

That small moment where he visits Adam’s office and wanted to take one of his old guitars as a keepsake says a lot. Abel still wants some kind of connection to his father. Even if he knows he’ll never fully match the kind of person Adam wanted him to be.

And ironically, in Heaven of all places, Abel is actually the perfect representative of what Heaven should stand for.

Now let’s talk about what really makes his character shine: his dynamic with Lute.

Next to her, Abel practically shrinks. Lute is intense, intimidating, and absolutely radiating controlled fury. Abel, meanwhile, looks like someone who apologizes when he bumps into a wall.

Even though he’s technically the commander and she’s the lieutenant, Abel often lets Lute take charge. Not because he’s incapable, but because he’s still figuring out what leadership looks like for him.

Until the moment everything boils over.

When everyone is yelling at him to do something, Abel finally steps in and stops Lute from attacking Vaggie. And what’s fascinating about that moment is how his authority suddenly clicks into place. For a split second, he radiates the same commanding presence Adam once had.

And Lute actually backs down.

That moment shows something important about Abel: when it truly matters, he can be decisive. But instead of using that authority to dominate, he uses it to de-escalate.

“Swallow your pride.”

That line might as well be the thesis statement for their entire dynamic.

But the story doesn’t end with Abel suddenly becoming a confident leader overnight. In the final episode, we still see him looking uncertain. The exterminator mask doesn’t sit comfortably on him, and he clearly hasn’t fully settled into the role he’s inherited. He’s still caught between two identities: the gentle person he naturally is, and the hardened warrior Heaven (read: Lute) expects him to be.

And this is where the Lute dynamic becomes really interesting.

Because the reason they work as a couple isn’t that they’re similar. It’s that they’re shaped by the same absence.

Adam left a massive emotional crater in both of their lives.

For Lute, Adam was devotion, purpose, and love that was never fully returned. His death leaves her with rage, grief, and a desperate need to prove herself.

For Abel, Adam was the father whose approval he could never quite earn.

They’re both reacting to the same shadow in completely different ways.

Lute becomes harder. More ruthless. More consumed by vengeance.

Abel becomes softer, trying to prove that kindness can still exist within the system Adam built.

And because of that, they balance each other in a really compelling way.

Lute pushes Abel toward confidence and decisiveness.

Abel pushes Lute toward patience and restraint.

When Abel tells her to swallow her pride, it’s not a command born from cruelty. It’s someone who understands exactly how pride can destroy you and with that understanding, finds and chooses another path.

In a lot of ways, Abel represents the future Lute might need: a version of leadership that isn’t fueled by rage.

And Lute represents something Abel needs too: the strength to stand firm when kindness alone isn’t enough.

They’re both broken by the same legacy, but together they have the chance to rewrite what that legacy means.

Which is why, ironically, the son who never lived up to Adam’s expectations might be the exact person capable of helping Lute finally move past him.

Two people shaped by the same wound…