I have two seemingly contradictory wants for Lute next season:
First is that she needs to have a major villain arc, otherwise Gravity will have been pointless.
And second is that she has a romantic arc with Abel.
She gets to be a major threat for at least half the season, only to be defeated of course, while along the way (and afterwards) sheās spending more time with Abel whoās also learning to be more assertive and confident and that causes her to see more and more of Adam in him but itās a much kinder Adam, so to speak. This could help her detox from the human train wreck that was Adam and see how a truly good man should treat women (and like, people in general).
HI! I am so glad I am not alone in shipping Lute and Abel. There is so much potential and I want to dissect it.
*clears throat, adjusts mic, struts to center stage*
Abel and Lute: Deeply Wounded by the First Man
OR: Why Theyāre the OTP...oops I mean a shipping rambleā¦ wait, no, character analysisā¦ okay fine, why they should totally get together.
I never even thought about shipping them until their very first interaction in Season 2, and my brain just immediately locked onto them. Something about their chemistry just works, and honestly? I think the potential for these two is insane: a beautiful romance about moving on, self-love, and facing their traumatic pasts together.
Hi! Welcome! Iām gonna ramble, so consider this your first and last warning. Also, apologies for the late reply. This took a hot minute to write.
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 letās be real: simply putting two hot characters next to each other isnāt what makes a ship compelling (though sometimes, it IS just enough for simps, like me) itās their personalities, their damage, and the way those messes collide.
So. Letās 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 isnāt unhinged for fun; sheās devout. Her rage comes from belief. She hates sinners because she was raised to see them as irredeemable, and she didnāt just believe that doctrine, oh noooo, she embodied it.
She wasnāt some disposable grunt, either. Lute was a high-ranking Exorcist, Adamās right-hand woman, a soldier who thrived in hierarchy, loyalty, and absolute certainty. She respected Adam deeply despite his manyā¦ uh...shortcomings, and she was willing to rip her own arm off and keep fighting in the finale. Thatās not mindless brutality; thatās fanatic devotion.
And when Adam died? That was the first time we saw her cold, furious exterior completely crack. Lute isnāt a soulless killing machine. Sheās a woman who loved deeply and lost catastrophically. At her core, sheās not a monster; sheās 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 isnāt just a disagreement. Itās 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, āActually? Not so bad.ā Of course she refuses to accept it. Of course sheās furious. And thatās 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. Sheās drowning in survivorās guilt and unresolved grief, and instead of being given space to heal (therapy? literally anything?), sheās repeatedly sent back to Hell, where Vox and the sinners conveniently reinforce her worst fears.
Then comes the hallucinations.
Adam doesnāt just haunt her memory, he appears to her, over and over again. By the final episodes of Season 2, she knows he isnāt real, but she canāt let him go. Sheās 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, Adamās legacy is handed not to her, but to Abel.
Adamās 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, sheās forced to become his right hand.
And hereās the thing about hatred: thereās 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. š
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 lookedā¦ a little goofy. Naturally my brain went, oh no. I assumed heād basically be Adam 2.0 with the same ego, same chaos, yet somehow worse.
Iām very happy to say I was completely wrong.
Abelās 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.
Letās 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 Heavenās military.
Even his halo is interesting. Itās not perfectly round, itās crimped and slightly imperfect. Thatās such a subtle but deliberate design choice because halos in Heaven are usually pristine. Abelās looks handled. Bent. A little flawed. It almost feels like a visual nod to the biblical story of Abelās 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 š
Whenever we see him outside of conflict-heavy scenes, heās cheerful, polite, and generally radiating good vibes. In music numbers and background moments heās smiling, having a good time, clearly enjoying existence. And honestly, the way he addresses Lute as āMs. Luteā is ridiculously adorable. The man is respectful to a fault.
He feels like exactly the kind of person youād 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. Adamās personality made it pretty clear what he admired, which was: strength, ruthlessness, and dominance. Abel, meanwhile, is softer and more empathetic. He knows he doesnāt naturally fit the mold his father seemed to respect.
That small moment where he visits Adamās 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 heāll 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 letās 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 heās technically the commander and sheās the lieutenant, Abel often lets Lute take charge. Not because heās incapable, but because heās 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 whatās 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.
āSwallow your pride.ā
That line might as well be the thesis statement for their entire dynamic.
But the story doesnāt end with Abel suddenly becoming a confident leader overnight. In the final episode, we still see him looking uncertain. The exterminator mask doesnāt sit comfortably on him, and he clearly hasnāt fully settled into the role heās inherited. Heās 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 isnāt that theyāre similar. Itās that theyāre 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.
Theyāre 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, itās not a command born from cruelty. Itās 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 isnāt fueled by rage.
And Lute represents something Abel needs too: the strength to stand firm when kindness alone isnāt enough.
Theyāre 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 Adamās expectations might be the exact person capable of helping Lute finally move past him.
Two people shaped by the same woundā¦
...learning how to heal from it together. šš
